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#nevermind my emotions last a total of two minutes before i realize i’m fine
hollandcrush · 3 years
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on the house
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tom holland x bartender!reader
summary: after a hard day, tom goes to a small countryside pub to relieve some stress. 
word count: 4,726
warnings: fluff-ish. cursing. creepy men. mention of alcoholism. bad writing. awkwardness. softish & rough smut. oral. protected sex. dirty talk. lots of tom moaning. slight aftercare.
a/n: so i wrote this.. i’m trying to procrastinate and by the word count you can see i succeeded. um lets not talk about it. this is kinda a mess? half-ass edited. but enjoy xo. im actually sorry for publishing this.
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“Alright boys, last orders.”
A commotion of “awh cmon” and “whaayy” filled the room protesting your announcement. You rolled your eyes as you started getting orders and pulling pints of lager for the group of men who had been in the pub since the early evening. They had spent their time playing darts and watching football. Proper lad behaviour.
It was past midnight, you wanted to be gone out of the pub and into bed before sunrise. You had gotten a job in one of the small pubs in your town, just wanting a bit of extra money. It was a normal job. Nothing much happened, a few brawls here and there, old men grossly flirting with you and constant banter with customers.
You asked a few of the regulars that sat along the bar if they wanted another, however they were too busy talking about the town's gossip. They involved you in their conversation, trying to get a glimpse into your life. You weren’t so foolish. “Aw darling, we just want to know about if Daley’s boy finally got the balls to talk to ya’. His father tells us that he likes you. I mean, I can see the appeal.”
“I'd tell ya, if you were me mother, I’d never leave home.” Another voiced. They all laughed causing you to scoff at the dirty remark.
Your eyes snapped towards the culprit. “You can’t even get with a woman your own age, nevermind a woman fifty years younger. Piss off will ya.”
Being a bartender at a small pub meant that this was what you had to put up with. Lonely creepy men, whose only contact with a woman was the local bartender. It was quite sad and you admit, you felt for them. You watched the same people come in and out, drinking to ease them through their repetitive days. Alcohol soothing their pain. Most of them suffered major tragedies in their lifetime. The worst problem being their stories spreading like a wildfire around town, with some truth but very much exaggerated. Their pain becoming just another’s entertainment.
People in small towns always were infatuated with others personal lives. Wanting to know who is with who, who went to church last Sunday, what a person bought in the shop. I mean everything. There were no boundaries.
Although this had its disadvantages, it had some benefits. One of them being connections, and another being able to recognize a new face. It came in handy from time to time to know when someone’s out of place especially in your job. New people always made your job easier. This man who sat alone at the end of the bar stood out like a sore thumb. It was obvious he didn’t live here.
For starter, you know everyone who lives in the town by their first name. And secondly, you wouldn’t have forgotten a face like his.
He wore a paddy cap, some curls peeking from under. A green sweater clung tightly around shoulders stretching the material accentuating his physique. His lips pursed together as he stared at his drink with a clenched jaw. His hand clutched the drink, maybe a bit too hard. His mind was obviously focused on something else.
He was quiet for the few hours he was here. Didn’t talk much just to order another pint of Heineken. You didn’t want to protrude the distressed man so you left him alone. It helped to have conversations, often made the night go by faster.
“Do you want another? I’m gonna start the clean up”
His head shot up making eye contact with you for the first time tonight. His eyes looked slightly bloodshot. He looked stressed. “I’m okay.” He simply stated.
You walked over to the tap, quickly pulling him another. You slammed it in front of him, removing him from his thoughts. “On the house.” You gently smiled before walking out from the bar to collect some glasses that were left on tables.
You felt a burning sensation on you as you did the quick cleanup. You knew someone was watching. However, scared to turn around to confront as you didn’t know if it was the handsome stranger or just an old creep.
Once the lounge was clean and glasses in the dishwasher, you suddenly decided to make a coffee using the machine that just happened to be at the end of the bar where the man sat. As you pressed your coffee grounds, his voice rang into your ears.
“You pull a nice pint.”
A simple compliment. That’s all it was. Yet the heat that rose to your cheeks was embarrassing. Thankfully you weren’t facing him.
“Thanks, stranger. Big cities don’t know how to make the perfect pint I’m assuming.” You teased as you allowed your coffee to pour.
“How did you know I’m from the city?” His question caused you to let out a quiet laugh.
“Well sir, I’m basically a psychologist. Bartenders are the poor man's therapist.” You poured the cold milk into your coffee before facing him. He was sat back in his seat compared to his hunched posture mere minutes ago. “So a city boy comes to a small countryside pub for what? That is the question.”
“You are the psychologist, you tell me.” He smirked bringing his pint to his mouth to take a sip. A small mark was left on the top of his lips from the foam but quickly cleaned as his tongue swiped it away. The action making your knees feel a little weak. A slight smirk remained on his face. ‘Little fucker’ you thought. You placed your elbows on the bar in front of him, leaning against it.
“Game on. Well, you are nicely dressed, so coming back from a visit? An event? Maybe the city is stressing you out. The Rolex on your wrist says ‘I’m rich’. You are too young for a good-paying job in a business. Daddy’s money maybe? But the face is telling me entertainment. You are giving off pretty boy vibes. Singer? Actor?”
A smile spread across his face. You knew by his reaction you hit the nail on the head. He was a bad actor if he was one. You decided to tease him.
“Although I could be completely wrong. Maybe you are into older men. If that’s your preference, I totally know a few that would be perfect for you.”
His eyes rolled as he took another sip. “You were doing so well until that. If you must know, my preference happens to be bartenders. Ones who specifically call me pretty boy.”
“I didn’t call you a pretty boy. Just- you give me those vibes.” You protested.
“Too bad. I guess you aren’t my preference anymore.”
That statement caused a wave of butterflies to erupt. You went to drink some of your coffee to try and regain composure. Silence filled the next few moments as you both sipped at your beverages.
“Um- I’m filming about fifteen minutes from here. Just had a bad day. This was the first pub that google recommended nearby.” He confessed.
“Oh, what are you f-” “Y/N, were heading off. See you tomorrow.” A regular John shouted as he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and walked out.
It was then you realized it was only you and this stranger left in the pub. When did that time pass?
“Shit.” You mumbled as you went collected the remaining glasses.
“You need help?” he offered as he stood up from his chair. “You’re fine. Am you can leave when you're ready. Plus those hands haven’t seen a day of hard work in their lifetime.” You joked staring at his clean, manicured hands.
“Tell me where the sweeping brush is.” “Honestly, you are f-” “Tell me Y/N” He persisted as he rolled the sleeves of his jumper up his arms. Showcasing his veins.
You pointed to the cabinet in the corner of the lounge. You bit your lip as you watched his body walk towards the equipment. His body was slightly top-heavy, broad shoulders and smaller hips. His pants were quite tight around his thighs. You snapped your eyes from his body. ‘Get a grip Y/N’
As he started to do a quick sweep you realized you never got his name. “Hey, how come you get to know my name and I don’t get to know yours?”
“I’m Tom. Basic, I know.”
You smiled at the slight self-deprecation. You two quickly got to work, tidying tables and stocking up drinks. He kindly put away glasses as you cashed up.
“Well, I guess I was wrong. Your hands are useful for something.”
“They are useful for a lot of things.” He mumbled. Your thighs twitched at the implication. You cleared your throat grabbing your coat.
“Thanks Tom. Honestly, it was really nice of you.” You admitted. “I suppose we should go.”
“Yeah. I-um, I will order a taxi.” Tom said grabbing his coat. “No need, I’ll drive you home. Least I can do.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck as he straightened his jacket. He made direct eye contact with you, before taking a quick glance of your body. In the moment, you felt vulnerable and exposed as if you were prey being hunted. You grabbed the keys from behind the counter. “Let’s go.”
Tom followed you out. Staying close as you locked up. “Now, I’m not a movie star. I hope my 2010 Volkswagen is good enough for you.” You laughed pointing at your car.
“That thing?! I- I can’t be seen in a peasants car.” Tom dramatically covered his eyes as he walked towards the passenger side of the vehicle. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think there is enough room in the car for your ego.” You sassed before opening the drivers' door. Tom just laughed at your witty remark.
You immediately turned on the radio, hoping to avoid any more playful comments or conversation. Simply because you felt as if you were going to melt if this boy kept playing with your emotions. The drive was quiet. The radio and Toms directions were the only thing heard and said. You couldn’t focus on either as your heart raced as the tension grew.
After following Toms directions, you pulled up to a nice two-story house. The garden was carefully looked after. Not a flaw in sight.
“This is me. Thank you for tonight. I really needed a break.”
“Of course. Anytime. You know where to find me.” You joked. “Bye Tom.”
“Bye Y/N.” He said as he pulled the door handle.
“Well, this is awkward.” He laughed as he attempts to open the door failed. “Shit. Sorry. I forgot the door was broken.” Embarrassment overcame you. You quickly jumped out of your car and ran over to his side. You shut your eyes wishing this was over with as you opened the door for Tom
“What a gentleman!” He teased as he got out of the car.
“Shut up.” You groaned playing with the sleeves of your coat trying to contain the embarrassment of it all. “Well, are you gonna walk me to my door? or?”
You looked up at him perplexed. You scoffed at his remark. “Of course darling. Maybe I will give you a kiss goodbye.”
He laughed before turning on his heels to walk up to the door down the short pathway, you following close behind. He dug into his pockets to find his keys. Once located, he shook them in his hands. You turned your head away from him, biting your lip to conceal your smile.
“Now, what were you saying about a kiss?”
Your face softened as you turned to him, trying to read his expression. Was he being serious? Your mouth parted as you quickly tried to come up with some smart remark. Nothing escaped.
Tom smiled, dipping his head slightly to place a quick, soft kiss on your lips. You were frozen. His lips remained temptingly close to yours. “Cat got your tongue darling?” Fuck it.
Gently, you connected your lips once again. It was innocent at first but rapidly intensified. Your arms swung around his neck. Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. One arm wrapped around your waist, his free hand placed on your hip.
Soon the kiss became needy. Lips and tongues messily colliding, the rhythm lost. Your fingers tugged his roots at the base of his neck. A satisfying moan escaped his lips. You heard something jingle. You furrowed your eyebrows when suddenly you were pushed through the door. He slammed the door the kicked off his shoes, inviting you to do the same, all while your lips moved together. You knocked the paddy cap off his head before you started pushing his jacket down his arms. Tom’s lips began to travel down to your neck.
You opened your eyes, taking in your surroundings. The house reflected the outside. Tidy, neat and modern.
Tom's lips kissed every exposed spot until your hands squeezed his bicep, signalling he found your sweet spot. His tongue gliding over it before starting to savour the taste of your skin. A whimper softly slipped through your lips. You could feel him smile against the abused skin.
His started guiding you through the house, to what you hoped to be a bedroom. Your eyes continue to scan the house as Tom successfully removed your jacket throwing it somewhere unimportant at this time. His hands travelled under your shirt, wanting to feel your skin desperately.
“Oh my god. Your kitchen. Is that Italian marble on your countertops?” You blurted as you passed the beautifully designed room.
He pulled away, removing his green sweater over his head, exposing his chiselled abdomen. An artist couldn’t sculpt such a view that stood in front of you. “Yeah. I plan on fucking you on it later.” He growled pulling you close to him.
Your hands traced his muscles. Taking in every detail. Your lips latched onto his neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin. He led you to his bedroom door, pressing you against it. He pulled away, seeking another kiss. This one was different. It was passionate and loving. His hand cupping the side of your face.
“This is your cleaning fee covered, I hope.” You mumbled into his lips.
With that, he pushed open the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. His tight grip on your hips prevented you from falling over. He flipped you so he would hit the bed first. He lowered his hips, sitting on the edge. His hands refused to leave your body. Pushing your shirt up slightly, he kissed the exposed skin on your stomach. Your core tightened from the contact. His hands rode up and down the back of your thighs. His touch soothing your nerves.
“You sure? We can stop if you want. I am not pressur-” You placed a finger on his lips. “I’m sure.”
You grabbed the bottom of your shirt, ripping it off your body. You climbed on top of him. Straddling him. His hands travelled to your ass. His lips moved to the valley between your breasts. Sloppy sweet kisses marked your soft curves. He attended to every inch. Your eyes followed each calculated move. He looked back up at you, his bottom lips caught between his teeth. Your breath hitched as your hands removed your bra, unclasping it. He helped guide the straps down your shoulders, placing a kiss on each one.
He flipped you over, watching your breast bounce. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.” He groaned, latching his small lips around your left nipple. His hands grounded your hips into the bed. Loud gasps effortlessly left you. His full attention was on you and your body.
He started to travel down south. You focused in on the sight below you. Little hickeys covered your breast, nipples glistened under the low light. One hand was placed on your midsection, another on your thigh. The sight made you grow even wetter.
His eyes remained on you, watching you try to control your breathing. His hands began to undo your jeans. Careful and precise with every move, he teasingly pulled them down your legs. “Tom. Don’t be a tease. Please. I need you now.”
“Sound so sweet begging for me. So pretty. Let me get you ready for me. Promise I’ll make you feel so good.”
The sight of him, saying those things while his head was tucked between your thighs, made you arch your back. His hot breath against your thong, made you rut your hips forward. Each of his actions caused a reaction.
He fingertips fiddled with the band of your underwear. “Tom, seriously. Fuck.” You gazed at him with pleading eyes. In one swift motion, he rolled your underwear off and tossed them into a dark corner. He didn’t waste any time before having his first taste. His face buried between your thighs, licking long stripes.
Your hand covered your mouth, muffling the embarrassingly loud sounds. He barely even started and you were a moaning mess. He finally connected to your most precious spot. He licked gently at your clit as he was not sure how sensitive you were. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, yet.
He continued to explore your body, taking time to figure out what you like and didn’t like. Once he got the perfect pace, he slid a hand between your folds. “Tom.” You whimpered wanting to feel him. He momentarily removed his lips from your drenched core.
“That’s it darling. Wanna hear you. Shit you turn me on so much. Taste so good.”
His fingers glided into you with ease. Stretching you out with his thick digits. Prepping you for him. You clenched around him as he relentlessly worked on your sex. You couldn’t stop the noises that left you anymore. You climbed closer and closer to the edge with every passing second.
“Tom, I- I’m gonn-na, fuck.” You cried. Your hands pulled his hair as you finally fell off the edge. He continued to eat you out as you rode out your climax. Your thighs clenched his head, nearly suffocating him.
He pulled away. Face and fingers glistened. Next thing you know, you are wrapping your mouth around his fingers, cleaning them for him. He groaned as he watched you intently. His other hand removed his jeans with ease, needing some relief. The material being too restricting. He got on top of you, pulling you into a filthy kiss.
You pushed him off so that you could get on top. He scurried to the top of the bed so that he could rest against the headboard. His boxers had an evident wet patch on them. The material was tight across his hips. You spread his legs so you could position yourself on your knees between them.
“I’m gonna be nice and not tease you.” You smirked as you pulled down his boxers exposing his hard member. His hand wrapped around the base of his cock allowing it to stand tall, his eyes tracing your body, taking in every last detail. His put his free hand gently on your face. You stared deeply into his lust-filled eyes. The moment very intimate. You were convinced he could hear your heart thump in your chest.
He watched as your lips parted and your eyes slowly travelled down his body. He began to tug at his hard cock, wanting nothing more than to feel your warmth. He combed his hand through his wavy hair while rocking his hips. You adjusted your position, placing yourself on all fours. You lowered your chest to the bed, arching your back giving Tom an amazing view of your back and ass. Your face was temptingly close to his aching member. You put your hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles contract. You tugged at your lip, concentrated on his hand that continuously pumped his thick cock.
“You said you were an actor? In what industry? Adult film maybe? I mean you definitely have the looks and parts for it.”
“Hm, you always have something smart to say. I think we can use that pretty little mouth for something else right now.”
You opened your mouth invitingly. He followed suit, guiding his sensitive tip. You wasted no time moulding your lips around his girth. Tom released a satisfied moan. His grip loosened as he focused on the feeling. You used this as a chance to take control. Grabbing at his cock you began to pump the veiny shaft. You pulled back to release a trickle of spit. You licked from top to bottom of his shaft before placing him back into your mouth.
You hollowed your cheeks causing him to buck his hips up, hitting the back of your throat. “Shit. Shit. Sorry!” He exclaimed, but unbothered you continued to suck. Tom swore he got harder than he thought possible. He continued his moans and praises as he tangled his hands in your hair, guiding your movements at a steady pace. Your eyes glistened, chin wet.
“Y/N I won’t last long if you keep- fuck- keep doing this.”
You took the hint and pulled away, a trail of spit connected to your mouth. His cock was impossibly hard. His tip was red and angry. Tom closed the gap, bringing you into a heated kiss. So messy but so very hot.
“Condom?” You asked. His hand squeezed your ass before getting up to get a condom from his dresser. He turned to you in all his naked glory pumping his cock a few times, which was still wet from the prior activity, before ripping open the condom and rolling it down his shaft.
Once back on the bed, Tom shuffled towards you placing a soft kiss on your lips. He pulled your legs from under you causing you to fall back. He grabbed one of the fluffy pillows and carefully put it under your head. He spread your knees, fingertips gliding down towards your heat.
“So wet darling. You think you’re ready or do you need another round?” He said, kissing the inner side of your left knee.
“Thanks for the offer Tom, I might take you up on it later. But right now, I need you in me.”
With that, Tom didn’t hesitate as he positioned himself between your legs. One elbow propped him up while the other was wrapped around his length. His tip traced your folds before poking at your entrance. He looked at you one more time, ensuring this was what you wanted. You softly caressed his cheek. Your eyes trailed down south, making contact with the scene that was about to unfold.
Tom slowly pushed his hips forward, it felt awkward at first. The angle was quite discomforting. Tom obviously sensed that. He quickly pulled out, popping your knees up towards your chest. Your calves rested on his shoulder as he leaned forward to stabilize his position. Tom pushed back in. This time the stretch felt amazing. “God- Tom.”
“You are so tight, shit Y/N. So snug, just for me.” He growled bottoming out.
Your hands gripped his forearms that were caged around you. He slowly retracted his hips before snapping forward. The pleasure was overwhelming as he filled you up completely. The buildup, the affectionate touches, the caring demeanour, all adding to this amazing sensation you were experiencing. Nothing like you’ve felt ever. He was so attentive to your pleasure. You came first in his mind.
He watched how you reacted to each movement, finding the one that felt best. His hips snapped at a memorizing pace, lips latched onto your nipples causing you to cry out. Your hands flung to his hair, tugging on his perfect locks. Tom took this opportunity to swing one of his hands down to your aching clit.
“Tom- Fuck. Are- are you sure you aren’t a-a pornstar.” You asked between your involuntary moans.
