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blissfulsun · 4 years

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based on this & this lovely request❣️✨

word count: 1,926

What are we? // Jeff Wittek

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. A little green monster that grips at you and lodges in your throat.

Jeff hates the feeling, despises its cause as he watches you laugh at something David whispers to you in the crowded room, swapping secrets and elbowing each other back and forth without a single care for anyone else around.

He knows he has no right to be angry with anyone other than himself, you’re just friends, nothing more nothing less, just as Dave is one of his closest friends too.

It doesn’t make the ridiculous possessiveness rumbling in his chest any less apparent, especially when he remembers what got him here in the first place.

The memory of your vulnerable expression still a permanent feature in his mind, how your posture slightly deflated when he finally answered the pained question you’ve been holding to yourself for so long. What are we?

How you left his apartment in a hurry when Jeff finally stopped staring at you with a helpless look in his eyes, coughing awkwardly before he finally gathered his bearing enough to ramble on in a stuttered speech that more or less could be shortened to ‘I’m not ready for anything serious’

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, easy to spot towering over other people and with numerous beautiful women within his vicinity.

Jeff’s always the centre of attention in every room, you’d know, it’s how you met him all those years back, in his Miami days, before your paths crossed again here, in LA a couple of months back.

Your mind flashes back to that fateful night last week when he looks in your direction and you make eye contact that lasts for less than a second before your gaze returns to the friend as your side.

There was so much more you wanted to say, to ask. What are we?

He holds your hand and cuddles you in your bed or his couch wraps his arm around your waist from behind when a stranger starts a conversation with you or loops his fingers through your jeans as your group of friends enters every party, scanning the crowd and frowning at the numerous sets of eyes that follow your every step.

But he won’t kiss you. Never lets words of exposed affection slip past his lips unless it's late at night and he thinks you’ve already fallen asleep with your head on his chest or in the crook of your neck.

The night carries on, the party goes on in hours of drinking and endless fun as you stick to David’s side.

He’s one of the first people in the group you made friends with, felt close to immediately just from the warm presence he exudes, your childlike tendencies reflecting each other’s youthful side.

You remain completely oblivious to the tear in Jeff’s armour, growing bigger with every booming laugh and smile swapped between you and the messy-haired brunet, arms looped together as you follow each other around. Jeff doesn’t speak to you at all that night.

The quiet prevailing even as only you two, David and Natalie remain in the car, the pretty assistant snoring quietly in the back of the Tesla.

You’re sat in the front seat, music playing quietly from the stereo Dave’s turned on once he’s realised no one is willing to break the silence that’s coated the car when Zane’s stumbled out with a last drunken goodbye kiss to your cheek through the open window.

You’ve only had a couple of drinks yourself, stomach heavy with something harder to swallow than any alcohol.

David senses your unease, eyes flickering between your zoned out expression and Jeff’s stone cold one in the backseat before he picks up a conversation, words gentle as he asks you about something or other to keep your mind occupied.

It works. Well enough to have you laughing with your head thrown back just as he stops outside of your apartment building.

You don’t worry about waking Nat up, well aware the girl is dead to the world with the number of shots she took with your friends earlier in the night.

Your eyes soften, head leaning against the headrest of your seat as you sigh once the laughter shaking your chest calms down.

You don’t even think about it as it happens, hand reaching out in your slightly tipsy state to grasp David’s own on the steering wheel to squeeze affectionately in a silent thanks.

He understands what it is you’re thankful for without words. Nodding as he says his goodbye.

Jeff watches it all happen, ear attuned to every happy sound that ever leaves your mouth.

Sad eyes following your every move out of habit, the weight in his chest crushingly heavy as your small hand wraps around someone else's.

His ears perk up as Dave shouts an ‘I’ll pick you up at 7 tonight!’ To which you nod and shut the car door behind you.

It hurts almost as bad as the realisation that you didn’t say goodbye to him.

The hope that disillusioned him into thinking this would be like any other night, that you’d turn around in your seat, or better yet, in his lap, where you usually sit in the car and ask him to stay the night, dwindling in his chest as David starts the Tesla back up and turns the corner on your street, your building disappearing out of sight while you remained deeply ingrained in his mind.