Tom's teeth grazed your nipple as he pulled away to attack your swollen lips. Effectively shutting you up. Tom ruthlessly and repeatedly hit your spot, which caused you to tighten around him. He moaned loudly against your lips. Your fingers scraped his back while his fingers continued to abuse your clit. Building up the tension in your stomach for the second time.
“Tom, I- I am so close. Shit baby. Tommy.” You panted.
“You sound so perfect. Cum for me pretty girl. Cum on my cock.”
The praise pushed you to your climax. You threw your head back, screaming his name as he continued to fuck you senseless. Thighs quaked as your fingers dug into his skin. He hissed, slowing down his pace. “So snug, so warm fo’ me. You okay? Can I keep going?”
“How the fuck are you lasting so long?”
He laughed, flipping you around so you were on all fours. He quickly slid into you, wrapping his hand around your neck to pull you up to his chest. “Darling, I’m Spiderman.”
“You are what?” He pushed you down onto the pillow, forcing you to arc your back. He forcefully pounded into you causing you to scream. His strokes long, deep and hard. Giving you every single inch. His hands gripping your hips, leaving marks with his strength. Guttural moans escaping with each stroke.
You felt like putty in his hands. Letting him do whatever he pleased. Your arms were extended pulling at the bed sheets, ripping off the bedding. You continued to moan, not caring who heard your screams of pure ecstasy. “Tommy. You are making, making me feel so good. Please d-don’t stop” 
“That’s it Y/N. Only I can make you feel like this. Shitt. So tight from every angle.” 
His actions were becoming sloppy. Thrusts not becoming as accurate. One hand reached under to rub at your clit aiding you to an inevitable third release. “Darling, I’m so close. Fuck.” “Me. Too. Tommy.” You panted.
Tom pulled your hips higher, adjusting his own so he would hit your g-spot every single time. It only took a few more strokes to make you come undone. You clenched so hard around his member that he could barely continue his motion. He threw his head back with his eyes closed as he released into the condom.
“Fuuck Y/N. Shit.” He growled while the wave of pleasure took over his body. He rode out both of your orgasms before collapsing on the bed beside you. Your legs were shaking, overstimulated by him. Heavy panting filled the humid room. Sweat covered your bodies as you enjoyed the post-orgasm haze.
A light groan was heard as he took off the condom due to the sensitivity. You rolled on your side to watch him discard the used rubber. He threw on his boxers before walking into the bathroom. You stayed still, taking in the interior that surrounded you. It was definitely a nice place, but you could tell it wasn’t a home. No photos, no memorabilia. Only the basics. 
He walked back out with a cloth clutched in his hand. He quickly grabbed a t-shirt from his drawer and handed it to you before attending to the mess between your legs. The warm towel cleaned the wetness that dripped down your thighs. He smiled as he watched your legs twitch every once and a while. He payed particular attention to the marks that he left. Your hips, thighs, neck and breasts all littered with little bruises and love bites. The moment was silent. Neither one of you knew what to say. He tossed the towel into the laundry basket before joining you in bed. He laid on his back and extended his arm, inviting you to cuddle.
“So was that- uh- okay?” He questioned. You smiled as your fingertips traced circles on his chest.
“It was amazing Tom. Don’t get all shy on me now.”
“Sorry, it’s just- well, I’ve never done anything like that before. I mean I’ve had sex, just not with a stranger. So I didn’t really know what the protocol was.” He joked.
“I mean one night stands aren’t usually so, passionate. But I can’t argue, that was possibly the best sex I’ve ever had.” You complimented before rolling over so that you partially laid on him. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close.
“Hey Mr. Spiderman, but um, what were you saying earlier about a certain kitchen countertop?”
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ashtifers-ballpit · 3 years
Text
we're living in a powder keg (and giving off sparks)
Fandom: Star Trek Lower Decks
Rating: M
AO3
Beckett Elizabeth Mariner wakes up with the absolute unshakable knowledge that she has done something unspeakable.
“Oh my fucking god.”
On the pillow across from hers, Brad opens his eyes. He blinks once or twice, squinting at the obnoxious sunlight streaming through the blinds. It creates bars of light slanting across the bed and floor. There’s a brief moment of confusion where he stares up at her owlishly before he groans and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Clearly not shaken at all by the unspeakable horror coursing through Beckett’s veins.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God .”
“Please lower your voice,” he mutters, voice muffled almost beyond comprehension. Almost. “I think I have a migraine. Or a hangover.” A pause. “Or both .”
“Oh god oh god oh god-”
Beckett’s comm begins chirping on the nightstand, derailing her mental breakdown. She lunges for it, flips the device open and answers the call. “Yeah?”
“Beckett Mariner, where in god’s name are you?” her mother’s voice shrills across the tiny speaker. Not exactly the distraction she was looking for, but she’ll take it. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I swear to god if you’re in prison again-”
“I’m not in prison!” she hisses. “And that was one time!”
“Six times. In the last month.”
“I- mom -”
“We’re in Wvaxuv,” Brad snaps, snatching the comm out of her hand. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Over.” He snaps the comm shut, throws it at the nightstand on her side, and flops facedown into his pillow again. Beckett, both impressed by Brad hanging up on his captain and horrified by him hanging up on her mom , stares at him, mouth agape.
“You just hung up on my mom.”
“Mffffmmn.”
“My mom , Bradward.”
“Mm.”
“Your Captain .”
This does get a reaction out of Brad, but not quite the one she expected? He peeks one eye out of where he’s currently trying to become one with the bedding. It’s cute, in like a cat-like way. Which is exactly where Beckett is trying to keep her thoughts from going. There is nothing cute or nice about waking up in the same bed as Brad. There’s not.
“I think I’ll care about that when I’m sober,” he says, at last.
“You don’t care that you just hung up on my mom, but you know what city we’re in?” Beckett raises an eyebrow, both impressed and unimpressed. She contains multitudes.
“I always know where I am,” he mumbles, turning his face back into the pillow. “Also, it literally says in the tourist brochure on your nightstand.”
Beckett grins and then stops herself. “Okay, Mister ‘I always know where I am,’ how long will it actually take us to get back to the Cerritos ?”
“ Ten minutes if we get dressed like right now.”
She stops, face heating at the reminder that oh yeah they’re both fucking naked under the duvet. Beckett carefully inches away, toward her end of the bed, just in case. She casts a quick look around the room and locates her clothes on the floor, near the bathroom.
“Don’t look,” she warns. Threatens?
Brad gives her a thumbs up, seemingly content in continuing his faceplant. Beckett decides that she can trust him not to sneak a peak--not that it mattered at this point but she was not thinking about that --and hurriedly dives toward them and gathers them up. She throws them on the bathroom floor and slams the door shut.
“Oh my god.” Beckett stares at the yellowing tiled floor. “Oh my god .” She turns on the sink, cupping the freezing water in her hands and splashing it onto her face. It does little to clear her mind, but it does help with the hangover nausea. She grips the sides of the sink, breathing in and out slowly. After a few moments of this, Beckett finally dares to look in the mirror.
She’s looked worse. Especially after a night of getting blackout drunk. Her hair is down, out of its usual high ponytail. It’s also completely wrecked, she notes, running her fingers through it to pull out the tangles. She looks a little sweaty and her eyes are bloodshot with dark circles rimming them, but nothing about her appearance suggests that she did anything stupid or dangerous last night. All of her limbs and toes are accounted for. All things considered, it’s not that bad.
Well, except for the trail of hickeys going down her neck. Jesus , she thinks, straining her head around to see how far they go. Nevermind, she doesn’t really want to know. That’s definitely going to be a problem to examine later. Much, much later.
She quickly pulls her pants on, studiously ignoring her sore muscles and the purple bruises in other places besides her neck and shoulder. Fuck . She can hear her comm chirping again through the bathroom door, but doesn’t make any attempts to hurry and answer it. From the sound of things--or lack thereof--Brad isn’t making an effort either. He probably decided, as she has, that they can get reemed out when they actually get back on the ship.
Beckett pulls her tank top over her head, frowning when she realizes that it does absolutely nothing to hide the bruises on her neck. Where the fuck is her jacket? She pops back into the bedroom.
“Where’s my jacket?”
“You threw it in the Gezorvazors’ fountain.”
“And you didn’t stop me? Dude, that was my favorite jacket.”
He makes a vague hand gesture, still face down on the bed. “You can borrow mine.”
“Yours isn’t nice like mine is,” she snaps, picking his weird hoodie/jean jacket hybrid. “Mine is leather, and badass, and-” She slips his jacket on, pulling the collar up to hide the hickeys. “-And. Oh shit this is comfortable.” The fabric is soft in the way that clothes only get after you’ve owned them for years and years and ruined the fabric with too much fabric softener and shit. Also, it’s a little big around her shoulders, and Beckett’s kind of a slut for comfy clothes that are too big for her. “You’re not getting this back,” she realizes out loud.
Brad finally lifts his head off the pillow, eyes zeroing in on her. His face is unreadable. “Huh.”
“What?”
Her comm chirps again. Brad picks it up and throws it to her. “Call your mom.” He jerks his head toward the balcony on the other side of the suite. “Or don’t. Either way, we’re gonna be late.” He makes to get out of bed, which is Beckett’s cue to get the fuck out of there . She escapes onto the balcony which is less of a balcony and more of a ledge.
She flips the comm open and answers it.
“ Your mom is flipping out,” D’Vana says. “She thinks you went AWOL and kidnapped Boimler again.”
“Her thinking that is a thousand times better than what actually happened,” Beckett replies, relieved. “She’s not leaving, is she?”
“ Without you? Fat chance.” There’s a pause. “So are you gonna tell me what did happen-”
“Just a long night of drinking and bad decisions. I’ll see you back on the Cerritos, ” she swiftly interrupts. “If my mom asks, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” She hangs up over D’Vana’s sputtering protests. “Shit.” What was she going to tell D’Vana. What was she going to tell her mom?
A gust of cool wind blows through the street, cutting straight through her. She wraps the jacket tightly around her. It smells like Brad. “ Shit. ”
_____
Beckett sits in her mom’s ready room with a paper cup of coffee heating her hands. The smell isn’t doing great things to her nauseous stomach, but the warmth radiating through her fingers is soothing and the caffeine is knocking out most of her headache. Turn of the century and there still isn’t a definitive hangover cure for humans. Go figure.
Her mother’s slightly raised eyebrow is both a question and a criticism. She has too much tact to say that Beckett looks like shit, but they both know Beckett looks like shit. Damnit.
“I’m not even going to ask,” Freeman says at last, rubbing her temple with two fingers. “Just please stop violating regulations while on shore leave.”
Beckett wants to ask if this means she can violate regulations while off shore leave, but feels too shitty to get into that argument. “You got it, Cap’n,” she says, instead of emoting. She gives her mom a lazy, two fingered salute.
“Also, please remember to keep up with your birth control, I don’t really need any Beckett/Boimler hybrids running around on this ship-”
“Literally what the fuck -” Beckett all but shrieks, voice way to loud for the hangover she’s sporting. “ Why would you even say-”
Her mom looks pointedly at Beckett’s bruised neck. “I’m not a complete idiot, kiddo.”
“Oh my god,” Beckett buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god .”
Freeman rolls her eyes, flicking her fingers at her daughter. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s my job to embarrass you. Now get out of my sight. And ask T’Ana for a hangover cure.”
This has Beckett sitting up. “Wha- T’Ana said there wasn’t a hangover cure .”
Flat look. “Beckett. What century is this?”
Beckett scowls at the desk. “Ripped off for five years and counting,” she mumbles.
_____
Avoiding Brad was harder than she thought it was going to be.
(Not that she’s avoiding him. She’s not.)
(She totally is. )
When he first came back to the Cerritos --almost two years ago now?--it had been easy. He’d been in a state of remorse/guilt, and had basically allowed Beckett to call the shots. This was generally considered a bad idea by absolutely everyone, because it meant that Beckett swung dangerously between watching his every move like a crazed stalker to having nothing to do with him. It had accumulated in Sam and D’Vana going the old-fashioned route by locking them in a storage closet.
Things had eventually ironed out after that. Nothing was ever quite the same--it couldn’t be with Brad’s newfound confidence and Beckett’s decision to see him as an equal rather than someone to mentor--but it was better that way. They worked better that way. At least until Beckett had fucked everything up by having drunk sex with her best friend of four years.
So here Beckett was, hiding in medbay because she thought she might have seen Brad walk by.
“You gotta admit, this is weird, even for you,” D’Vana says.
Beckett peaks over the biobed. “He’s gone, right?”
“Honey, what’s going on between you two? Do I need to fight him? I can totally fight him.”
“What?”
“I mean, the last time you were this mad at him was because--”
“I’m not mad at him,” Beckett waves her off, not too keen on dredging up ancient history. Shitty ancient history at that. “Everything’s fine.”
“Everything’s fine,” D’Vana repeats dubiously. “Which is why you’ve been hiding in medbay--your least favorite place--all day. Instead of doing fun things, like moving everything in Ransom’s cabin a little to the left or putting extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”
Beckett grins. “We should put extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not.”
“ So are.”
Beckett scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“I am, as in I will help you bury the body if need be, but as it stands there isn’t a body to bury and you’re in my way.”
“Rude!”
“Coward.”
“Killjoy.”
“ Both of you, out,” T’Ana snaps, from like 20 feet away. She’s not even looking at them, but one of her ears is swiveled in their direction.
D’Vana gives Beckett a dirty look, turning on her heel and marching out of the medbay. Beckett follows, more subdued.
“Seriously, you need to get your shit together,” D’Vana says, once she’s caught up to her. “I promise whatever happened between you and Brad isn’t as terrible as you’re thinking. It’s probably even fixable.”
“Real encouraging, bestie.”
“I try.” D’Vana gives her a friendly punch on the arm that’s probably going to bruise. “Now go find your man.”
_____
Becket does not, in fact, “go find her man.” First of all, because she doesn’t have one, but also because the idea of facing Brad right now is so mortifying--seriously what is she supposed to say? --that the thought makes her break out in hives.
(Not literally, but still.)
A couple more days of this has Sam and D’Vana returning to the tried and true method of locking Beckett and Brad in a storage closet to sort out their shit.
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” D’Vana shouts through the door.
Beckett flips her the bird, even though she can see, scowling at the door. “Fuck you, D’Vana Tendi!”
There is no response, meaning that her ex-friends have left her alone with her thoughts, Brad, and Brad’s very loud thoughts. Goddammit.
“Look, just say it,” Brad suddenly snaps after the longest, most awkward pause Beckett has ever had the misfortune to be a part of. His entire body is tenser than Beckett has seen in a hot minute. Probably since before he transferred back to the Cerritos.
“Say what?” she says back hotly, now not really sure if they’re about to argue about something, but also not one to back down from a fight.
“I don’t know-just. Whatever it is- just please. I’m tired, D’Vana’s tired--hell the whole ship is tired of this. So just.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know it was bad, I know that you regretted it.”
“I. What.”
“But, you’re also my best friend and I don’t want things to go back to how they were when. When I came back and you hated me and I was shitty to you and-” Brad stops messing up his hair. “Just say it was awful and we can forget it ever happened.”
Beckett steels herself as she finally admits: “I don’t remember it.”
It was Brad’s turn to go still and quiet.
“Brad--I. You know how I get when I’m drunk.” Beckett has never felt embarrassed by her drinking habits, but now she wonders if she should. Okay, she’s not, not really. But she was at least regretful that she had done something so stupid as fucking up one of her best relationships while intoxicated. Literally. “I don’t remember anything after the sixth drink,” she groans. “I think I was messing with your hair?”
“You said it was the color of jellyfish.”
She manages a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“And then I said jellyfish were translucent and have been extinct for over a thousand years on Earth so your point was redundant and that’s when you kissed me.”
“Oh.” Beckett wracks her memory. Nothing comes up. She doesn’t know if she feels proud or scared by the fact that she was the one to initiate whatever happened between them. “Was it. Good?”
“For me.” Brad shrugs, nonchalant in a way she wishes he weren’t. “Can’t really say if you liked it or not. Rest of the night is.” He makes a gesture with one hand. “Fuzzy.”
“But you remember more details than I do.” Beckett takes a step toward him.
He takes a step back as she crowds his space. Swallows. “Guess I do.”
“Was that good? What came after?” she asks, steadily, taking another step toward him.
His back hits the wall. He makes a little oof sound, maybe at the impact, but more likely at her question. “I-it was fuzzy ,” he reiterates, voice pitching up.
“Just answer the question, Bradward. I thought this was honesty hour for-”
“Yes it was good!” he snaps. “It was awesome, and earth-shattering, and all the stupid fucking cliches we both make fun of and mock together, and-and you didn’t care the next morning! Actually, no, you were fucking horrified-- so I panicked and--”
Beckett kisses him. It’s a short peck, hardly a brush of lips really, but enough to leave him gaping like a fish after. Kind of shocked, like a computer bluescreening. Goddamnit, he is cute.
“I. I- what .”
Beckett carefully leans in, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand--giving him time to opt out or push her away if he wants-- and kisses him again. This time she goes a bit more slowly, somehow coaxing his panicked mind into letting him kiss her back. Only for a moment, sadly. As soon as he begins softening against her, mouth opening slightly to kiss her back, he draws away, face disturbed. “Beck, what are you doing?” His voice is weak.
“Experimenting,” she replies, eyes quickly darting back and forth between his.
“ Experi -”
“I mean, there must be a reason I jumped straight from drunken makeout to lets fuck on our last night of shore leave. I’m just trying to find the missing puzzle piece.” She leans back in. Kisses him again. Pulls back almost immediately. “That means kiss me back, dumba-”
Brad cups her face and kisses her back. Like really kisses her back. Like tilts her face to the side until the angle is just right and slips his tongue in to slide against hers-
“Fuck,” Beckett says, when they draw back for air. “ Fuck.”
Brad drops his hands, but makes no move to pull out of her space. “Got enough data?” he asks sarcastically.
“I might need a larger sample size,” she says breathlessly, eyes darting back down to his lips.
“Well, feel free to go makeout with whomever-”
“Not that kind of sample size, dummy. I'm working with just one test subject, you see.” Her hand fingers the top button of his shirt almost thoughtfully. “My sample size needs to be bigger in quantity, not diversity.”
“ Beck- ” he whines.
“What, so you get to remember this awesome, showstopping one-night stand while I wonder forever if you're actually as good as my sore everything implies?”
Brad’s face visibly heats up. “Well, it's not a one-night stand if we do it again, is it?” he mutters.
“No,” Beckett replies curtly, making her eye contact as direct as possible. “It's not.”
“And you really want to fuck in a storage closet.”
“It can't be much worse than on a planet of jellybean aliens.”
“Gezorvazorians,” he corrects. Pauses, considering. “It might not be that good sober.”
“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of having sex with you?” Beckett groans again in exasperation. “This is literally a one time, limited offer, Bradward.”
“I have anxiety, Beckett! It was fine when I was on drink number eight, but I'm going to freak out if I do this without-”
“Oh my god, just stop thinking-” she shoves him back into the wall, hands fisting his stupid Starfleet shirt, “-just do what feels good.”
Apparently what feels good is letting Beckett once again call the shots on this one, like she does on everything. He lets her crowd him back against the wall, pop each of his shirt buttons and makeout as aggressively as they can while still standing upright.
“For the record,” she says, in between kisses, “if you don't want to have sex with me, that's a hundred percent fine, I don't want to pressure you-”
Brad rolls his eyes. “You really gotta-” kisses her again, “make up your mind-” her hand pulls at the short hair on the nape of his neck, eliciting a high pitched noise “- getting mixed signals-”
“My mind is made up, it's just that I realized that I maaay have been a bit pushy-”
Brad pulls away to give her a deadpan expression. “Yeah, if there's one thing I do remember about you in bed, it's that you're kind of pushy. Actually, scratch that, you’re relentless.”
Beckett flushes. “I-”
“I don't mind. Just as long as you're sure.”
“I am,” she meets his gaze challengingly, fighting her blush down.
“Cool.” He nods once, curtly. The image doesn’t exactly mesh right with his disheveled hair and unbuttoned shirt. “Cool, cool, cool. I'm probably going to freak out in the middle of this, fyi.”
“Don't say ‘fyi,’ it's lame.” She glances around the room. “So. Floor or wall?”
_____
They don't actually fuck in the storage closet, much to Beckett's disappointment and everyone else's general embarrassment. D’Vana in particular is going back and forth between remorse and spastic giggling. It’s just as well. Brad really couldn’t stop laughing at her after her “floor or wall” comment which made getting laid kind of hard. No pun intended.
_____
The next few days are kind of a living hell for the Cerritos. Which is unbelievable, considering how weird Beckett and Brad had made it for everyone before their conversation in the storage closet.
It really really doesn’t help that Brad’s bunk is like. Right over hers. Goddamnnit.
“Good news is we have shore leave again in three weeks,” Jennifer says, handing her a wrench.
Beckett, who’s holding a screwdriver in her mouth, makes whahed? noise, eyes glued to the charred remains of the food replicator. Jen leans back against the counter casually, flipping her silver hair over her shoulder. She’s not really helping Beckett, just watching while she takes advantage of her own buffer time. Beckett doesn’t mind because a) everyone’s entitled to their own buffer time and b) Jen isn’t bad company. At least when she isn’t involving herself in the soap opera worthy drama that is Beckett’s life. Like right now.
Jen gives her a bemused look. “You don’t have to tell me what happened last time,” she says, which is great because Beckett has no intention of bringing up the events of their last shore leave, “But you want my advice? Fix it this time. For everyone’s sake.”
Beckett takes the screwdriver out of her mouth and places it on the counter. “I literally have no idea what you are talking about,” she says in lieu of feeling an emotion.
“Me neither,” Jen admits, sighing. “Look, I don’t put much stock in the rumor mill, but even I know there’s something going on between you and Boimler.”
Oh. Shit.
“Oh, shit,” Beckett says.
Jen grins. “Yeah, shit Mariner. Who’d have thought: you and Brad Boimler. Six years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.”
Beckett makes a face. It’s not a laughing one. More of a grimace, really. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking.”
“With you it rarely is.” Jen looks wary, but the corners of her eyes still crinkle with amusement. “I’m just saying, I know something’s up. Don’t really care, but it’s making this ship socially awkward. I refuse to work somewhere socially awkward, Mariner.”
“Oh, we are in agreement,” Beckett quickly defends, holding her hands up.
“Good, then fix whatever the fuck’s going on. I can’t take much more of this.”
Beckett doesn’t have much to say to that. Mostly because she’s in total agreement, but also because that’s the moment D’Vana comes around the corner and she’d rather not get Into It with the perky Orion today.
_____
It’s Sam who brings it up. “So, shore leave on Earth,” he says. “Who’s down?”
The four of them are sitting at the bar, pretending like nothing weird is going on between two of their members. It helps that Sam is sitting between her and Brad, but it also doesn’t because he keeps catching them staring at each other. It’s super fucking awkward, so Beckett takes the opportunity to direct their attentions elsewhere.
She groans loudly, dropping her face onto her folded arms. “If I wanted to be on Earth I wouldn’t have joined Starfleet,” she grumbles. “This fucking sucks.”
D’Vana perks up immediately, like Beckett knew she would. “I love Earth!” she says, enthusiastically gesturing with her martini glass. “So many different cultures and languages and religions on one planet. If I wasn’t stationed in deep space, I’d have asked for a position there.”
“All those religions and cultures and shit is why Earth has a reputation of not getting along with itself,” Beckett mumbles into her arm.
“That’s not specific to Earth though,” Brad points out, pretty much speaking for the first time that night. He looks a bit surprised, like he hadn’t meant to talk to her at all or make eye contact. Which was most likely the case, considering. Still, he pushes on. “I mean, how many interplanetary disputes have we broken up in the last year alone?”
“Yeah, but I don’t come from those planets so I don’t have to feel bad about it,” Beckett mutters.
Sam snorts. “So is that a no?”
Beckett shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Will there be alcohol?”
“There can be.”
She flutters her eyelashes at Sam. “Well, if you insist then.”
Brad and D’Vana exchange a look.
_____
Earth isn’t too bad.
Beckett should know, she was born there.
The distinct lack of shenanigans she can get up to are fairly disappointing, however. And the distinct presence of cops is still as annoying as ever. But Sam drags the four through downtown San Francisco, intent on making the most of it.
He is determined to teach D’Vana how to surf, so they find themselves at one of those swim stores--the ones that smell like chlorine and weed and have like a display of goggles that takes up two entire ailes and the walls are covered in surf boards and body boards, and there’s little naked mermaid figurines everywhere. It’s one of those out-of-this-world vibes that has Beckett remembering the little things about earth she misses.
Sam somehow cuts a deal on four surf boards and some swim trunks for him and Brad. Beckett, who had the foresight to bring her own swimwear, doesn’t spend a dime on anything but the salt water taffy up at the front counter. D’Vana, who showed up for shore leave already in a bikini and has chronic steal Beckett’s food syndrome, walks out of there the least broke.
“So we want to start in the whitewater,” Sam says, rubbing copious amounts of sunscreen on D’Vana’s back. It’s a wise move, considering the last time they spent free time on a sunny planet, D’Vana walked away with the worst sunburns. “That way we can work on your stance without any pressure.”
“Speak for yourselves,” Beckett flips her shades down. “I’m heading out for the Big Bois. The Chungos, if you will.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Have you ever surfed before?”
“Does doing handstands on a floatie in my pool count?”
“No.”
“Then listen to the expert. We also probably don’t want to go way out until we get wetsuits. Trust me on that one,” Sam says, grimacing. “I mean, I’ve gone without, but it’s cold as shit out there.”
Beckett snatches the sunscreen from Sam’s hand and squirts a glob on her calf. “Fine, defeat me with your logic. You want some of this, white bread?” she asks Brad, who very much lives up to said nickname. He sighs, accepting the bottle from her.
All sunscreen up, Sam stands, picking up his surfboard. “I’ll take D’Vana out first,” he says in a blatant show of favoritism.
Brad and Beckett roll their eyes in tandem. “Whatever,” Beckett says, shooing them off with one hand. “I’m taking a nap.” She flops down on a towel under the giant umbrella that D’Vana got from god knows where . Brad looks from her to Sam and D’Vana unsurely before deciding that he’ll strike out on his own for a bit.
“Don’t drown,” Beckett says, already half asleep.
“Duh.” She can practically hear his eye roll. “Remember to wake up in two hours and apply more sunscreen,” he shoots back.
She gives him the o-k hand signal, not opening up her eyes. “You got it, Mom.”
_____
A few hours later--way past when Beckett was supposed to dump more chemicals on her skin (and yes she’s going to be feeling that later)--Beckett wakes up to Sam and D’Vana’s dulcet tones. By dulcet tones she actually means they’re belting out I’ve Had the Time of My Life in tandem with the music booming on the speaker Sam brought because they are those annoying beach people .
D’Vana must’ve gone to one of the street vendors on the boardwalk, because she has a tray of tiny sandwiches and a paper bag of popcorn that she’s sharing with Sam. Beckett tries to get in on that action, but because D’Vana is the biggest hypocrite Beckett knows, she finds herself banned from the snacks.
“You and Brad can get your own,” D’Vana says stubbornly.
Beckett rolls her eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”
D’Vana points vaguely off in the direction of the water. Brad is sitting on his surfboard, looking more relaxed than Beckett’s seen him in a while.
She stands up, stretching out the kinks and stiffness in her joints, grinning when Sam winces at the cracking of her spine. Shaking the fogginess away, Beckett makes her way out into the waves, shivering at their chill. In a stroke of genius, or maybe just chaotic evillness, Beckett ducks under the water, swimming beneath where Brad is peacefully sitting.
“Nice view,” Beckett says, bursting out of the water. Brad flails, arms pinwheeling. He does fall off his perch on the surfboard, but Beckett catches it before the waves can take it away. She heaves herself gracefully over the side, sitting with her legs in the water. After a moment she offers a hand to a very sulky looking Brad, who’s usually coiffed hair is plastered to his skull by the water.
He takes her proffered hand and sits beside her.
After a moments pause, where they sit bobbing in the waves and watching the sunset, Brad says, “I would like to say that not even the holodeck can recreate colors like that buuut-”
“We do have top-of-the-line technology,” Beckett agrees. “It’s still nice knowing it’s real, though,” she adds.
“How sentimental of you,” he says, almost teasingly. It does wonders for the tension Beckett’s holding.
“Shut up,” she gets out, shoving his shoulder good-naturedly. It’s not hard enough to push him back in the water, but it’s enough that he swats her off. “I’m just saying .”
“So Earth isn’t so bad, after all?” he asks, smug.
Beckett rolls her eyes. “I guess ,” she allows, grudgingly. “But don’t go telling anyone.”
Brad just grins, turning back to the sunset. They don’t say much more after that.
_____
Beckett is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of the hotel they’re staying at overnight, when she comes to a decision. “I’m going to have sex with Brad.”
D’Vana, who Beckett had been pretty sure was sleeping, chokes in the dark. “Beckett what the fuuu -��
Beckett sits up. “I’m going to have sex with Brad,” she reiterates, throwing the covers off.
The bedside lamp clicks on, washing the room in a pale, yellow light. D’Vana’s expression is somewhere between I’m too sleep-deprived to deal with this shit and a murder is happening tonight .
“Like, right now?” she asks, finally.
“No time like the present,” Beckett says, already halfway out the door. Whatever protests D’Vana has is cut off when the door slides shut behind her. Sam and Brad are staying just across the hall, so it takes no time to get there and knock on the door.
“So are we gonna fuck or what?” Beckett asks the minute Brad shows his face. Sam makes a choked, gagging noise from somewhere behind him. Brad makes an equally despairing sound.
“Sam, could you-?”
“Gone! I'm gone.” Sam pushes past them, heading for the other suite. “I'll just sleep with D’Vana-- in D’Vana’s room!” He hurriedly course corrects, “In her room. I'm--I'll. Bye.” He ducks behind the door, slamming it.
“Yeesh, my girl ain't getting any tonight.”
“But we are apparently,” Brad dryly remarks. Or tries to dryly remark. It comes out strangled. “I thought that was a limited offer.”
“Yeah well, maybe I changed my mind. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”
Brad opens the door wider. “I didn't know you needed a literal invitation like some sort of vampire.”
“I was being polite.” She brushes past him. “I am capable of that on occasion.” She flops on the bed with forced bravado. Brad starts doing that thing where he avoids eye contact but realizes it's awkward so he then makes too much eye contact. Beckett resists the urge to tease him about it, if only because she's starting to feel weird about everything too.
“I’m not saying no-”
“Jesus, okay, rejection time-”
“But right now might not be the best time,” he finishes, face crimson.
“What?” She glances around the room. “Master suite in a five star hotel in San Francisco is a worse time for you than a storage closet? I didn't know you had an exhibition thing-”
“ I don't.” Brad scowls. “I'm just not in the mood.”
Oh.
“Oh,” she says, leaning back with her hands supporting her behind her. She kind of feels like an asshole for just assuming he’d be down anytime. There’s another moment of silence. Awkward.
Then, “I have some old timey soap-opera that Jen gave me, on my padd. You down?”
_____
“I don’t think this is a soap opera,” Brad says, ten minutes into their third episode.
They’re both lying on top of the covers, padd propped on a pillow, watching a collection of random episodes Beckett seemingly has. There’s about four feet of yawning distance between them, four impossible feet that’s frankly starting to piss Beckett off for reasons she’s trying not to examine.
“He’s married to his best friends’ daughter which means his mother-in-law made out with him,” Beckett replies, rolling her eyes. “His wife and her parents are pretty much the same age. He gets assassinated by his wife who was trained by a cultist group to take him down. How is that not a soap opera?”
Brad shrugs. “It just seems to be more action based.”
“Give it time, you’ll get it.”
Silence as they watch the main characters get chased by dinosaurs. Brad, surprisingly, does not offer up why it’s unrealistic--(she can totally hear him lecturing on about how dinosaurs actually had feathers, Beckett, and that one was definitely bipedal why is it on all fours?)-- instead tapping his fingers against the mattress and occasionally spacing out.
Whatever. Beckett’s perfectly comfortable reclining on the other side of the bed and ignoring him.
“It’s not me, right?” she blurts out. “I didn’t like, push you too much and now you want nothing to do with me?”
Way to sound insecure, Mariner.
Brad startles in surprise. “What? No!” He sits up. “Why would-”
“I don’t know, it’s just weird! And we’re not weird like this--we watch shit all the time together and make fun of it and it’s not socially awkward!”
“I’m not trying to be socially awkward! I just-”
“Well you are -”
“I thought you were mad at me ?” He tries, looking askance.
Beckett blinks across the bed at him. “You thought-- what --that I was mad at you for not being up for-”
“If you make that pun, I swear to god-”
“Not a pun, I’m being literal-you thought -”
“Beck-”
“You thought I was upset that you aren’t in the mood for-for my weird need to-to-” She can’t even finish it.
“Ughrhrh.” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “It sounds bad when you say it out loud.”
“Yeah no shit, Bradward.” She huffs loudly, turning back to the episode only to find that it’s over.
“Sorry,” he says at last, still into his hands. “I’m having a weird night.”
Aaaand now Beckett feels like shit. Because of course she was making everything about her when there were other people emotionally involved. God she needed to talk to her therapist.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, nervously tapping her foot at the air.
Brad drops his hands, staring at her flatly. “Do you really want to hear my weird TMI relationship hangups?”
Oh fuck, it’s gonna be that kind of talk.
“Uh, yes? I tell you my weird shit all the time-”
“ Unsolicited -”
“And you don’t give a shit. Why would I be upset about you telling me your weird shit? Is it a kink thing? I bet it’s a kink thing.”
“It’s not a-! Just-just let me talk!”
Beckett makes a phhhft- ing noise, but relents. She twiddles her thumbs for a moment, a mannerism she picked up from D’Vana over the years. Brad’s eyes zero in on the motion for a moment, as he nervously begins tapping his fingers against the mattress again and then stopping to clasp his hands tightly.
“You know how I don’t really. Date people?” he tries, wincing slightly.
“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs.
“Have you ever wondered why-”
“Because our friend group is so batshit fucking certifiable that any potential boyfriends or girlfriends get scared off. It’s why Amina and I were never gonna get back together.” Beckett doesn’t say duh , but it lingers in the air.
Brad rolls his eyes. “ Yes that, but also I don’t date people for the same reason it took D’Vana six years to figure out she and Sam were dating.”
Oh.
“Oh. Oh .” Beckett blinks for a moment, world realigning. “Wait, how did I not know that about you? I know everything about you.” Which is entirely the wrong response to your best friend sharing something that personal, but Brad doesn’t seem to pick up on it so Beckett thinks it’s okay. Hopefully.
“Apparently, not,” he replies, amused.
“But, you’re like. Okay hooking up every once in a while.” God, she hopes so. If she pressured her best friend into having drunk sex with her-
“Yeah, I’m in the mood every once in a while. Like, once a year kind of once in a while,” Brad says casually, alleviating her worries. “Just not right now.”
“Oh okay, cool.” A pause. “Thank you for telling me.”
He rolls his eyes again like she knows she’s going over every social media post and session with her therapist concerning how to handle your best friend coming out to you in her head and settles down next to her. “Whatever. What’s happening?” he asks, turning back to the padd.
Beckett apparently has episodes out of order because the main characters are hijacking the 1969 Earth space missions. “An alien race that controls humans through post-hypnotic suggestions is giving them the technology to land on their own moon.”
Brad huffs, amused. “Naturally.”
_____
Everything kind of goes back to normal after that.
Well, as normal as things get on the Cerritos .
Beckett takes her conversation with Brad to mean that he’s not interested in le sex with her (at the moment anyway) and backing off is in their best interests.
Whatever, she didn’t really know what she was going on about anyway. It’s not as if she was using not remembering their one-night stand as an excuse to hook up with Brad because she’s suffering from unacknowledged requited feelings.
(She’s not. She’s not . Goddamnit.)
The ship seems to give a collective sigh of relief, now that Beckett and Brad aren’t doing...whatever it was they were. Beckett is back to annoying the shit out of her best friend and Brad is back to pretending like he hates everything she stands for. It’s a comfortable equilibrium that Beckett’s glad to be back to.
Even if she still ponders all of the what ifs .
_____
If Beckett’s life is a movie--which is a metaphor she hasn’t used yet, but now’s probably the best time to start because the drama of hooking up with her best friend is totally some awkward comedy shit--then the Halloween party Sam and Jen throw is the punch line. Or the climax--whatever, no pun intended.
Beckett didn’t even know Halloween was like still a Thing until she and her friend group came across a Halloween themed shop during shore leave.
“Isn’t it July?” Beckett had pondered. “I’m pretty sure this holiday is supposed to be in October?”
“It’s one of those “Holiday in July” shops,” Brad said, rolling his eyes at D’Vana who’d donned a witches hat on and was cackling appropriately. “They were totally a thing when I was a kid.”
Sam pulled out his comm. “You know how Jen wanted to throw a party for the end of our assignment in the Neutral Zone? I think I know what theme we should go with.”
Beckett had laughed, delighted at the idea of them throwing a Halloween Bash on the Cerritos , but hadn’t taken it seriously until she walked into her favorite bar on the ship, which was now decked out in the most ridiculous decorations she’s ever seen.
“This is amazing,” Beckett says.
D’Vana grins. “Right? I think I’m going to marry Jen.”