Jeff hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol. Never usually drinks anyway, but even more so ever since you’ve started hanging out with them, forgetting about having a beer or two in favour of remaining sober in order to look out for you or after you at the end of the night as you giggle against his chest and demand him to cuddle you every single time without a fail. It’s a pattern he’s grown to love.

Almost as much as he loves the girl that he thinks is going on a date with one of his best friends in a couple of hours.

David doesn’t get to ask him what’s been up with him, with both of you, all night, or even for the past couple of days as he keeps his eyes closed and head leaning against the cold window, pretending to be asleep until he feels the car park.

‘Thanks’ Jeff’s goodbye is short, hand falling atop of his friend’s shoulder before the door shuts behind him and he stalks away to the entrance of his building.

David watches on, head shaking in exasperation at just how stubborn two people can be before he drives off home.

Falling asleep isn’t an easy fit for Jeff that night. Body twisting and turning under his sheets even as two turns to three in the morning before he finally decided he’s had enough.

The knocking wakes you from your light slumber, stumbling out of bed and to the door where you first check the peephole before opening the door to find Jeff on the other side.

He looks frantic, eyes a little red and movements frantic as he storms past your sleepy self, your hair a mess and one of his t-shirts adorning your body.

You yawn, closing the door behind the man before you turn to look at him walking up and down the length of your hallway.

It’s quiet still, the only sound being his heavy steps before Jeff stops, turns on the spot to face you again and say:

‘I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?! I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out how you can go from spending every night at mine to suddenly going out with someone else - one of my best friends! Just like that. It’s not fair y/n! You can’t just -’

He pauses in his speech, words lulled at the sight of your eyebrow raised in a challenge before his shoulders drop in defeat.

‘He’s not good enough for you’ Jeff finally resonates.

You can’t help but let the delusional giggle slip past your mouth, brain still lagging with sleep as you chortle and reply, ‘He’s your friend!’ in exasperation.

‘I’m not good enough for you either.’ His reply makes you pause, laughter dying in your throat.

You watch Jeff groan, hands safely tucked in the pockets of his sweats as he shrugs.

‘What I mean is...no one is, good enough for you, alright?’ While you’re lost in your own thoughts spiralling from his words and endlessly mixed signals, Jeff uses the opportunity to close the distance between you, hands leaving his pockets to wrap around your waist gently and pull you closer, missing having you next to him like this.

‘Last week...’ Jeff clears his throat when you look up at him, pretty features defiant but eyes curious.

‘When I said I didn’t want anything serious, any labels...’ he stammers.

The reminder that someone, anyone, could swoop in and see you for what you are: the best girl, his girl, and take you away, just like that, is enough to light a fire.

‘What I meant was, I’m scared of being serious, of us, this’ his confession aided by the tightening of his fingers around your frame.

‘Of what we already are without ever saying it out loud before. Doll, you mean everything to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that when you asked me to clear it up. I know you’ve been patient with me and you have this date with David tomo-’ You interrupt him with a kiss.

A simple peck that’s intended to shut him up for a second.

It’s effective, rendering the man speechless long enough to allow you to clarify. ‘I love you. I’m not going on a date with Dave, or anyone, if it isn’t you.’

The look of confusion that passes Jeff’s face is adorable enough for you to reach up on your tiptoes and lay another sweet kiss on his mouth, one he eagerly reciprocates, one hand flying to rest in the nape of your neck while he pulls you closer against his chest.

Jeff pulls away eventually, breath heavy and eyes closed as he lays his forehead against your own.

‘What about? I thought you two - tonight?’ You giggle again, his heart doing somersaults against his ribcage at the sweet sound, one he’s missed so dearly, especially when he hasn’t been the cause of it for the last seven days.

‘We’re going to set up a prank at Jason’s house with Ilya while he’s out’ you explain.

Jeff lets out a sigh, shoulders dropping and body relaxing at your words before his eyes open and arms wrap around you to pick you up.