“If I don’t get there first,” Sam retorts, darting off in Jen’s direction. D’Vana shouts after him, breaking out into a run. Beckett shakes her head and heads off to find a corner to enjoy her alcohol in peace.
She finds one, and gets through one red, plastic cup of cheap beer before Brad is at her shoulder.
“So, we’re done being weird, right?” Brad confirms. Surprised that he actually has the backbone to bring The Incident up, Beckett shrugs, eyes still on a dancing D’Vana. She’s somehow roped to humans into a weird-threeway dance that is honestly making Beckett wish she had a recorder device on her.
“Yeah, we’re good,” she says. “Sorry for. You know.”
“It’s cool,” Brad replies, giving her a thumbs up. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually?”
This gives Beckett pause. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, someone in our friend group was eventually going to hook up and make everything awkward,” Brad rubs the back of his neck, laughing, well, awkwardly . “Sucks that it was us but,” he shrugs in a what can you do way.
Beckett nods back, almost absentmindedly. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah,” she finishes off, lamely and god this is awkward. “Could have been worse,” she finally settles on.
“Could’ve been me and D’Vana,” Brad agrees, nose wrinkling at the thought. She’s pretty sure he had a crush when they first met, but it mellowed out over the years. Especially after D’Vana made it clear to a handsy ensign that she was only interested in girls .
(And being in a co-dependent/queerplatonic relationship with one Samantha Rutherford, but that was beside the point.)
Still, something about the suggestion of the two hooking up leaves a sour pit in Beckett’s stomach.
“It’s too bad though,” she blurts out, “that it happened like the way it did.”
Brad pauses, brow furrowed.
“I mean,” she bulldozes on when he doesn’t say anything. “If I’d have had a choice on how it would have happened...I would have done things differently.”
“Oh?” Brad angles his body toward hers. She leans back against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Yeah.” Her voice sounds far away.
“How would you have done things?”
“I-” She fists her palms and then forces herself to relax them. “Well, for starters I wouldn’t have been drunk .”
“Ah.” Brad winces, probably remembering the terrible hangovers they had the next day. “Yeah that probably wasn’t the best -”
“And it would have meant something.”
There. She said it.
It’s what her mom’s been hinting at for years now, what D’Vana had been getting at and Jen and Sam and even Brad himself; the one truth that Beckett had been shoving to the back of her mind, since even before that shared night with Brad.
Brad Boimler is her best friend and she’s in love with him.
The pause goes on for too long. Beckett doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t dare breathe. She keeps her eyes firmly on D’Vana, who’s been joined by a slightly tipsy Sam. They dance around each other, ridiculous and fond.
“It did mean something.”
Beckett whips her head around, meeting Brad’s gaze disbelievingly. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.
“Of course it meant something,” he says. “It was with you.”
Beckett likes to think that she’s smarter than the average person. And if not smarter, witty enough to pass as smarter. She has an automated response for every situation, a retort for every comment, a comeback for every line. There isn’t much that phases her-at least not until she woke up in a hotel room, naked, with her best friend at her side. And just like then, Beckett finds herself speechless.
“Oh,” she says, dumbly, as if she just hadn’t shown her own hand less than a minute ago.
“Mmm,” Brad agrees, looking stressed out. He doesn’t take it back though. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, beyond staring at her intensely. Then, “Oh god, I made it weird again.”
“No, no,” Beckett holds her hands up placatingly as Brad begins to freak out. “ I made it weird first, you don’t have to-”
“Well I made it weirder!”
“No,” Beckett grabs his collar, shaking him slightly, “-no you didn’t -”
“ Then why are you freaking out? ” He throws his hands up in the air, almost dislodging her grip on his shirt. She tightens it, bringing him down to her eye level.
“I’m not freaking out you’re freaking out -”
“Then why are you the one all up in my personal spa-”
“I’m not-”
“ Jesus Christ , WILL YOU TWO JUST KISS!” D’Vana shouts over the booming bass of Spooky Scary Skeletons Communist Remix.
Beckett freezes , as does Boimler. She’s suddenly aware that the two of them are standing, nose to nose, practically shouting at each other--even though the loud music drowns out what they’re saying to the people around them (thank god).
Beckett slowly lets go of Boimler’s shirt.
“Uhm.” She blinks up at him, every part of her completely aware that she left the ball in his court last time they had an opportunity to do anything.
Brad looks like he’s wrestling with himself--not an uncommon emotion when it comes to the uptight little dude--eyes darting from both of her eyes to her lips, to over her shoulder where D’Vana is probably being a little creep. Then, all of the tension bleeds out of his body, all at once and a determined look lights up in his eyes.
“ Fuck it,” he says, cupping her face and kissing her.
_____
The walk from the bar to Beckett’s room has never seemed longer, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that they can’t keep their hands off each other.
Even with the buzz of alcohol in her system, Beckett feels entirely present for once in her life. She pushes Brad back against her door, pressing kisses into his lips and the length of his jawline. He gives a little huff when she nips at his skin, pushing her off enough to get a good look at her.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Never been surer,” she replies, already having a go at his buttons. She gets down to the final one, pleased to note that this time they aren’t interrupted. “Are you sure?” she blinks up at him. “You’re in the mood, right?”
“Yes, Beck, I’m in the mood.” Brad rolls her eyes. It looks fond. “Are you in the mood?”
“So so in the mood,” she agrees.
“Great, now that we’ve covered the consent end of this-”
Beckett interrupts, diving back in for more kisses, much to his bemusement.
A few minutes later finds the two of them on her bed, sans their clothes. Beckett wants to feel very very smug about the fact that it’s been a while since that first, mistaken one night stand and Brad still has bruises in places unmentionable, but she’s kind of in the same boat.
“Holy shit, watch it ,” she swats at his face as he kind of nips at a dark bruise on her thigh.
“Oh I am .”
“Stop, that’s not sexy,” she kicks his shoulder, scowling when he snorts.
“Uh-huh.”
“No, no it’s not .”
“Yeah, okay, I stopped doing it .” Brad stares up at her unblinkingly for a moment.
Beckett stares back, arms folded-which feels weird because she’s super naked right now, but she’s already started doing it and Beckett fucking commits to shit-scowl firmly in place. Their little stare off only lasts for a minute longer before Beckett groans, “ Ugh , do it again.”
Brad does not, in fact, do it again because he's laughing too hard at her.
Beckett raises an eyebrow, flipping them over. Brad does not look like he minds, though, blinking up at her with equal amounts bemusement and what Beckett is assuming is appreciation. Whatever, it’s not as if Beckett doesn’t know that she’s smoking hot. It’s nice to see that Brad can acknowledge it though.
“Sooo,” he says, hands on her hips, steadying her as she grabs a scrunchy off the nightstand to pull her wayward hair out of her eyes. “How do you want to do this?”
Beckett takes a moment to make herself comfortable in his lap. “How did we do this last time?”
Brad’s face turns red. “Uhm, I’m not sure if-”
Beckett grins, leaning in. “How’d we do it last time, Brad?”
“ Beckett ,” he whines. She flicks his nose, but then leans in to give him a quick peck. “That’s cheating,” he tells her.
She shrugs, unrepentant. “Well you have all the time in the world to make an honest woman out of m-”
“ Stoooop ,” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “I hate you. Maybe we should ’ve been drunk for this.”
“I have tequila under the bed.”
“Why do you-nevermind.” Brad sits up, jostling her slightly. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”
“Too much talking, more kissing,” Beckett says, pressing a couple of featherlight kisses on his lips. She gets her way--as always--and there’s very little talking after that.
(That’s a lie, of course, because it’s BeckettandBrad, meaning that there’s a lot shit-talk and laughing and an embarrassing amount of awkward moments where Brad elbows her in the eye or Beckett makes a noise that’s distinctly not sexy, but honestly? Neither of them would have it any other way.)
_____
The next day goes like this:
Beckett shows up to her shift 40 minutes late, a string of freshly made hickeys on her neck and a shit-eating grin on her face. Freeman takes one look at her and reassigns her off the Bridge for the day, muttering something incomprehensible about grandbabies that Beckett’s forcibly not thinking too hard about.
She finds D’Vana just outside of medbay, who looks utterly delighted by Beckett’s disheveled appearance.
“So, everything’s fine between you two?” D’Vana is grinning a little evilly.
Beckett throws an arm over her shoulder, delighted as always over their height difference. “Oh so fine, mi amore.”
D’Vana shoves her off, but looks just as pleased as Beckett feels. “Thank god,” she says. “I couldn’t take much more of your sad, sad faces. It was embarrassing.”
This gives Beckett pause. “Hey, we weren’t that bad,” she protests.
“Oh, you definitely were,” D’Vana promises. “There’s only so many times Sam and I can lock you two in a storage closet before our quaple isn’t worth it anymore. We were like a minute away from throwing you out of the polycule.”
“I- polycule? Since when -”
“Oh Beckett,” D’Vana sighs. “I have some bad news for you.”
“Did you know that we were in a platonic quaple with Sam and D’Vana?” Beckett shrieks, practically flying out of the turbolift.
Brad stares at her. “...yes?”
No one tells Beckett anything.
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squidbatts · 4 years
Text
your funny mouth to the clouds
Or: Fabian stresses, confesses, and gets some kisses in
((The last couple of Fantasy High episodes have been Buckwild but IN THIS HOUSE we ignore current canon happenings to write about fabian wanting to kiss ragh and then getting to kiss ragh!!! because i crave ragh/fabian content even if i have to Do Everything Myself))
{ao3}
Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, knows he’s hot; it’s kind of his whole thing, being a charming, roguish pirate, as dangerous as he is dashing. So, obviously, it makes complete sense that he and Gorgug would be Ragh’s dream makeout partners. They’re all hot athletes and they spend a decent amount of time together, he gets it.
It shouldn’t even be a thing.
Except that Fabian can’t stop thinking about it. When Ragh lances a demon through the eye and then turns to grin at Fabian, manic, muscles straining his letterman jacket, he thinks about it; when Fabian’s trying to teach the party literally anything about the sea and Ragh slides in right next to him, body a point of warmth on Fabian’s left side as he points at completely the wrong part of the map, he thinks about it; when Ragh tears off his shirt and leaps into the water with Fabian, throws a glistening and sea-wet arm over Fabian’s bare shoulders, tugs Fabian into his sculpted chest as he laughs-
The point is, Fabian keeps thinking about it.
Which is why he thinks he should be excused for asking Kristen for advice; she is, after all, their “token gay friend"; the rest of his close friends are straight, so she’s really the only one he can ask.
“Kristen,“ Fabian starts one afternoon when it’s just the two of them on the roof, “You know about gay stuff, right?“
Kristen lights up. “I don’t know if you know this-“
“I do, you say it all the time-“
“-but I’m gay!“ Kristen finishes like she doesn’t come out over breakfast every morning. “So yeah, I do.“
“Awesome, great, listen, I have a question. Have you ever- hm.“ Fabian cuts himself off with a hum as he attempts to word it correctly. He decides to try another route. “Do you think Ragh is attracted to me?“
“Oh, for sure,“ Kristen says and, even though he already knew that, Fabian chokes on air in surprise at her surety. “He’s really into the whole ’straight boy jock’ thing and, I’m a lesbian, but even I know that you’re objectively the hottest person in our party. You and Fig are the hot ones.“
“Obviously,“ Fabian replies, kneejerk.
“Yeah, so, duh. Why do you ask?“ Kristen asks, and Fabian-
Fabian falters because, obviously, he wants to get to the bottom of why he can’t just forget about Ragh’s proposition like Gorgug has, but the idea of talking about it, of telling Kristen makes his stomach twist. Something about it makes him feel weird, the same way he feels weird whenever he thinks about Ragh wanting to kiss him.
“He just said something and I-“ Fabian waves a hand dismissively. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.“
Kristen’s eyebrows furrow and she places a hand on Fabian’s arm, firm but still kind. “If you’re uncomfortable with a gay man simply being attracted to you, you’re the asshole here. But listen, Jawbone has some pamphlets about it and we can totally work this out-“
“I’m not uncomfortable, I just wanted to know if he had said anything to you,“ Fabian says, the words quick and awkward in his mouth. Maybe I am uncomfortable, He considers. Maybe the twisting how of his gut and the heating of his face are merely symptoms of his discomfort. He’s always been fine with Kristen and Tracker, he was fine with Ragh when he told them about Dane, but maybe he just thought he wasn’t homophobic until it directly affected him.
Kristen stares at him silently for a second, tilting her head as her eyebrows raise. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed that.“ She says, then, “Well, actually, I maybe would’ve because you’re like, supernaturally obsessed with your appearance, but stereotyping is bad and all that.“
“What are you talking about?“ Fabian snaps, irritated with her vagueness. He realizes that he should’ve just gone to Adaine for help, she reads books and knows about a great many things, not to mention that it certainly would’ve been less of a tax on his patience than dealing with Kristen at her… Kristen-est.
“I think… I think you should talk to Ragh,“ Kristen says, and then continues on quickly before Fabian can get the horrified Absolutely not out of his mouth. “No, listen, this is really something that would go best if you just, like, talked to Ragh about it, I think. And like, I rolled a seventeen on persuasion, so you kind of have to.”
Fabian, not blessed in wisdom, fails his saving throw and has to admit that Kristen’s point is pretty compelling. Still, “I don’t even know where Ragh is right now.”
Kristen gives him a look that clearly says We all live in the same vanboat, you have to know that he’s less than three minutes away. She leans away from Fabian and, still holding eye contact, yells into the van, "Hey, Ragh, Fabian wants to talk to you!"
"Kristen, no," Fabian hisses. Kristen just grins back at him.
"Kristen, yes!" She says, "You will so thank me for this."
Fabian is still cursing Kristen's name when Ragh climbs up to join them on the roof. He's wearing his normal jeans but has elected to leave his letterman jacket in the van. Probably a good idea, Fabian thinks, eyes involuntarily drawn to the sheen of sweat over Ragh's biceps as Ragh stretches before he sits. It's been hot all day, but Fabian would bet gold that it's gotten hotter in the past five minutes. He certainly feels rather feverish, suddenly.
"What's the problem, bro?" Ragh asks when he settles down. Kristen makes a face at him from behind Ragh's back and mouths Take my advice!!!! When he pretends not to notice and instead stares pointedly at the sea, she huffs loudly.
"Well, I'm going to go back into the van, I'm real tired," She says, obnoxiously obvious. Fabian makes a face back at her when Ragh turns towards her. "I'll, uh,see you guys later. Don't even worry about everyone else, I'll keep 'em down there."
Fabian tries to infuse enough That is absolutely not what I want! and Don't leave us alone! into a single glare to make her stay, but she just winks at him, like she's a bard or something, which of course makes Ragh turns back to Fabian, puzzled.
"What was all that about?"
"It's nothing, really," Fabian says, forcing lightness into his voice as he waves a hand, as though all this awkwardness could be as easily dispelled as Fig's cigarette smoke. "Kristen is just being dramatic."
Ragh frowns, his dark eyes are stormily serious. Fabian's heart skips a beat. "We're bros. And bros don't have to lie about their feelings, right?"
"... Right."
"Dude." Ragh says as he punches Fabian's arm, clearly about to get started on the Jawbone taught me emotional vulnerability and now I think everyone should do it spiel. Fabian's already heard it at least one time apiece from Kristen and Adaine, and he still thinks he's good on the emotions front, thank you very much. Still, his stomach flips even now with nerves, and he thinks of how Kristen thought that talking with Ragh would sort him out. As truly awful as he imagines it will be, he wonders if Kristen has a point, just this once.
"Alright, alright!" He concedes, "I suppose we can talk about my feelings."
"Awesome!" Ragh grins lopsidedly, shifting to sit lotus style, his full attention on Fabian. "Now, what's up?"
A feeling rises in Fabian's chest, like his ribcage is stuck in a vice, and he feels nearly sick with guilt. Here Ragh is, so kindly and sincerely devoting his attention to Fabian, and Fabian's body can't even relax enough to appreciate it.
"I think I owe you an apology," Fabian says, and before Ragh can respond, he rushes on with, "I think I might be homophobic, but I'm going to work on it and be a better friend for you and Kristen, and I'm very sorry."
Ragh's opens and closes his mouth wordlessly a few times, tusks catching on his upper lip. "I- what?"
Fabian sighs huffily and explains, how he's felt weird and off-kilter since Ragh's proposition and Kristen's offered explanation. Ragh listens thoughtfully, brow furrowed and a hand on his chin. He's still frowning as Fabian finishes his tale and Fabian fights the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.
"I don't think you're homophobic, dude," Ragh says, eventually. He sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, like he's walking on eggshells, and Fabian aches to think that he's made Ragh think that he has to do that.
"Of course I am, what else could it be?" Fabian asks, and Ragh screws up half of his face. "See! I made you uncomfortable with my- weirdness. I'm sorry."
"No, no, I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just trying to… Reconcile some things. Sort stuff out in the old noggin." Fabian tries not to look too doubtful but Ragh must've aced his insight check because he sighs and continues, "Listen, this has got to be weird for you too, I mean, obviously it is if you think you're a homophobe, but I think there's a pretty easy way to figure out what your discomfort means."
"And what would that be?" Fabian asks snipily, turning away. He doesn't like apologizing in the first place, much less when the other person won't just accept it.
"Feel free to say no, but I figured you could just try kissing me." Ragh says, and Fabian’s head whips back to him. Ragh lifts up his hands defensively. “Full disclosure, I think you’re super hot so I'm definitely getting something out of this, but if you can't stop thinking about it… It couldn't hurt, could it?"
Ragh shrugs as he lays his offer down and Fabian-
Fabian's heart pounds like he's in the middle of a Bloodrush play as heat pools in his face and his stomach. He hadn't ever considered actually kissing Ragh, but now that it's on the table, something deep within him twists with want.
"One kiss?" Fabian asks, trying to will away his blush, "I wouldn't be… Opposed."
"Uh-uh, none of that. I need a definite yes or no, bro," Ragh says, "I don't want to pressure you into this."
Fabian feels his flush flare hotter and squeezes his eyes shut. The deep buried part of him has rapidly expanded and spread throughout his body, leaving his fingers twitching towards Ragh and his lips tingling with anticipation. He can't imagine saying no, but to say yes also seems almost insurmountable. He opens his eyes, sees how softly Ragh smiles and the patience in his eyes, and it feels like someone's reached into Fabian's chest and twisted. Fabian nods, excessively, embarrassingly, then says, "Yes, yes, I'd like to try it-" before Ragh is upon him like the tide on a beach.
It's different from kissing Aelwyn; there's no bitter taste of alcohol or sticky-sweet lipgloss, no, Ragh's lips are chapped and he tastes of salt from days at sea, but it's still so much. Ragh cups Fabian's head, gentle, but presses his mouth insistently forward, easily leading Fabian through the sweeping movements of a makeout. Fabian's heartbeat still thuds in his ears, but he can also hear Ragh's slow and steady breaths, feel how he nips Fabian's lips and smiles against Fabian's mouth. When it's over, when Ragh pulls back and Fabian embarrassingly chases after him for half a second, Fabian is breathing like he's been near-drowned.
"Still think you're homophobic?" Ragh asks, teeth flashing in the ocean sunlight, lips slick from Fabian. Fabian burns brightly.
"I have," Fabian clears his throat awkwardly. "A few other theories now."
Ragh laughs, full and perfect, throwing his head back. Fabian looks at the vast muscled expanse of his neck, realizes that the twist of his gut just means that he wants to press a kiss to the juncture of Ragh's jawline and neck, and thinks, Huh.
"Well, that was super fun," Ragh says, clapping Fabian on the back, "Always down to help a fellow Owlbear with a sexuality crisis, dude, just let me know if you wanna do that again."
Ragh heads back into the vanboat, whistling cheerfully, and Fabian waits until he's absolutely out of sight to raise a shaking hand to his lips. He feels a smile giddily crawling over his face and he buries his face in his hands rather than risk someone seeing him like that. He wonders, in a corner of his mind that's not fully busy simply rejoicing over getting his kisses in, if having a boyfriend is much different than having a girlfriend.
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garbagegrimoire · 3 years
Text
podcast notes week 1
Here are the notes I had going into the podcast recording for week 1. 
There are some spoilers in here & all of the doodle/synopsis posts have not yet dropped but the episode is recorded & here we gooooo...
Train to Busan
Starting out strong with a zombley deert (to speak in cursed rickyisms).
Giving his kid some yuppie bullshit talk & almost gets them clobbered in traffic, great dad.
Damn that escalated quickly. Why did it take so long for the first lady to turn but the others are like instantaneous?
The shots, effects, & choreography in this movie are crazy!
The grandma has lucid moments before changing which seems more than what the passengers got. & she used them to break hearts.
Ohhh he's a “fund manager,” ofc he's a dick.
Watching a zombie movie during a pandemic hits different.
I like that the bad ass in this movie is a soon to be dad with a dad bod & he's also a boomer who doesn't know how to change his ringtone.
Okay, they’re officially fit daddy & dad bod.
Okay legit tears at dad bod sacrificing himself even though I knew it was coming.
LOL young capitalist bastard fighting old capitalist bastard
This is capitalism & I hate it. OFC the motherfucker willing to screw over everyone else even if he doesn't need to prevails nearly to the end.
We need a zombie killing axe... Oh wait, nevermind, a shoe is good too.
Oh wow, that shit is poignant. The most ruthless capitalist of the group having a mama moment before he changes.
I'm sitting here yelling, get his nards, fit daddy! Do the nuts still have any effect?
Oh shit, fit daddy is infected. Human bites are gross.
This sucks, I hate it. :(
OH FUCK WHY DO THEY MAKE IT WORSE OMG!
& worse.
I didn't want to cry this much, not fair.
Re-Animator
Ooh, my German 101 skills are tingling.
Chaos nerd is everything in this scene. You wondrous ball of absolute cheese.
The security guard saying "Nobody wants in & ain't nobody getting out" is the Chekov's gun of this movie.
Fuckin’ nerd talk. Do either of you even lift? Why don't you duke this out in a tables, ladders, & chairs match?
I don't feel great about that transition between her playfully saying "no" & them full plowing. Greeeeeassy.
I'm with the cat on this one — scratch him!
"The world's last living puritan." LOL, come to eastern Washington tho.
How in the world is this lady's creep radar going off w nerdboy but not with the creepy old man trying to bang her?
They did a few things really well with this cat thing. Because usually I could not DEAL with violence against a pet. First the dead cat doesn't look anywhere near realistic, nonetheless once it's reanimated. Also, there's no like huge emotional connection between the character & the cat because the only experience the viewer has with it prior to it dying is it scratching his back after he's done banging, which I mean, solid choice there kitty.
"Because it's maaaad?" Best line in this mf movie.
I like how quick Halsey turns on nerdboy who he was stoked on like two days later. All because he insulted the creepy old man?
"Here's your meatball!" Writers were A+ obv.
"I know you're all by yourself now." Ew no. Again, she reacts to something other than the creepy old guy trying to bang her. PLEASE REACT, maybe punch him in the face or move to a different state without notifying anyone.
I’m dying, it looks like he's dribbling cherry applesauce out of his mouth.
This is the corniest, dumbest break up scene I've ever watched.
So once they're lobotomized they have like a mind link with the old guy head? Alright...?
Okay so we've arrive. This scene is fucking pure unadulterated cringe & makes me feel like I need to take several showers & drink bleach.
"Get a job & a sideshow." This entire movie is this nerd & that's what I'm here for.
How is there this seemingly endless supply of this green ooze? Also this reminds me of TMNT.
LOL the murderous colon strikes.
I'm very confused on the rules of what stays alive & how. Like the hand is still twitching but the guy in the hallway is dead?
Nothing gore-wise has bothered me so far but the chest compression sound is gross.
This guy is the worst. If he loved her he'd let her die.
Plan 9 From Outer Space
"Future events such as these will affect you in the future." You don’t say, friend.
Hillabilly gravediggers saying "sorta spooky like" is the mood here.
The scream is so good. 
A conspiracy theorist manifesto delivered on a suburban patio made entirely out of wicker.
The walking dead in this movie are so much more chill than the last two, just saying. Like if you're going to kill me, fine, but be chill about it.
"The earth people who can think are so frightened by those who cannot — the dead." Truuuuuuu. Thinking sucks, bro.
The pillow talk is all kinds of weird.
Hey, I know you're worried too, but because you're a child that can't care for herself, make sure you lock the doors because that's something a feeble woman wouldn't remember to do.
"You are on the verge of destroying the entire universe." Ooof this hits different now.
Yeah, it's old timey & corny but there are some seriously artsy scenes in this. I love the glowing trees.
Vampira is aesthetic goals if: I was more feminine, if I gave a fuck, if anyone ever looked at me, lol.
If some big dead dude was coming for you why in the hell would you just stand there or sit there & scream? Like these are the easiest monsters to escape from, you all are so gd slow.
That's it, I'm dressing up as one of these aliens for Halloween. All I need is some black pants, a belt, & a shiny purple shirt.
LOL little green men. Shoot first, ask questions later. Get all the tropes in there buck-o.
I just realized the dude alien is called Eros & I'm laughing. Total heartthrob. "You're always right, Eros." Fucking yuuuck. Miss me with all of this.
Holy trigger happy.
Explode the actual particles of sunlight. LOL, OMG "STRONGER NATION THAN NOW." These fucking nationalist trashbags.
Yes, of course aliens are religious too. & the're sexists. OH MY GOD IM GOING TO THROW THE MONITOR OUT THE WINDOW STAHP!
This was so much. I mean it's the old humans are dumb, violent animals & need to be gently led or annihilated. Okay, that can be true. But the aliens here needed to FOAD too.
Dead Birds
Is Mark Boone Jr in everything & will he die early? (yes)
Very aesthetic theme
Bank manager's whiskers are on point. 
The fuck? Oooh racist, niiiiice. I hate everyone all the time.
Yup this is how bank robbers would behave, wanting to kill of members of the gang to get a bigger share.
Gross, just listening into their friends banging, being creepy.
Is it turning into a bear? (Ohhh, the footprints)
Okay one of these dudes actually has something like a conscience, good to know, still hate him.
54 minutes in & I'm getting real bored.
Good jump scare w the little girl.
Okay the lady in the barn was too much for me. Gore was too much.
"There are worse things than dying" Best line.
Okay first I was like "that's not vomit, it's too white" & then I realized she'd been in bed with her dude earlier & yelled "ew, is she puking cum?" at my computer because that's where my dumpster fire of a brain goes.
Poor horses :(
He just disappeared? TF?
Nah, I’m not feeling this.
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tyrus-time · 6 years
Text
You’re Still The One // Tyrus Month, "College”
@tyrusweek /// AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768714
Summary: Cyrus and TJ had grown very close, but they lost touch throughout high school. TJ wished he had told Cyrus how he really felt all those years ago, but he finally accepted that he would never know what might have been. Until one day, when TJ is walking aroun d his newuniversity campus after transferring. Call it fate, destiny, or the Universe -- something brings the two of them back together again.
“TJ Kippen?!”
TJ heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned around to see none other than Cyrus Goodman, his friend from middle school. “Hey, look who it is!”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s you! I didn’t know we both went here!” The excitement in Cyrus’ voice sent warmth through TJ’s chest.
“I actually just transferred here this semester. I finished my associate’s at community college and now I’m here on scholarship.” TJ smiled, “It’s great to see you! I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”
“Well, it’s a pleasant surprise for me, too.” Cyrus’ eyes looked TJ up and down, not-so-subtly checking him out. “You look great, by the way,” he remarked.
“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” TJ winked, attempting to maintain his suave confident exterior. Nevermind the fact that his knees felt weak and his heart felt fluttery.
The two smiled at each other for a moment until Cyrus looked away to check his watch. “Oh geez, I need to get to class now, but I’d love to catch up with you later... Would you like to meet for dinner?”
TJ smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that. Any suggestions where? I’m new around here and I don’t know the local hangout spots.”
“Yeah, do you have the same cell number as you did before? I can text you the details.”
TJ nodded. “Sounds good. See you later, Cyrus.”
TJ couldn’t believe it. What were the odds that he’d run into Cyrus here and now?
They hadn’t seen each other in four or five years. The two had been inseparable during middle school. They had been close — closer than most teenage boys allowed themselves to be. Their friendship was so supportive; it seemed like a bond to last a lifetime. But there was something else about their relationship. A natural chemistry. An intimate longing. Feelings that neither of them outright acknowledged or acted upon. Oh, the uncertainty of adolescence.
The two fell out of touch when they went to different high schools, and if TJ had one regret, it was that he never told Cyrus how he truly felt. What should I have done? I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it didn’t last anyway. Oh well, right? TJ resigned himself to the fact that he’d never have an answer to all the “what if’s.”  He would never know what might have happened between them.
But now.
Now they were here, together, at college. Meeting for dinner. Talking face-to-face.
Was this fate? Was this time to finally say everything he had previously held back? Was the universe on his side for once?
I guess I’ll find out tonight.
——
They met at a cozy cafe adjacent to campus. String lights cast a warm glow onto the street. Cyrus was waiting outside, hands in the pockets of his cardigan. He’s still the same adorable Cyrus, isn’t he, TJ noted with fondness as he approached. “Hey, Cyrus.”
Cyrus smiled and opened the door for TJ. “Shall we?”
“What a gentleman! Thank you.”
As soon as he stepped in, TJ was enveloped by the smell of coffee and cocoa. Cyrus, with his typical nerdy enthusiasm, gave TJ a rundown of the cafe’s food options. After ordering their sandwiches and grabbing their drinks, Cyrus led them over to a cozy booth in the corner. “This is my favorite spot,” he gleamed.
TJ took in the light fixtures and the art on the walls. “I can see why! Really nice atmosphere here.”
“I know, right? Ah, it’s so comfortable, but I also feel so adult when I come in here to work on my laptop and sip espresso.”
TJ chucked. “So, do you come here often?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Cyrus flirted. TJ, not expecting such a response, almost choked on his drink. “Oh, shoot, are you okay?!”
Great job, Kippen. A few minutes into this and you’re already falling apart. “I’m fine,” TJ rasped. Compose yourself. “Ah, so, how have you been? What are you studying?”
Much to TJ’s relief, his awkwardness faded as Cyrus launched into discussion of his past two years at college. Conversation came easy between the two of them, and the more they talked, the more comfortable they became. They carried on as if nothing had ever disrupted their original relationship. After a shared fit of laughter over a particularly funny anecdote, Cyrus took a deep breath and asked, “Gosh, why did we ever stop hanging out?”
TJ’s lips twitched to the side, his eyes gazing down.
Cyrus continued, “I know that life happens, but I should’ve done more to stay in touch with you after you moved. I could’ve come to support you at your high school games, but I just… stopped...”
Hearing Cyrus’ guilt made TJ’s eyes dart up. “No, do not blame yourself, Cyrus. I… I let myself drift away from everybody I met at Jefferson.” TJ bit his lip, debating how much he should reveal. “When I moved, it was because… I was put into a new foster home.”’
Cyrus’ eyes widened. “Oh, TJ, I never realized…”
“Yeah, there’s a reason for that. I never let anyone know, even you. Why do you think I never let anyone come over to my house?”
Cyrus nodded in understanding.
“There were a lot of us in that home. I didn’t get much attention or assistance from my foster parents; there were younger kids that required their care.” TJ’s voice was straightforward, but with a hint of pain. “They gave me food and a place to sleep, but I was mostly on my own. That’s kinda why I started working so young.”
Cyrus listened attentively.
“But then I was moved to be with a family that could be more attentive to me, which is great right? It was supposed to be a more supportive environment. I guess it was in some ways. But… they were pretty... conservative.”
Cyrus gave him a look, urging him to continue.
TJ sighed. “They were homophobic. I… I wouldn’t have felt safe coming out to them.”
Cyrus’ mouth fell slightly agape. “Wait. So… you’re—?
TJ smirked, “Bisexual, yeah.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Cyrus smiled. “I’m very gay, by the way, in case you couldn’t already tell.”
TJ laughed with a big grin, “Yeah, I suspected so.” The two shared a playful look.
“So… why exactly did you cut contact with us when you moved, if you don’t mind me asking? You didn’t want us to know you were in the foster system?”
“Yeah, I had a lot of shame about that. But also…” TJ took a deep breath. “I was afraid of where things might go, with… with you and me.” TJ paused. He could feel the lump rising in his throat. Everything he always wished he had said… he now had the chance to say it.
TJ took a deep breath. “I liked you, Cyrus. I always did.  All the way back to our first conversation. I thought you were cute and sweet and I wanted to get to know you, and... I think you were my first actual friend, to be honest. And… You made me a better person. I made myself be a better person, because you inspired me. I realized I wanted to be better, and I wanted to be better for you.”
TJ’s eyes finally met those of the boy in front of him. Cyrus looked starstruck. He was speechless. But in a good way, it seemed?
TJ reached across the table to grab Cyrus’ hands, which had been resting at the edge of the table. “Cyrus, maybe you never realized it, but I was in love with you,” he smiled. “Or at least, as in-love a person can be when he’s 14.”
Cyrus blinked, trying to ground himself amidst this revelatory moment.
“What are you thinking?” TJ asked nervously.
“I’m thinking… that Buffy and Andi were right, dammit!” Cyrus laughed. “They suspected that you and I were a thing. ‘You two totally make heart eyes at each other!’ But I never let myself believe it. I was too afraid… I wasn’t ready. Maybe that’s why I let myself drift away from you?” Cyrus’s brow knitted up, “I’m sorry.”
“Hey. Don’t be! I’m thankful for what we did have. You really changed my life. You should always feel proud of that, Underdog.”
Cyrus chuckled at the old nickname. “Ah, I really appreciate you saying that. But still… what might have happened, if we did things differently? I can’t help but wonder.”
TJ shrugged. “It wasn’t the right time for us,” he responded.
“Well… what about now?”
“What?”
Cyrus blushed. “What if now is the right time? For us?”
TJ tilted his head with a grin. “Cyrus Goodman, are you asking me out?” he beamed.
Cyrus put his fingers to his chin in mock-thought. “Why, yes, yes I am!” He laughed.  “Actually, I’m asking you on a second date. I’m counting this as our first.”
TJ’s smile was so warm, so bright, it could have lit up the moon. “You’re serious? You — you really want to go out with me?”
Cyrus rolled his eyes, “TJ Kippen, you must realize how attractive you are.”
“Lol, yeah, but… I don’t know, I guess I always thought I wasn’t worthy of dating you. You’re so good. I’m not that special.”
“Oh hush. Is that your insecurity or just false humility talking? Have you forgotten how much you helped me? I don’t know if I ever would have danced with danger, were it not for you! From day one, you pushed me out of my comfort zone while supporting me. I think you’re pretty damn special, TJ.”
TJ giggled with his hand over his face. He wasn’t used to be complimented so earnestly. But him and Cyrus, they had always been vulnerable with each other. It was about time that they were completely honest.
Pulling out his charming smirk, TJ laughed and admitted, “Okay fine, you’re right. I am pretty great.”
“Theeere’s that classic TJ charm!” Cyrus played.
The two men continued to banter, laughing and flirting. With old secrets and emotions finally confessed, the two continued to talk about their current lives. Both were succeeding in their studies and both had dreams of moving out to the coast. They marvelled at how easy it was to talk to each other, naturally picking up after all these years. The chemistry was still there, but there was something more. Growth. There was no longer the uncertainty of being 13.
Maybe they were ‘meant to be’ after all… It was now, finally, the right time for them.
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mx-requests-forum · 5 years
Text
[Fulfilled] At the Party
Prompt: kihyunXhyungwon childhood friends fic. Kihyun is the nerd akward guy and Hyungwon is the chic, beautiful(but super super nice) guy everyone has a crush on. Kihyun is also one of these people but hes too shy and insecure about his looks to actually do something about it(and because hes afraid of loosing his bff). That changes one day when they are at a party and play spin the bottle and kihyun has to kiss shownu. Jealous Hyungwon and then confession.
Fulfilled by Mod Ree~
Words: 6516, 4 chapters
AO3 Link
Done as part of the randomly generated request event we’re doing for New Year’s!!! I hope the requester enjoys what I came up with ^^* 
Kihyun takes a deep breath to steady his own racing heart, straightening his uniform jacket a bit as he beams from ear to ear at his own reflection. This is a good day for him. His face isn’t too puffy, he’s running just as early as he likes, and he’d had the energy the night before to pack a well-balanced lunch for himself… with just enough extra for a certain friend of his~
This is it. This is the day he’s going to confess. He can just feel it. Everything’s been too right this morning for him to not tell Hyungwon how he feels!
At least, that’s what he’s thinking until a certain boy from across the street pounds his fist against Kihyun’s window.
The brunet boy jumps, whirling about with a glare set behind his thick-framed rectangle glasses. Minhyuk’s smirking at him, waggling his fingers teasingly. Kihyun rolls his eyes, his glare expression shifting to a scowl, as he goes to open his window. His mattress dips under his knees as he kneels in front of the glass, unlocking it and shoving it upward with a grunt.
“Mornin,” Minhyuk greets, setting his large hands against the pane as if he’s planning to jump in. Kihyun clicks his tongue, shoving his friend back outside.
“Last time you came in through the window,” Kihyun explains at Minhyuk’s hurt frown, “you tracked dirt in all over my bedroom. I just cleaned yesterday, and I don’t want you making a mess of it again. If you want to come in, do it through the front door like a normal person.”