You squeal in surprise, hands flying to wrap around his neck as he walks to your bedroom.

‘Let’s get you to bed baby, I know how sleepy you get when you drink & I wanna take my girl out for breakfast today’ You yawn, only confirming his observation.

‘Like a date?’ you can’t help but tease, watching him take his sweats off and crawl under the covers on his side of the bed, arm reaching out for you before he pulls you into him and wraps it around your waist.

‘Like a date’ Jeff confirms, words whispered into your hairline but you hear the smile that’s there as you begin to drift off.

‘I love you so much baby’ he adds. You both fall asleep with smiles on your lips.

#thank u for reading!!🥺💓#jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek blurb #jeff wittek fanfiction

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lesbiansforboromir · 3 years

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I’m sorry if you’ve answered this somewhere else, but does Denethor know what his eldest is getting up to with Theodred?

And if Denethor doesn’t know, how would he react to finding out, please?

This depends upon a few things! In general I tend to go for the canon that Boromir doesn’t tell his father because he sees no reason too and Denethor doesn’t find out. Boromir and Denethor have a very paired down relationship, it revolves quite necessarily around their duties and whilst they’re both warmly dedicated too them, Boromir wouldn’t tell Denethor something if it didn’t seem necessary. There’s other stuff to it, Boromir’s generally very private, he struggles in putting himself in vulnerable positions where he’s making something ABOUT him, he doesn’t know his dad’s reaction for certain and JUST the conversation seems like a lot of risk and effort for (in his mind) not much gain.

However! I’ve also pondered a situation where Boromir as a younger and ‘still figuring it out’ 18 year old gets close to being outed. It doesn’t come to anything and he sorts it out on his own without too much fuss, but the incident makes it clear that he might not be in control of this at all times. AND if he were to be outed it would effect his ability to do his job. Which is something he SHOULD tell his dad about.

So the conversation is very much geared as a ‘report’, after dinner one night Boromir just says ‘I actually have something else to discuss with you, if you have time tonight. Not a pressing matter but it could be important.’ And that is very normal for Boromir to say, and Denethor nods and takes him back to his office, and he asks with a little humour "so, is this more work for you or for me?" and Boromir laughs and Denethor actually does not know anything is amiss until Boromir pauses after saying ‘I will hope it is just for me, but at the risk it comes to your desk... ‘

And Boromir just! Says ‘I am ill-fated.’ which irritates him because whilst queer communities have other names for themselves, those terms are not universally known, especially not to the general populace, so ‘ill-fated’ is all he has to describe it. And it’s not just derogatory, it’s also unspecific! Other things are called ill-fated, it is not a queer specific term. So Boromir has to clarify ‘in the ‘he is lead to the river’ sense, I have not been formally cursed.’

And well Boromir has to distance himself from this moment, it’s a discussion about his duties, it’s not about him, this is not vulnerable. Meanwhile Denethor (a person who only calls himself a man out of necessity not desire or comfort), with his calm and impassive expression, is wrestling down a vicious surge of protective fervour alongside 30 years of queer liberation theory. There are approximately 200 things Denethor wants to say to Boromir, but by this time he knows Boromir’s implicit request has always been to be distant. Denethor’s emotions are too heavy for his son to bear alongside the weight of duty he also carries, and Denethor has respected this need in Boromir. The absolute last thing Boromir would want is to feel like Denethor needs to protect him, that is entirely antithetical to his responsibilities.

SO Denethor swallows down the ‘that’s my boy, that’s my son’ and the worry and the empathy and everything else, pauses a moment to try and thread the needle here, and in the end he just acknowledges what Boromir has told him, and why. ‘you tell me this as warden, as my heir, and you are wise to do so, for unfortunately, there are those who would use this to sow trouble that goes beyond you or I’ And Boromir is immediately relieved. Because that held all the information he wished to know inside it, without too much intensity. Denethor has no issue with him, Boromir’s position is unchanged, Denethor understands the situation and he is content.