Minhyuk sighs dramatically, slumping forward and resting his torso against the pane, instead, half his body now in Kihyun’s room and half of it out.
“You’re so meeeeaaaaannn,” the light-haired boy whines in response. “What did I do to ever earn such treatment??” Kihyun shrugs, disembarking from his perch to check his hair one final time in the mirror.
“Just made a mess of everything you touch,” Kihyun answers mercilessly. Minhyuk only sighs again in reply, watching his same-age friend as he picks up a stray strand here or there with precise fingers. He frowns, leaning further into the room as he squints his eyes.
“Is that… gel in your hair??” he suddenly demands, outright gawking at the shorter boy. The tips of Kihyun’s ears go red, and he awkwardly clears his throat as he purposely avoids Minhyuk’s eyes.
“N-No,” he answers, sheepish at his own obvious lie. Minhyuk hums, wholly unconvinced. He glances behind himself, at the house just beside Kihyun’s… that just so happens to belong to Hyungwon himself.
“You gonna confess to our little Wonnie today~?”
“Confess what? Honestly, Min, you just talk in riddles sometimes,” Kihyun says, waving off his friend’s words. He keeps his back to the other, though, as he gathers the things still out on his desk in need of being put into his school bag.
“Whatever,” Minhyuk says flippantly, and Kihyun can practically hear the shrug the boy gives. “I’m just glad you’re finally doing it… I mean, I know it must be intimidating and all because of how popular he is, but still. It’s about time you told Hyungwon how you feel.” He pauses, watching for the effect his sincere words have on his friend. Though, when he sees Kihyun’s shoulders hike up tensely at the word ‘intimidating’, he can’t help but smirk knowingly at the chance to tease.
“After all, Hyungwon is the most popular boy at school, even if he is younger than us… He’s so pretty and thin, and you’re… well, you’re pretty good in choir? You two are just in totally different parts of the cliques at school. You’re the nice kid in the back who everyone gets to do their algebra homework, and Hyungwon’s the one in at least half the yearbook every year, and about fifty Valentine’s. He’s totally out of your league, and you still have the guts to confess? That’s impressive from where I’m sitting.”
Minhyuk props his chin in his palm, watching for an indignant reaction with a wicked twinkle in his eye. He thinks for a moment he’s gone too far, due to Kihyun’s prolonged state of apparent paralysis… But, then, Kihyun turns around, a strained smile to his face and an uneasy chuckle pushing through it.
“You get the weirdest ideas sometimes,” Kihyun tells him, apparently still in denial. “I mean, I care about Wonnie, yeah, but… not like that. He’s a good friend, and that’s it.” Minhyuk’s brow creases, staring scrutinizingly for a sign of a lie. After all, he knows he’s not wrong about Kihyun having feelings for their dongsaeng… but, is it possible Kihyun still hasn’t realized it…? He’d been sure at the last game of Truth or Dare that… well, nevermind.
If Kihyun wants to play it like this, then fine.
Minhyuk shrugs, as if Kihyun’s lack of a reaction doesn’t truly bother him despite the truth, and tells him he’ll meet him in front of the house in ten minutes. Kihyun nods, moving to shut the window after he’s gone and close the curtains.
Kihyun collapses on the bed once he’s sure Minhyuk’s gone, burying his face in his hands… He releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the exhale shaking his shoulders slightly. He knows he’s always been a good liar, but damn. He’s never been able to trick Minhyuk before…
Minhyuk’s words circle round and round Kihyun’s head like vultures, picking at all the doubts his own optimism had managed to somehow bury until the other boy had somehow picked at every one and brought them to the surface. He’s right, of course. Despite their close friendship over the years, Hyungwon and Kihyun have grown to run in completely different circles. Hyungwon’s accepted with the cool kids at school, smiling his way through everything, and Kihyun’s just the choir geek in the back of the room with all the assignments done at least two weeks in advance.
The boy sighs, shaking his head as all possible hopes of a positive outcome to his plan this morning are squandered. They’re too different. It’d only ruin the friendship he has with Hyungwon if he confesses now…
He gets up, shaking Minhyuk’s voice out of his ears as he goes to get his bag and leave. He’ll never in his life tell Minhyuk he was right, but… what the other doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Hyungwon steps out of his home, clutching the strap of his bag and draping it listlessly over his shoulder. He turns and sees Minhyuk already waiting for him at the usual meet-up, the lamp post smack dab in between his and Kihyun’s homes. He raises his hand in a silent greeting as he approaches, blinking slowly as he shuffles forward.
He’s only been awake for a few minutes, and he hasn’t quite gotten his bearings yet. Minhyuk nods at him, leaning against the pole and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Kihyunnie didn’t let you in through the window again?” Hyungwon asks, successfully keeping the relief from his voice. He always hates it whenever Minhyuk gets to just sneak into Kihyun’s room like that, right under his nose. Of course, he understands it, knows how close they are, but that still doesn’t mean he has to like it. Minhyuk shakes his head, pouting as he stares at Kihyun’s front door.
“No,” he replies with a sigh. “I tried, but Ki just bitched at me for making a mess the last time, so he didn’t let me…” He drifts off, glancing to Hyungwon with a raised brow, the slightest of smirks playing across his thin lips. “He seemed to really be putting an effort into his looks today… He might be planning on making a move on someone special today. Can you think of who that could be?”
Hyungwon doesn’t give Minhyuk the reaction he’s so clearly looking for, only offering a halfhearted shrug despite how his heart does somersaults in his chest. The platinum blonde tries not to think that maybe, just maybe, it’s him the older is wanting to confess to…
Before he can get lost in the hypothetical, Kihyun steps out of his home, his hair styled back to show off his widow’s peak, and his uniform perfectly put on without a single crease. Hyungwon glances down at his own haphazardly put-on uniform, his shirt not tucked in at all and his tie only half tied.
Kihyun looks as perfect as always, and Hyungwon…? Well, he’s just Hyungwon.
“Good morning,” Kihyun greets, sounding as chipper as ever… even if it sounds somewhat forced. He pauses once he gets close enough to the other two, readjusting his bag slightly for better comfort. Hyungwon tilts his head to the side at how strained Kihyun’s smile seems.
“You okay?” he asks softly, shifting closer to get a better look at his friend. Kihyun blinks, his smile faltering for the most minute of seconds before he pushes an amused breath through his teeth.
“Of course I am,” he says, already reaching out to fix Hyungwon’s tie, “but you don’t seem to be. Honestly, Wonnie, you need to start going to sleep earlier to wake up earlier. You can’t keep leaving the house like this.” Hyungwon watches skeptically as Kihyun dives into his typical behaviors, it almost seeming a bit too purposeful to the younger.
“Yeah well… maybe that’ll happen when you stop nagging me about it,” he responds, deciding to play along. He can tell he’s made the right choice when Kihyun’s shoulders noticeably drop, as if he’s finally relaxing. “Ever thought about that?”
“Well, then I guess it’ll never happen,” Kihyun says, his voice oddly soft as he finishes straightening up Hyungwon’s tie. Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments before he drops the gaze, a tempest of emotions swirling behind his dimming eyes.
Hyungwon gets the urge to pull Kihyun aside, tell him how he feels right then and there… Maybe this strange behavior is because Minhyuk is right, because Kihyun is planning to confess to someone today? If so, Hyungwon most certainly can’t have that. He can’t allow Kihyun to go running off and getting together with basically everyone under the sun before they end up together, he just won’t have it.
He begins to slowly reach out and grab Kihyun by the elbow, but Minhyuk’s voice stops him.
“Should I leave you two alone~?” Minhyuk asks teasingly. “You know, to talk~?” Hyungwon glances between the two boys curiously, wondering what Minhyuk must be talking about now. Kihyun rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in annoyance.
“Just drop it, Min,” Kihyun tells him, stepping back a couple paces from Hyungwon. The younger feels the gap between them as if it were a whole other person, feeling strangely cold. Of course, that’s nothing compared to the chilling iceberg his heart becomes at Kihyun’s next phrase. “It’s not like that between me and him, we’re just friends.”
Him. Whose… ‘him’? Who is this other boy whose stolen Hyungwon’s Kihyunnie away from him???
“Should we go?” Hyungwon prompts, turning on his heel and marching off before either can respond. He glares down at the cement as he walks, chewing on the tip of his thumb thoughtfully. He has to figure out who this other boy is, and fast. He has to save Kihyun from making the biggest mistake of his life by confessing to the wrong boy.
He has to show Kihyun how right they are for each other before it’s too late.
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loki-of-war · 6 years
Text
On the future of TWD
(EDIT: Reposting due to a formatting error)
So I’ve seen a lot of people commenting and sharing their opinions lately on how Chandler’s departure will affect the show, if it will survive this hit or not, for how many seasons more will TWD run, etc, etc. And I decided, now that I’m thinking more rationally (I hope) and I’m able to form understandable sentences, to share my honest thoughts with you lovely people on this entire mess.
Which is as follows: I give the show a minimum lifespan of ten seasons (meaning, the show will end in two more seasons) and a maximum of twelve seasons in total. This is my verdict, feel free to disagree with me.
Now onto explaining why I think this is so:
I can sort of see why old fans who left and people who have never liked Carl or feel lukewarm about him are happy this death is going to happen. But on the other side I'm thinking this kind of mentality is the reason why the show gets away with terrible decisions and why they keep making them over and over, declining in quality. I don't think it's right to condone mediocrity; this is from someone like me who has stayed on the TWD's side so far hoping they'd find the right footing at some point this season  (then, obviously, because why wouldn’t they, my patience and tolerance was rewarded with this haha). And as I mentioned in a previous comment I made on YT, no matter what the public's feelings for Carl are, they won't change the importance of his role in the plot and his fundamental connection to Rick (this latter element has an effect on the whole cast, for better or for worse).
But anyway, Carl's death is going to change the entire mood of the series from now on so it definitely will never be as it once was and I think because of that the story will slowly bleed out. I mean, Carl has been the greatest determinator for every single one of Rick's decisions the entire show, and not only that but what he symbolised as a character, the hope for a better future, is gone now. What do children, sons, daughters, symbolise in every universal story? The next generation, what comes after, that not everything is going to be screwed up forever; especially after seeing how unmerciful TWD's world has proven to be for children and having Carl be the only exception to this 'kids cannot survive this world' rule has sort of become a moot point thanks to the...current circumstances.
Rick's and Lori's speeches to Carl in seasons 2 and 3 respectively justify this way of thinking: that after everyone from their generation (the adults) dies, Carl will have to take the reins and move on. I refuse to believe any writer with common sense would write such important pieces of dialogue just because they felt like it, just because they're emotional words without any other kind of meaning behind them. That is just lazy and awful writing in my opinion. Why write these poignant moments only to have the kid killed long before the end of the series? Why write/do anything if those things are going to be ignored later down the line, nevermind that every piece in a story must connect with the others? Why bother teaching him this morality lessons if they're all going to go to waste anyway; if he will never have a character arc/storyline that is plot relevant where his morals are challenged? (Good on you, whoever made the call, for missing out on possible great storylines for Carl that would have improved viewing and the quality of the show). That doesn't make a bit of sense, unless that what they were looking for was to give the events leading up to his sudden death some twist of irony, and that'd be perfect and all, except that Carl dying was so not part of the plan (the improvisation is so obvious it hurts me in the balls I don't have) and even the way his death was set up was graceless-the bite- and not something one would expect from the same people who made/directed/wrote/produced Season 4. In other words, killing him was basically flipping off the idea of a future in the face, whether they meant to do that or not, and this is bound to turn the overall mood the series to a much grim and darker tone to an already heavy themed and toned series. Many people won't find themselves too content with that heavier tonal change, I think, if the ratings for season 7 are to be trusted.
Ignoring that the conclusion to this was having him die though,  I do have to say the actual set up in the mid season finale itself was beautiful and emotional (Chandler's acting was on point, he was the star of this episode), but the chain of actions leading up to it was lackluster. With lackluster I mean that he is a very important character that has literally been wasted for far too long; if you look at his progression throughout the seasons you'll realize he has not done much from a plot perspective despite being a main character. Therefore, his death feels unsatisfactory and empty because one can't help but feel that he hasn't nearly done as much as he should have. What he did to save his people in the mid season finale was amazing but it wasn't enough to make up for a notorious lack of screen time over full eight seasons, moreover if the motivations that drove him to that point, to that mentality, to that philosophy, don't make sense because his personality has made a one eighty from how he was the previous season with no type of prior explanation as to why that happened.
It may not seem like it but I'm actually a huge fan of angst and favorite-character-slaughter. I love when books, music, movies, videogames, series make me suffer (great examples of this are my undying love for Hannibal the tv show and that my favorite videogames are the ones directed by this one man, life destroyer actually, called Yoko Taro). Perhaps that is another reason why I'm being so critical with the choice to kill Carl (asides from the horrible decision-making and poor writing), because I love being hit in the feels in the best way possible, without holding back any punches, just go straight for the kill and make me cry like a newborn. However, I don't like tragedy when it's done for shock value, or when it's done simple-mindedly. If a favorite character of mine is going down, it has to make sense and they must have had filled out their purpose in the story, reached a state of character development we're all satisfied with so that when they die one can accept it and be happy despite the possible trauma that could ensue after (well, one can't exactly pin point when that happens, when enough is enough, but to have had the character embark on a lot of adventures even without them accomplishing their purpose, is enough to embrace their death). I guess what I'm trying to say with all this is that, while on one hand I would have preferred him outliving everybody else, if they were still so adamant on having him die at some point of the story (as if killing Carl had actually been part of a long term plan and not some last minute decision) they should have developed him first and foremost, and then assign him a proper death in later seasons, most preferably before the last season ends given that him dying before Rick is several different levels of wrong; if he wasn't such a huge part of Rick's character then fine, do it, but putting and end to him is equal to neutralizing Rick for literally years, which is time that both a comic and a tv show cannot afford, so to do it near the end of everything would be a better fit.
And, I don't know, even having Judith fill the void won't be of much help either, because we haven’t and we won't see her grow the same way we did Carl, her relationship with Rick will be vastly different, and so on. Probably this is just me but I'm not really attached to her; Judith so far is to me only a concept and not actually a person (yet). The fact that they keep changing the little baby girls who portray her doesn't really help, that gets me out of the story everytime. She just can't replace Carl, she might take his future storylines but it won't be the same. Besides, by the time she grows up, she’ll already be deep into this world, this is her normal life and probably by that time things will have changed.
So basically, not only in killing Carl they destroyed the image of a future, they have killed a foundational part of the essence that made The Walking Dead be The Walking Dead we all knew and loved, and that will never return. Also, allow me to point out that for those who think that The Walking Dead is about people dying whenever and wherever, and the cruel injustice that is life, I am not going to say that your interpretation is wrong but it is an incomplete one. The audience doesn’t watch TWD only to see tons of MC’s get murdered on a daily basis. Otherwise, why bother with investing time on a plot and just have them all killed at once. The soul of TWD is not about senseless killing and murder and tragedy and sadness. Simplifying it all to ‘this show is about the possibility of anybody dying/gore/zombies/etc’ is a great disservice to the show and the fans. Obviously, I am not neither the writer of the show or Robert Kirkman to claim to know to a T what the central theme of The Walking Dead is, and for full disclosure I have not read the comics. Nonetheless, basing my personal opinion on the tv show alone, I would like to think one of the core themes the show has explored and returns to time and time again is the topic in regards to the essence of human nature, and how in spite of apparent doom and the horrible circumstances we are forced to face, humans will always find the way to move forwards and stay strong, ergo, the message is a positive one, not a negative one, depressing, nihilistic one. And what better character to portray this versatility of human nature, this capacity for change, other than Carl Grimes, a child of transition, a child who was pulled out of his normal childhood and thrown right into the chaos of the apocalypse? A boy who has witnessed inhumane things, horrible things, has killed his mother, his second father figure, has done awful things himself, has always been toeing the line between right and wrong, cruel and kind, because of all the experiences he has had to process in a very short period of time? He was obligated to grow in a decaying world, watching his father and the ones surroundind him make mistakes, learning from them, evolving, seeing close ones die, starving, surviving insane experiences... If someone like that manages to grow in such a hostile environment and still remains true to himself and still has not lost faith in the world and humanity, and keeps close all the meaningful, important things his family and friends told him in the course of his entire life and not only that, but also applies them... What does that mean for you, to you? What does it mean for us? What does it say about human nature that hasn’t been told before or not quite in this manner?
Well, that is the point. I guess we will never get to find out in the Tv Show the answer to those questions. Regrettably.
If, and just if, the show manages to recover from this point onwards, I still have no idea how I'd feel about having the show thrive on the tails of throwing under the bus such a key character with no legitimate reasons behind the choice (don't even get me started on what they've done to poor Chandler). I'll still watch the show but I would be incredibly uncomfortable if that is how it turns out to be.
Finally, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing you may find, it’s way too late to be doing such a long post and English is not my main language. Please don’t be afraid or feel awkward about replying to this post, even if it’s to hate on it. I really don’t mind having a long conversation about this topic with you all since I’ve literally been dying since Sunday night to discuss it.
Thank you so much for reading!
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kenbarrens · 6 years
Text
Krythe Prologue (v.3)
“Rotate two-hundred and four degrees clockwise,” the observer instructed.  “Try and make it take… let’s say, three-point-four seconds to complete.”
“You just made those numbers up,” Dominic grumbled.  “Why so specific?”
“Don’t think about the numbers.  Just… think about what you need to do, and do it.”
Dominic laughed dryly.  “Sounds like what I’ve asked you to do.  Is this an experiment, or are you plotting a coup?”
“I-- uhh… N-no!  Of course, no-- not at all, sir.  I assure you, this is part of the experiment.”
Normally, Dominic would think nothing of putting someone off-balance with his authority.  That was part of the game he played as Cheif of the nation of Cerol, after all.  The researchers had been slow to deliver as well, so he had no qualms over giving them a hard time.  
This time, though, something was different.  The device on Dominic’s head hummed with a soft vibration as the colored lights on its front blinked frantically.  He noted that they were still so bright as to be an annoyance, but at least this latest prototype didn’t require exposed wires pasted to his scalp.  As the observer fumbled over his response, however, Dominic felt a maelstrom in his chest made of emotions he knew he’d conquered long ago: Hesitation.  Anxiety.  Fear.
“How are you feeling right now, sir?”
“Nevermind me, how are you feeling?” Dominic returned.
The response surprised the experimenter - and somehow, Dominic knew this tacitly, even before seeing the man’s brow furrow, before seeing his green cheeks flush to a more verdant shade.  “What-- I’m fine!”  He lied.  Dominic knew he was lying.  “I understand you’re anxious for results, sir, but during these tests, it’s important we follow the outline to ensure the validity of our data.”
The hum of the experimental psychic interface eased its way into Dominic’s mind.  He’d never before thought about where his thoughts came from, but as he studied the observer’s behavior, it was as though something in the back of his mind was feeding him information.  Those feelings in his chest, he realized, were not his - and yet, he could feel them as though they were.
He turned his attention to the clock on the table before him.  Unpowered, the clock’s hands sat motionless at 12 o’clock.  Before they’d placed the device on his head, Dominic had fully expected to leave the experiment without so much as a wiggle from the clock’s hands, as in the four previous attempts.  
This time, though…
Two-hundred and four degrees? Dominic thought.  Three-point-four seconds?  He can’t possibly expect me to know where that minute-hand should end up--
His breath shortened, and the air seemed to grow thinner.  The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up.  The white walls of the lab seemed to sparkle with an ethereal shine.  He noticed all of these things at once, and then immediately forgot them as the minute-hand moved at last.  
It glided counter-clockwise at a steady pace for a little under three-and-a-half seconds.  When it stopped, the clock read 11:34.  The emotions whirling in his chest spiked: Alarm.  Jubilation. Trepidation.  Success, almost… Victory, not quite.
“Tell me… what you felt.”
At length, Dominic racked his brain for words to describe the experience.  “...Light.”
“Tell me what you were thinking, just before it started moving.”
“I thought about your directions… and about how asinine they were.”
The observer jotted this down.  “Describe that… you thought they were ‘asinine?’”
“Well, how did you expect me to know how far around it should go without a protractor?  And to time it so precisely without a stopwatch…”
“Did you think about doing it clockwise?”
“...No.  I’d forgotten that part.”
The observer nodded and wrote that down too.  “The distance the hand traveled fell short of your goal.  How does that make you feel?”
“Fell short?” Dominic felt as though his heart had been set ablaze.  “What do you mean, ‘fell short?’  It moved, didn’t it?  What does it matter how far it went?  You eggheads did it!  You actually did it!”
Excitement, relief, surprise - Dominic was not acting like his usual, hardened self, he felt the observer thinking.
I should tell him I can feel what he’s feeling, Dominic thought, but it might sound crazy.  I can’t afford to be perceived as crazy…
“These tests are purely confidential,” the observer said.  “I hope you have faith that anything that happens in this room stays within the Monolisk - until you say otherwise, of course, sir.”
Dominic sat up straight.  “What are you responding to?”
“...Responding?  No, I-- I just thought, you know, in case you were worried about telling me something--”
“You heard my thoughts!”  Anxiety filled Dominic’s chest again, but it was different, more familiar.  “I thought about telling you something, but didn’t - and then, you said something that could have been a reply to my thought!”
The observer stared agape at his clipboard.  “That… might be a side-effect of the translation software.  Incredible...”
“Translation software?”
“For your, ah… new friends, of course!”
Dominic nodded.  “Right, I recall I commissioned a language translator from you months ago.  I was unaware you had decided to build it into this device.”
The scientist smiled awkwardly.  “We could have tried to learn their language, but then we thought, ‘why bother?’  Words are just verbalizations of ideas.  Lacking the ability to directly transfer thought, we’ve evolved vocal cords to transfer ideas through sound.  However, parts of those ideas are lost when we mold them into the context of language.  So, we asked ourselves, ‘what if we could simply extend the range of thought?’  With this device, you won’t need to learn another foreign language ever again; You could just know what they want to say, and vice versa.”
“But you didn’t know I was communicating with you, and yet, you knew what I was thinking.  ...Come to think of it, I didn’t know I was communicating either!”
“...A little too much power to the TTU core, perhaps… and the thought projection went totally unnoticed by both parties…” The observer’s pen scrabbled across his clipboard.
“So you’ve attempted to write a translation program, and accidentally achieved telepathy!”
“Yes, well... ‘accidently’ is a very important word here,” the observer faltered.  “Sir, I know you hate to hear this, but I can’t stress enough that there are significant risks.  With all due respect--”
“The tests will continue with me as the subject.”
“But, sir… you’re the chief--”
“--Then you’d better make sure your next accident doesn’t melt my brain!”
“We have plenty of candidates who could serve to perform these tests in your place--”
“--And you said this device requires fine-tuning to suit its wearer.  How much time will that take with a new subject?  How much will the results change?”  He leaned in.  “How much longer will I have to wait until this is field-ready?”
A buzz on the intercom forestalled the tongue-lashing.  “Sir?” A female voice rang out.  “They’ve made contact.”
“Already?” The observer checked his phone for the time.  “They’re early!”
“It’s not the same contact as before.”
Dominic gave the observer a stern glare.  “The translator.  Is it ready?”
“It… still has some bugs.  But--”
“Close enough.”
The world around Dominic made more sense while he wore the psychic interface.  Cerol’s capitol building, the Monolisk, was like home to him, but as the scientists lead him out of the lab and down the halls, he felt he could sense more of the place than ever before.  Even my own thoughts ring in my ears, he reflected, but as I pass each door, it’s as though I have an inkling of what the people inside are talking about.  Unless the room is empty… and, I know which rooms are empty, and an idea of the space within their walls.  ...How deep does this go?
The communications lab was abuzz with activity.  Normally, the wide, open room would be full of lab technicians monitoring signals from space for responses to their probes.  Now, though, the whole room was focused on one big monitor and the hideous face it projected.
Though this was not the first of these beings they had encountered, the alien addressing them now was by far the most imposing.  As it narrowed its fiendish red eyes, its purple-gray, dark-speckled skin folded over its brow as it scrutinized its audience.  Smoke drifted from its nostrils, set far apart beneath each of its eyes.  If this creature had a mouth, it was obscured beneath the green hood it wore, affixed with what appeared to be some form of gas mask.
A clicking sound filled the room as the being spoke.  When it stopped, Dominic’s interface buzzed a little louder.  A thought crept into his mind - one that didn’t belong, one that was not of his own voice.
“Krythan.”
That one word, a word that should not have frightened him, struck a chord down Dominic’s spine and into his very being.  The researchers felt it too; He could tell by the whirlwind of worry.
“Greetings!”  Dominic said aloud.
“Just think it,” the observer from the experiment whispered, pointing at a second monitor.  “Your interface will create a transcript here.”
He tried again.  “Greetings!” he thought ‘out-loud,’ imagining himself speaking to the alien.  “I am Dominic, Chief of the nation of Cerol, Representative of planet Krythe.  It is good to meet you!”
“Big words,” the thought replied, its originator’s red eyes burning into his memory.  “Basalt man.”
The experimenter grumbled as the confusing words appeared on his screen.  “Ohh… kay, uhh, that’s probably a bug.”
The ghastly alien clicked again.  In his chest, Dominic felt the sensation of bemused laughter.  He tried to relax as he replied to his other-worldly guest.  “Ha-hah!  Indeed, we are all but pebbles amongst the stars, but don’t we all have a lot of big words to say about ourselves?  Isn’t it grand that we intelligent species are able to make contact past all barriers of distance and language?”
“Your first time, it seems.  You extinct yourself very wise and powerful.”
“Another bug,” the observer flustered.  “It must’ve meant ‘think.’”
Dominic wasn’t sure whether it was the interface, the alien, or the experience as a whole, but something had shaken loose those tendencies to feel nervousness and doubt he thought he’d conquered.  He hoped the device wasn’t transmitting those feelings to the alien - or the researchers, for that matter.
“Well… yes, as a matter of fact!  Some might call it arrogance, but I am indeed confident that our progress shows how very wise and powerful we are.  To our knowledge, we are the most intelligent beings in our solar system.  We’re proving that to you right now!  But you already know that.  Clearly, you are most wise and powerful yourself, since you too have the technology to reach us!”
“Yes,” the thought returned with a chill.  “To reach you indeed.”
Something in Dominic’s heart was trying to get his attention.  He tried to feel how the alien felt in his chest, but this time he felt a resistance that blocked him from getting much detail, as though the alien was hiding its intentions.  Failing that, he went with what he knew; That this alien had replaced their former contact, and, judging by its appearance and demeanor, that it must have some authority the former did not.  A negotiation, then, Dominic decided.  I can handle that.
“Pardon my assumption, but am I now speaking to a being of authority on your world?”
“Half.”
“...Half?”
“You are half-right.”
Perplexed, Dominic turned to the observer studying the transcript for guidance, but he could only shrug and shake his head in reply.
“Well!  That is still wholly exciting.  I hope that in time, our two peoples can find ways to work together.  It is already great what each of us have achieved separately, but perhaps one day, we can excel beyond our limits with each other’s help!”
The cool, blue glow of the telecam monitor illuminated Dominic's commanding visage.  Though the alien had seemed fierce at first, he imagined that he, too, must look rather intimidating to it!  On the other end of the transmission, Dominic’s green-skinned face, his rich, dark suit, and his slicked-back black hair would shine through his adversary's screen, imperial and imposing.  His country’s flag - an image of the planet Krythe aloft on orange, fiery wings emblazoned upon a sea-green field - hung on the wall behind him, sure to instill a sense of order and civilization to their guest.  His ears, pointed at the tips and the lobes, were poised at attention for his rival's rebuttal.
"Perhaps from your point of vent.  However, there is something you igneous lack."
“And what would that be?”
An explosion rocked the Monolisk. Cerol's capitol building groaned as the communications lab tilted to one side. The alien on the screen clicked loudly as its sadistic laughter filled Dominic’s chest.
"An adequate defense subduction."
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rexhc · 7 years
Text
only fools rush in
dash and roman (ft. gwen for one part), hopeless pining
(may 2017, end of junior year)
She holds your hand sometimes when there’s no one around. Neither of you mention it. Chills run down your spine and the hair on your arms sticks up when she touches you, her cold skin tingling against your own like static electricity, but the two of you are friends now - or at least something like friends. Something in the same general category of friends, but somehow completely and totally different. You’re not exactly sure if there’s a word for it.
Or maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s normal for friends to hold hands on occasion. Maybe it’s normal for friends to look at each other like this. Yeah, that old familiar feeling in your stomach returns every time she looks in your direction, but you already told her your feelings for her a long time ago. She didn’t feel the same, and you remind yourself of her answer every time you sit next to her on her bed and she lets her knees bump into yours. (You’ve probably seen The Dark Knight twelve times by now, but you still can’t remember most of the plot. She’s too distracting.)
Maybe she’s your best friend, and you think that if that is the case, you’re incredibly fucked up for thinking about how soft her lips look all the time.
It’s almost pathetic, really, that after the past year of what you’d thought had been growth and change, here you are again lying in your bed at two A.M. thinking about Roman Caldwell. A year of emotional hell, between whatever you’d been trying to force with Gracie and whatever you tried to deny with Jack, and you’re right back at the start - obsessing over a girl who doesn’t feel slightly the same.
Gwen gives you advice between bites of an apple. “Just ask her out.” She crunches loudly on purpose and you cringe. “The worst that can happen is she says no.”
“Yeah, and I completely ruin our friendship. Again.”
Gwen shrugs, continuing to eat her fruit.
“I don’t see why you can’t just tell me if she’s interested. You guys are best friends. You do…boy talk.” Gwen glares at you. When you were kids that glare would scare the crap out of you, and you'd be lying if it still wasn't a little frightening. “Probably. I assume.”
“Yes, Roman and I are known for constantly gabbing about boys.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I remain my status as Switzerland. That’s what I signed up for when I became friends with both of you.”
“We’ve been friends longer.”
“Switzerland.”
“Almost ten years now, you know.”
“Again, Switzerland.”
“Well, Switzerland being neutral actually helped the Nazis.”
Gwen blinks, processing your statement. “You need to pay more attention in history. Is Roman the Nazi in this analogy?”
“Nevermind the analogy. It was a bad analogy. The point is you should help me.”
“I’m giving the maximum amount of help I can give. Just ask her out.”
“Whatever, I have to go to weapons. If I can’t get to Homer in time, Daniels will probably impale me on something.” You look down at your still-uneaten sandwich and start to wrap it back up; you’ll probably just give it Nikos later. You get one last word in to Gwen before you go to class. “You’re the worst.”
“So I’ve been told.”
You head to your dorm right after your elemental lessons, just itching to get your stupid tie off and put on some comfortable clothes. You thank your past self for finishing all your homework before Mana, because all you really want to do for the rest of the day is chill out and work on your Animal Crossing town. And not think about a certain person.
You know your afternoon plans are completely ruined once you turn the last corner of the hallway, because Roman Caldwell herself sits against your doorway.
“Hey.” Your voice cracks slightly on the end of the word.
“Hi,” she responds, or at least that’s what you think she says. You’re distracted by the shiver that runs down your spine when you hold her hands to help her up. You can only imagine how gross and sweaty your hands are.
“Uh, Nikos is at my dorm. So I figured I’d just…come here. You don’t have baseball today, right?”
Your head feels a little light (a recurring symptom whenever she’s around), but somehow you manage to answer her question. “No, not today.” There’s a brief moment of awkwardness before you realize you haven’t unlocked the door and the two of you are just standing silently in the hallway. Once it does hit you, you scramble and hold it open for her. When she walks past you, she smells like crisp frost, like the still air in the winter, and slightly of peppermint.
Roman goes straight to your bed and sits on the edge. “Do you have any homework to do? If you do, I can just read or something.”
You shake your head with maybe a bit too much enthusiasm, so you try to play it cool. “Uh, no. No homework. We can hang out.”
“Cool,” she responds as she lays back against your pillows. You catch yourself smiling at the way her bangs shift off her forehead and how the light from the window makes her whole face light up. You sit down in your desk chair, swiveling around to face her. Roman watches you watch her, her grey eyes locking into your own. You’d look away, but looking away from her has always been a real challenge. You hadn’t figured out how when you were thirteen, and you still don’t know how now. The tips of your fingertips buzz against your knees.
Maybe she does like you, that annoying voice in your head teases you. Maybe her feelings have changed - that can happen, right? And it’s been three weeks since she and Justin broke up, and there’s no way that you had anything to do with that, but maybe, just maybe…
“Is that your camera?”
“What?” It takes a second for you to get out of the spinning circles of your head, and you see her pointing to your left. “Oh, yeah. That’s mine.”
“You never said you liked photography.”
You rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know if I’d call it photography. It’s mostly just pictures of like…friends. And clouds and random stuff.” You’re not sure what possesses you to say the next part. “Do you wanna see some of it?”
Roman nods, shifting her legs to sit criss-cross on your bed. You sit next to her and reach under the bed, pulling out a leather book. After you open the cover, she shifts closer to you, her arm against yours. Her skin is cold but electric.
Her eyes run over the pages, taking in each photograph. She laughs at the picture of Nikos, perched on the top of a fence. Her eyes soften at a photo of Gwen you took at your dad’s house. Roman looks at all the photographs, but you just look at her.
“These are really good, Dash. Is that Amelia?” Her finger lands on a photo of an aged golden retriever.
“Yeah, you remembered her name.”
“Of course,” she replies shyly. She looks away from you and you’re almost sure that she saw the obvious longing in your face and is getting ready to run for the hills. Or - well, it’s Nebraska. So, the plains, you guess. You have a crazy idea, and even crazier, you act on it.
“Can I take your picture?”
“My picture? Why?” Roman looks shyer than you’ve ever seen her. She tucks her chin in slightly, holding her knees against her chest. She looks small and beautiful. You can’t help but question the absurdity of her question. Why would you want to take her picture? Has she ever even looked in the mirror?
“Roman, you’re…um.” Shit, you had to catch yourself there. “We could take one together.” She seems to warm up more to that idea, so you shift next to her. Hesitantly, you snake your arm behind her back. By some miracle she leans into you. It’s a known fact that her body is constantly cold, but in this moment you feel like your own body is engulfed in flames. You hold the camera in front of the both of you and hold down the trigger. The camera spits out a white rectangle, which you hand to Roman.
“You can keep it. It’ll develop in like ten minutes.”
She holds the undeveloped photo in her hand and stares at it closely, inspecting the current nothingness. Then, she surprises you with a question. “What are you doing this summer?”
“Nothing. Baseball workshops. Probably get another waiting gig.”
“No more paper route?”
You smile at the remembered detail. “Nah, I think I deserve to sleep past four A.M. this summer.”
“Probably a good thing. Print is a dying industry.”
God, you love her sense of humor.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Anyways, um,” she turns back into shy Roman again. “If you have time, you should…visit.”
“Visit you? Like in New York?”
“Yeah, I…well, my family could get you a ticket. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Forget I asked.”
The stupid heart in your chest refuses to slow down however much you wish it to. “No! I want to!” Very smooth, Knight. “I mean, that sounds great. And, um, if you’re in Colorado, you know.”
Roman nods, sucking the piercing on her bottom lip between her teeth. “We can figure out dates- um, when you can come, I mean come to New York.” Her face gets pinker with each passing word and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. Above dogs, even (Sorry, Amelia.) “We can figure all that out later.”
You keep going through the photo album, and after a series of goofy backstories crucial to the understanding of a few photos, you notice the film to her side has popped up some new colors.
“Hey, Rome, the photo developed.” She picks the photo up and holds it between the two of you. You can’t help but think how well you fit together, even in the photo. And as annoying that insistent glimmer of hope is inside of you, you don’t try that hard to stop listening to it.
“Dash?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad we’re friends again.”
“Me, too.”
Neither of you acknowledge your overlapping hands closing the distance between you.
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mamoro2202 · 7 years
Text
Stolen Heritage 9
Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin, also posted here in its entirety.
***Warning: smut in this chapter
I'm bending the rules of genetics a little bit here, but you try explaining Kenshin! ^_^x
"We are strangers."
The priest's eyes wandered pointedly over Kenshin's hair, and down to his eyes. "Perhaps not so strange," he murmured.
Sitting next to Kenshin, Kaoru stilled completely, not even daring to breathe. Kenshin continued smiling blandly.
Okabe's mouth twisted into a wryly amused line. "There aren't many born with hair that stays so red."
Kenshin raised his eyebrows.
"It generally turns brown." Kenshin's smile slipped for the first time. "Young man, I have only ever seen hair like that in one place."
"Where would that be, Okabe-sensai?" Kaoru's eyes darted between her husband and the priest.
The priest's eyes were sparkling with amused mischief, along with a hint of something else. Kenshin carefully placed his teacup on the table, then rested his hands on his thighs. Kaoru nearly blinked in surprise; Kenshin was sitting seiza. How had she not noticed that? Kenshin generally sat cross-legged; seiza he usually reserved for formality or… He had already known. He had known that the priest would press him over his coloring, had invited it by removing his hat. She slowly and quietly returned her own teacup to the table.
The priest was still looking at Kenshin carefully. "You're older than you appear, young man, and there is only one person you could possibly be. Only one boy with hair and eyes like yours has ever left this mountain." Kaoru recognized the other emotion playing in the priest's eyes now: sadness. The mischief had faded away completely, leaving behind only sadness and regret. Okabe sat back from the table to bow low. "I apologize for failing you so many years ago."