Boromir says ‘Trouble enough! I am well experienced in navigating it but I am not as blessed as Faramir and luck has toyed with me from time to time.’ and he pauses and then says, ‘I should perhaps not engage with it at all. Which I would do, if you concurred.’ And it's been hard! He's felt guilt during this exploratory phase, he never meant to make a community, he never meant to actually be invested, he needed to know the ‘issue’ enough within himself to control it. But now he's understood by a group! He has a community and he doesn't want to leave it behind, as much as he knows that would be sensible. And Denethor’s say-so would allow him to cut those ties!

But Denethor’s composure breaks here ever so briefly as he makes this sharp halting motion with his hand. ‘No, no, do not.’ A pause and then, ‘I have every faith in you. And it is always better to have friends than not.’ And truly, it’s never been easier to see relief on his son’s face before! Usually Boromir is unreadable, even to Denethor, but just for this moment it’s almost too clear. Clear enough to see Boromir realise it himself and look uncomfortable about it. A discomfort Denethor knows how to solve, though he resents the remedy, ‘Besides, you are worth more to Gondor a whole man. Splitting yourself into pieces that way would serve no one.’

And Boromir’s smiling! He’s relieved, reassured, settled and back to being confident with this newfound purpose and logic. It WOULD serve no one, and to serve is his ultimate goal and drive. So he is satisfied. And Denethor has to accept, once again, that his son needs his joys to be of service to Gondor to entertain them. Which is gruelling! But exactly what they need! And he wishes again that Boromir were less accepting of his lot, he wishes again that Finduilas was here so that he might tell her this and hear what she would say. IT’S A LOT, but it’s very short! And really like... THATS IT. Everything continues on as it did before, exactly as it did.

UNTIL PERHAPS... hmm... Boromir’s marriage. I think Boromir would have told Denethor about Theodred eventually. But again that joy had to be muted to be expressed and whilst Denethor was happy to hear of it, they both knew there wasn’t much to be done. Denethor welcomed Theodred warmly to Minas Tirith the few times he came and liked him more for knowing he had Boromir’s love and good opinion.

But I DO THINK, for the actual wedding, the weight of tradition and ‘rightness’ would finally outweigh the repression. And Boromir wouldn’t have to ask Denethor to move mountains to figure out a way to properly symbolically welcome Theodred into their family. Which is a big deal!! In Gondor!!! Culturally and socially and practically! And Denethor would do his best to either attend the ceremony or craft some other small meeting. And the silk with Theodred’s blue handprint is kept safe in his desk somewhere, marking the tying of Theodred’s fate with the rivers of life of the House of Hurin.

I GOT... carried away... and a little sleepy towards the end but I hope this is readable I read through it exactly 1 times.

#boromir #denethor #tolkien #erran vs tolkien #borodred #some of this requires you to have read... about three other meta posts of mine to understand #BUT HERE #I am sleepy #chats #thank you very much for the question uwu #casually reminds everyone that denethor is some sort of trans and I have quotes to prove it #but I keep not posting them because I want to write the post right #Anonymous #asks

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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I love you (not) - Chapter 13

It's only fitting that chapter 13 of this fic would be the one that's most inspired by Taylor Swift (big Fearless vibes in here)... Tackling two prompts of @marichatmay in one, Locked in and oops. Spoiler: they finally kiss! Hope you enjoy the chapter! xx

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

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Chapter 13: In which it's finally timeTM

“Marinette,” Chat Noir said softly, reluctantly loosening their embrace.

She hummed in response, eyes still closed, and he tucked a strand of her already damp hair behind her ear. The skies were darkening, if it was even possible, the rain turning into a thick curtain around them, yet her soft smile was like a ray of sunshine illuminating them both. He was torn between staying there, basking in her light, and bursting their bubble. The thought that she could catch a cold crossed his mind, though, and he knew where his duty lied.

“Marinette, we should find shelter, you’ll be sick,” he insisted gently.

“I’m on holiday for the next two months, I have plenty of time to be ill,” she replied. She didn’t care if it wasn’t entirely true. She needed to be operational enough to fight any Akumas that sprouted up, but at that moment, those concerns felt like they were miles away.