Kenshin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and the expression on his face was odd and difficult to interpret. Kaoru waited three heartbeats, but it did not appear that her husband was going to pull himself together quickly enough to reply.
"Okabe-sensei. What-" She licked terribly dry lips. "My husband was so very young… Could you explain… what happened, please?"
The priest grimaced. "Cholera. Cholera happened… You certainly deserve to know, Kamiya-san, and I- I will attempt to explain." The ticking of a clock on a side table seemed to echo.
The priest took a deep breath. "It was the worst outbreak I have ever seen. Almost everyone was ill. So very ill…" Kaoru's heart twinged at the shadow of pain in the priest's voice. "There were only six adults left healthy; I was one of them. We tried, we six. I circulated the village with what medicines that I had, or could make, and... prepared the bodies of the dead for burial. Two of the woman cooked; they cooked meals for every house. Kimiko-san swore that she would not cook again for a year after that. One of the men circulated the village, carrying the departed to me and to the cemetery, digging graves. The other man worked tirelessly to ensure that some level of sanitation remained in spite of the… nature of cholera. The last woman, she gathered the orphaned children and watched over them."
"But why- why did no one help Kenshin's family?"
Okabe's eyes darkened further. "... We did." Kenshin just shook his head. "There were so few of us, and so many sick… and you were very young… It is entirely possible that you do not remember the few minutes a day when an adult arrived to bring fresh water or a too-small meal."
"It was… it was because you were forced to bury your mother that we didn't realize your situation until so late… Sachi-san had so many dead to bury… Too many. I did not think your mother was as ill as she clearly must have been, and Sachi-san did not check on your home that day. Later, when he buried your father and brother, none of us realized that your mother had already died. We should have. We should have known from the way you acted that day, but we simply did not. I have no excuse." Okabe bowed again. "It took us two days to realize that you were orphaned. By that time, people were beginning to recover. Your Uncle Hirotaka-san was supposed to take you and your sister into his home."
Okabe's face twisted in an expression of distaste. "He was… unpleasant when I told him to do so, but I was young and had no patience for him. Too many still needed care; those who were well were expected to tend to their own families. There was no acceptable excuse." He fingered his sleeves. "We were all too distracted, immersed in our duties. We did not realize what he had done until Manami-san arrived and raised the alarm. Hirotaka-san was unapologetic." Okabe's antipathy was as transparent as glass. "Nevermind that in a small village like ours, in a harsh environment like this, every child is treasured, every child belongs to the community. Nevermind that his sister was standing beside him, raining insults on his head, outraged that he had sold her blood only three days before she had arrived to take you. Hirotaka-san refused to tell us where he had met the slavers. Days on this mountain…" He shook his head. "We tried, but we were unable to find any trace." The priest looked up at Kenshin, regret written in his eyes. "You were lost."
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They followed the priest's directions to the Hanari home, with a pouch of tea in Kenshin's sleeve that Okabe had insisted they take. Hanari Mayako was a short woman of ample proportions and perhaps fifty years, with hair beginning to gray and a face accustomed to smiling. She was delighted to offer them a room and meals after they explained that the priest had referred them to her, and that they could pay in hard coin. The room itself was very sparse, with a futon, a chest, and a vase of plain make but filled with carefully preserved dried flowers. Hanari bustled about, bringing a generous pile of worn but clean blankets, a bucket of fresh water, and coal for the hearth. She smiled and bowed herself out of the room, shutting the shoji behind her.
Kenshin was pleased that there was a hearth. A hearth in the small room meant that at least Kaoru would be warm; the wind battered at the wooden walls, finding every crack and bringing with it a bone-chilling cold. He busied his hands and emptied his mind by building a fire, while Kaoru set out clean clothing, towels, and a small bar of soap.
She glanced over at him, then knelt close and leaned against his shoulder, a warm and reassuring weight. Her eyes searched his face, then she pressed a kiss to his shoulder and stood up, rifling through their packs. "The moment this room gets warm, I am going to wash, Kenshin. I swear, I'm wearing more dirt than clothing at this point – I just found a leaf in my hair." She maintained a monologue of sweetly mundane chatter and Kenshin let her voice wash over him, a normal and wonderful thing on this very bizarre day. Kenshin poured some of the water into pot over the hearth and quietly waited for it to heat up.
After, when they were clean for the first time in two days, and Kaoru had snuggled into his shoulder and had wrapped a blanket around them both, they sat quietly against each other for quite some time. Blankets and cuddling were Kaoru's cures for many ills. Kenshin always appreciated both.
"Would you like some tea, Kenshin? It really is very good."
"...That would be nice." She gave him her beautiful smile and squeezed his arm before she left to request cups from their hostess.
Kenshin sat, drank tea, and appreciated the warm comfort of his wife until lunch.
Mayako seemed embarrassed as she brought the meager tray of food into their room. "...There have been several raids by bandits this winter…" she murmured.
"This will be more than fine, Hanari-san. Thank you very much," Kaoru said, and the woman gave her a grateful smile before she shut the shoji. The modest meal was carefully prepared and well-seasoned. They ate in silence.
Once Kaoru finished carefully restacking their empty plates and bowls, she sat back on her heels. "Kenshin?"
Kenshin looked away, into the fire, and tried to find words. Part of his past… his origin, had been totally rewritten in one short conversation; the shape of his own self-knowledge had been changed. What Okabe's story meant, on a personal and selfish level, was strange, and difficult to assimilate.
His voice sounded peculiar to his own ears, like casting pebbles into a still pond. "…They wanted me."
Kaoru laid a gentle hand against his cheek and rested her forehead against his, her voice whisper quiet. "How could they not?" The bottom dropped out of Kenshin's stomach, and he leaned forward and kissed her without thinking; she was real and solid, warm and comforting.
. . . . .
When they pulled apart, Kenshin had an odd look on his face – Kaoru didn't quite know what to make of it. "Kenshin?" Instead of answering, he shook his head and kissed her again with rising desperation. Kaoru rubbed soothing hands across his shoulders until he pulled back, pressing kisses to the corner of her lips and jaw. "Kenshin…" Her voice was as soothing as her hands.
"This one is sorry, Kaoru. It's - I just want to not - just for a while…" Kaoru frowned at his wavering pronouns.
It was afternoon and their hostess was likely still in the house, but if he needed her, needed an outlet... she would give him whatever he wanted until it was enough. They'd simply have to be quiet. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay, I'm here." She kissed him. "Whatever you need, Kenshin."
He pulled away to speak and his eyes were dilated dark blue, his voice deep and rough. "I want to drown," he said, and his next kiss was hard, his hands in her hair holding her still, and for several moments it was Kaoru who was drowning as she tried to keep up. He was rarely this intense.
That's fine, she thought, and began undressing them both, pushing back into him. If he needs it, I've got it. She pressed a hand against the back of his neck. They kissed until he was panting into her mouth, trembling in her arms. "It's alright," she whispered. "You're mine." She pressed little kisses against his neck, pushing against his side. "Lay back, Kenshin." He obliged, tension still evident in his tight jaw, his tense muscles.
She straddled his hips and kissed him fiercely, stroking firm hands over his chest and belly, grinding against the hard cock between her thighs. He raised both hands, kneading the flesh of her hips, his cheeks flushed. She moved to his neck with sucking kisses, and he turned his head to side, granting her greater access and offering encouragement. Down his neck and his chest, she lavished attention on his skin, kisses and licks and little nips, loving him with her mouth and hands. Down further, to his taut belly, lean and firm with lithe muscle. She kissed the lines across his abdomen, working further and further down until he had his hands fisted in the blankets. She dropped teasing kisses along the hollows of his pelvis, then finally pressed soft, slow kisses to the head of his cock. He hissed and pressed his heels into the floor.
Kaoru moaned quietly; his excitement was contagious, and it made her squeeze her thighs together. She gently curled a hand under his cock, lifting it up off of his belly, placing little sucking kisses up and down the underside of him, tonguing against that special little spot under the head. He groaned and stroked a hand over the back of her head, gathering her hair into one hand, keeping it up out of her way. Kaoru painted little patterns on his cock with her tongue, arousal burning deep in her belly as she listened to him gasp.
"Kaoru… please…"
She closed her eyes and sucked just the head of him into her mouth, rewarding his oh-so-quiet moans by pulling more of him in. He bucked into her mouth slightly, so she started a slow, drawing rhythm.
Continuing to pulse his hips, he involuntarily started dancing to her rhythm. She began swirling him in her mouth as she sucked, adding another layer to his pleasure, though not quite giving him what he needed to climax. He needs to not think for a while? Then I'll make him mindless.
She deliberately kept him there, excited and aroused and on edge, until the muscles in his belly began to quiver. Then she pulled off of him with a quiet pop, sitting back onto her heels. He's so beautiful… Kenshin was staring at the ceiling, eyes unseeing, red hair darkened with sweat and plastered to his temples. He blinked gorgeous violet eyes, slowly returning to lucidity. When he focused in on her face, she smiled for him, repressing the urge to squirm at the ache between her own thighs. He made a muffled noise and sat up, reaching for her.
She welcomed him into her arms as he nuzzled her neck, his calloused hands rubbing her back as he mumbled nonsense and praise and, attempted to pull her into his lap. "Kenshin," her voice was coaxing as she combed her fingers through his bright hair. "How do you want me?"
He froze, stopping his efforts to pull her forward, and twitched in her arms. She lightly bit at his ear while she waited for him to form coherent words, pleased that she'd unwound him to this degree.
His voice was hoarse and muffled against her neck. "Knees?"
"Sure." She gently pushed him aside, her beautiful, panting mess of a husband, and moved onto her hands and knees. He crawled over her, draped himself against her back and stroked trembling hands down her sides to her hips, pulling her back into him, his breath ragged against her ear. He dropped a kiss to the nape of her neck and then straightened. When he began, his rhythm was fast but not hard, and Kaoru stifled moan. It was always exquisite, the feel of him inside her, his hard cock gliding in the wetness of her body. She dropped her head forward and closed her eyes, digging her fingers into the tatami as she pushed back against him.
When Kenshin began to push deeper, Kaoru pulled away. Hard and fast in that position was loud, and this was private; Mayako was not invited to know about their sex life.
She turned around and kissed him. "Shhh." Lowering them to the floor, she used hands and legs to push him back inside of her. He rained disorganized kisses on her face and neck, shoulders and breasts, thrusting hard. She pushed against his shoulder, urging him to lean back on his knees, then reached down to touch herself, pushing her hips to meet his rhythm as her urgent fingers raced over that wonderful bundle of nerves.
"Sorry," Kenshin gasped, covering her hand with his own. "I- let me, Kaoru. You- sorry, this one will-"
Kaoru huffed at him. "Kenshin, don't be sorry." She lightly slapped his hand away. "If you've the ability to be sorry, we're not doing this right." He gave her a silly smile and shook his head, kneading and stroking her thighs while he moved. She arched her back and kept touching herself, her eyes falling closed as she relished the feeling. The coil in her belly wound tighter and tighter while Kenshin thrust into her, sharing his body with her; it was always so good, listening to him pant with pleasure, seeing the joy he took in her. She forced her eyes open.
He was glazed in a fine sweat, muscles tense and in stark relief as he moved. He was watching her: watching her fingers move and their bodies join. The glazed, dilated look in his eyes caused her to shiver. When he pulled her right leg up to his shoulder, she gasped and pressed her free hand over her mouth. Gods, I've got to be quiet…
Suddenly Kenshin grunted and spasmed, driving into her convulsively, pulling her hips down and tight against him. She couldn't help her moan at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of her, sending her fingers into a wild dance. Ah, it's been so long since he-!
And then she climaxed too, her body snapping stiff and tight, neck arching, gasping, riding him in little grinding pulses. She delighted in being full, reveled in the knowledge that Kenshin had just spent himself in her body. She shuddered through the little aftershocks of her orgasm, stroking herself slowly as she relaxed.
Kenshin pulled out of her and collapsed onto the floor. He was still gasping as he ran a hand through his bangs. "This one did not mean to-"
"It's fine," she interrupted. "It's the wrong time for anything to happen, Kenshin." She smiled over at him. "You worry too much."
"Okay." He closed his eyes and lay there looking perfectly ravished, flushed red, sweating and exhausted, his chest heaving, bright hair a mess. Her grin widened. Good job, Kaoru! She propped herself up on his chest, feeling pleased and proud and very, very satisfied. He raised a limp hand to her head and petted her hair. She lay there with him until his flush began to fade, until their bodies began to cool, then she kissed his chin and rolled away. Locating a towel and a blanket, she took care of the mess and securely tucked the ends of the blanket over them both, warding off the chill.
. . . . .
She cuddled into that perfect spot on his shoulder, the one that was clearly made to cradle her head, enjoying his one armed embrace as she watched his face soften into sleep. Kaoru herself stayed awake, keeping watch over her sleeping spouse, keeping him safe in her arms while he rested.
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The feeling of not-at-home brought Kenshin awake all at once, as it always did. Despite that, he felt rested and relaxed, a welcome contrast to his earlier tension. It's nearly dark ...How long did this one sleep?
Kaoru shifted against him, uncurling herself from his side and rolling partially onto his chest. She answered his unasked question "You didn't sleep that long. It just gets dark so early here, that's all."
He hummed an acknowledgment, and rested a hand behind his head, tracing gentle fingers along the graceful lines of his wife's back. Kaoru was looking at him, her eyes bright and shining, as they always were, her smile sweet and ready. Kenshin shifted onto his side, pulling her closer, and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. She raised dark eyebrows in inquiry, but Kenshin just leaned forward to kiss her temple in answer. It was... strange, to hear what the priest had said, but what did it really matter? Everything else aside, Kaoru, kind and loving Kaoru, was still his wife, and their life and their family were still waiting for them at home.
She kissed him briefly, just a press of lips, then propped herself up on a hand and pushed aside the blanket. "It's time to get up! Hanari-san will probably bring dinner soon." Kaoru's side was crossed with pink lines from lying on a woven surface, her hair was mussed, and there were love bites on her collarbone. He sat up and blushed, scratching the back of his head. Kaoru looked over her shoulder at him as she shrugged into her clothes.
"What?" Kaoru rolled her eyes at his grimace and slapped his chest with the back of her hand before he could speak. "You asked for nothing that I was not pleased to give. Stop being silly and get dressed." Her eyes turned teasing. "I think that seeing you naked is more than Hanari-san bargained for."
"Oro!" That thought galvanized him to action, and he dressed with nearly record speed, then got a drink of water and filled the kettle for tea while Kaoru brushed out her tangled hair.
"So what are we doing tonight?" From his spot next to the hearth, Kenshin blinked at her and raised his eyebrows. "Not that, you pervert!" She threw a pillow at him. "I mean, what are we going to do tonight about all of this." She waved a hand at the wall, her gesture encompassing the village and the situation at hand.
"Ah. You are going to sleep, and this one will do a little bit of looking around." Kaoru frowned, but he preempted her. "You are hurt. Your feet should be fine enough tomorrow, but for tonight you should rest." He met her gaze and willed her to see how seriously he took this matter. "This one has no intention of engaging anyone tonight, Kaoru. This one merely wishes to inspect the village's defenses." Her shoulders slumped and she grumbled a little.
Kenshin moved to tend to his wife's feet. They looked better, the rawness of the abraded skin had faded, and the scattered wounds from the blisters weren't as angry-looking. Overall, he was pleased with the progress of her healing. He spread salve over the wounds and rewrapped them. She'd been guarding another part of her body today, he'd observed, with small, unconscious movements.
"Kaoru. Is there something wrong with your chest?"
Her face flushed brightly. "... I've just never gone so long without nursing Kenji. It, um, hurts a little." She'd had a painful inflammation once when Kenji had been teething and not nursing properly; it would be better to take care of the matter now, rather than wait. He coaxed Kaoru onto her back and laid warm, wet towels across her swollen breasts. Her embarrassment evaporated when the towels contacted her skin, and she hissed in obvious relief. He brushed his fingers through her bangs, sitting with her and changing the compresses periodically. "You must tell me when you are hurting, Kaoru, or this one cannot help."
She sighed. "Kenji doesn't really nurse very much anymore. It shouldn't take long to stop." He allowed disapproval to show clearly in his eyes and she, utterly unchastened, pinched his side. "I'm an adult, Kenshin, stop babying me."
"This one is not babying you, Kaoru, and is certainly well aware that you are an adult." Inside he was laughing, but outwardly he tried for wounded. "This one only desires to care for you as a good husband should."
"Liar!" Kaoru shoved him and he obligingly fell over.
"Oro…"
"Go get us some dinner!" She was laughing, and it made his mouth turn up at the corners as well. It was amazing, how often Kaoru was able to coax him out of a foul mood. Still smiling, Kenshin obediently left the room, searching for Mayako. He didn't bother to wear his hat. Really, no matter how accomplished a gossip Mayako was, the news would not reach the headman before he did.
"Ah! Hanari-dono." The small woman was in the kitchen filling a tray with dinner items. "This one would be pleased to carry that for you."
"No, no, Kamiya-san, it is my-" She looked up and nearly tripped over her own feet, her mouth frozen in a little 'o.' Kenshin repressed a grin; for the moment, he was rested and relaxed, he was feeling uncommonly mischievous. The woman's reaction was terribly funny. "I- I... Kamiya-san, your hair!" She sat the bowl she'd been holding precariously close to the edge of the counter, and reached out a hand, as though she intended to touch the hair in question. She blinked and snatched her arm back to her side just in time, as though realizing how unconscionably rude that would have been.
Kenshin gave her a sunny, oblivious smile. "Yes, this one forgot my hat in my room, so I did." He rescued the bowl and sat it on the tray. "Really, this one must insist on carrying this heavy tray, Hanari-dono." The poor woman's mouth was flapping open and closed. He gave a small bow over the tray and exited the room, leaving the flabbergasted woman behind.
At the doorway to his room, he balanced the tray and slid open the shoji with the ease of long practice. "Dinner, as requested!" Kaoru was redressing herself as he entered and she smiled up at him.
"You're in a very good mood."
"That's so," he agreed easily, arranging their dinner and handing her a pair of chopsticks. Kaoru gave him a cheeky grin, and Kenshin just shook his head at her smugness. "Soup?" He offered.
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(And on Kenshin's tendency to hop into bed when emotionally stressed; sometimes it's easier to deal with difficult things when your brain is pickled in oxytocin first. And I can't see Kaoru letting him brood very often.)
Also, a random note on my change in username: I NEVER thought that I'd write anything at all; I've never been a writer, just a daydreamer. My account was made to read only, and my username was part of an email address. Then I started writing and actively participating in the community here, and realized - you can't say my old username, with all of those numbers, and it was just awkward. Thus, new name; it's very silly, but at least it's pronounceable!
Animanical asked: Is it a contraction of mama and oro? XD
Answer: Why, yes. Yes, it is.
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