Chat Noir paused. Even if he didn’t like the thought of her being bedridden, she did have a point.

“But you’ll ruin your pretty dress,” he whispered in her ear.

Marinette sighed against his chest. She really wanted to answer that she didn’t care, that she’d dance with him anywhere, whatever was going on around them, whatever she was wearing, but also especially in her best dress. She was starting to feel a little cold, though, and she couldn’t let her partner get ill himself.

“Fine.” She looked up at him, bluebell eyes wide and beautiful as a stroke of lightning lit up the sky, and Chat forgot how to breathe for a second.

The clap of thunder that swiftly followed made him gasp like he’d literally been drowning in her eyes, and he averted his gaze.

“Hang on tight,” he warned her, bending down slightly to reach behind her knees to lift her in a bridal carry.

As he strode purposefully towards the lift, Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, and she realised that if he were to turn his head ever so slightly towards her, then there would only be a couple of centimetres between their lips. Rain streaming down her face, she was reminded of the dream she’d had about kissing Chat Noir. Would it be so bad to know what it would feel like, without the rush of an Akuma battle? She blushed at the thought, and buried her face against his shoulder to conceal her fluster.

Chat Noir had barely, tentatively, laid his head on the top of hers when the lift doors opened with a “ding”. He straightened up rigidly and walked inside, before delicately setting her down on one side of the cabin and walking to the other.

Marinette leaned back against the panel, stealing a glance at him as he pressed the restaurant button. The elevator got into motion; she pouted when he didn’t return to her side.

But maybe she’d gotten ahead of herself. Maybe the dancing, the rain, and the late night visits had gotten to her head, shining a new light on their, all in all, platonic all but in name relationship.

Before she could start dissecting why she felt disappointed, the lift stopped abruptly, making her lose her balance slightly. She tensed up, feeling that something wasn’t right.

Opposite her, Chat was also on high alert, ears perked up as he tried to pick up on any sound that could indicate the cause of the stall. When the cries for help and the crashing reached them, their gazes met, and they could read the panic in each other’s eyes at the thought that it wasn’t just the storm.

Chat pounced on the elevator button panel and punched all of them, hoping it would kickstart the machine, but unfortunately not even the alarm button responded.

“ Mince ,” they both swore under their breath.

Chat’s whipped his head towards her, and he flashed her a small smile.

“It’s okay, Marinette, don’t worry. Ladybug will get us out of here.”

“You really think so?” Marinette was trying very hard not to let her panic flood her as she looked around for any possible exit. Wasn’t there supposed to be a trap door on elevator roofs? Or could they try prying the doors open, and see where to go from there? Actually, why use force when they had a much more powerful weapon? “Can’t you maybe cataclysm the doors or something?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t mix well with technology,” he grimaced. “I don’t want to risk hurting you. But I trust Ladybug, she’ll find a way.”

“I trust you too, Chat Noir,” she replied automatically. Her eyes widened when she realised how he could interpret her words, but Chat looked lost in his thoughts. And slightly… waxy, for some reason?

“Chat, are you-” Her question was interrupted by the lights flickering, and then turning off.

Chat’s gulp was extremely audible in the penumbra.

“Are you okay?” She asked cautiously.

“Absolutely peachy.” He might have been able to distract her from his strained voice with one of those smiles he was so good at putting on, but in the darkness, it was all she could focus on.

“Kitty.�� She tried to channel all of her warning glance into her words.

“It’s nothing. I might be a tiny bit claw-strophobic, but don’t mind me.”

Marinette heard him slide down against the panel, his breathing accelerating.

“It’s alright, Chat, I’m here.” She knew he wouldn’t get exactly what she meant, and she definitely wasn’t going to clarify, but she hoped her soothing tone would be enough to help him keep calm.

Just in case, though, she scrambled to her knees and felt around so she could kneel in front of him. Her eyes were starting to be accustomed to the darkness; she saw his eyes sparkling in front of her. Leaning forward, she placed both of her hands on his shoulders, and hoped he saw her better than she saw him. She didn't care what was going on on the other side of the doors; her Chaton needed her, and he was her priority. They could figure things out later.

“I’m here, I promise it’s going to be alright,” she whispered again, and he nodded slowly, unconvinced. “I’m guessing this isn’t the first time it’s happened; what do you usually do when you’re feeling like this? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I generally try to think happy thoughts,” he whispered back.

“Happy thoughts. Got it. Give me an example.”

“I like eating chouquettes?” He said tentatively.

“Okay… They are really good pastries. You know what, I think I saw some around at the party; think about how you can stuff your face full with them when we get out.”

“That would be nice.” He nodded a little more vigorously.

“Okay, what else?”

“I… I kind of like it when Ladybug scratches my chin,” he said almost shyly.

“You’re a real cat, you know that?” She smiled fondly. “Erm… would you like me to do that now?”

“Nah, it’s kind of a thing between me and her.”

“Okay, then.” She bit back a smile. “Keep going.”

“I really like receiving presents from you. They’re always so thoughtful.” His breathing was slowing down, his voice more assured.

“I really enjoy making them for you.” She blushed.

“Thank you.” He brought one of his hands to cover hers.

“You’re very welcome.”

Marinette stared into Chat Noir’s eyes, only averting her gaze and clearing her throat when she felt that she was getting a little too close to his face. She couldn’t help it. It was like being pulled in by gravity. “Anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Come on, Chat, there must be more good thoughts in that head of yours.” She ruffled his hair. “How does… How do the pictures of you and… Ladybug after the fight against Oblivio make you feel?” It was a daring question. She regretted it almost instantly, his lack of answer at first the most deafening of sounds.

“I used to really enjoy looking at them,” he said cautiously just when she was considering that transforming and making a break for it would be a less awkward option than being scrutinised like this.

“Used to?” She felt her heart rate pick up.

“Well, truth be told…” It was his turn to avert his gaze, although he tightened his grip on her hand ever so slightly. “I’m not sure I’d enjoy kissing Ladybug very much now.”

“Oh?” She hated that she was losing all coherence, her brain overanalysing the implicit meaning of his words, which truly couldn’t be what she thought, dreamed it could be.

“Well, see, there’s this other girl…” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, a smile gently spreading on his lips. Which she definitely wasn’t focusing on.

“Yeah?” she asked breathlessly, very aware of the short distance between them as she forced herself to hold his gaze.

“I’ve just found myself feeling closer to her, and hoping that maybe, just maybe…” His eyes flickered to her lips, and she couldn’t help it.

Her lips found their way to his like a butterfly to a flower, landing lightly at first, testing the waters. It was sweet, like apple juice.

Just as she was about to break contact, Chat’s arms came to wrap around her waist and he deepened the kiss. Her own hands moved up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her lips, and couldn’t help but smile herself.

And then there was light.

She jumped out of Chat Noir’s arms and he scrambled to his feet just as a firefighter finished opening the door, helped by Kim. They’d been so close to a proper floor.

“I knew I’d heard people talking in there!” Kim said excitedly, helping Marinette out. “Oh, hi Chat Noir! Do you know where Ladybug is? This Akuma is not messing around.”

“I’ll go and take care of it, I’ll call LB on the way.” He replied almost sheepishly. Marinette didn’t know where to put herself. She didn’t doubt that what they’d been doing could be read all over her face. Maybe Chat would even figure everything out by just looking at her. There was no doubt that she was just as red as Ladybug’s suit.

“Go find yourself a safe hiding place, Marinette.” Chat put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes boring into hers.

“Will do.” She nodded. “Be safe out there.”

“Will do.”

He started running towards an exit, but turned around just as he was about to turn the corner. He paused, as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it and flashed her a bright smile instead.

It almost made Marinette forget that she needed to get moving too.

#very love much fluster here #marichat #marichatmay2021 #marichat may #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #mlb #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #day 17: locked in #day 18: oops #elle writes #love you (not)

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

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Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 3/?: Focalize

It is a tranquil spring evening by the time Sakura appears within view behind the hospital's glass entryway, a blur of carnation and sage and ivory. It is just a few minutes past seven; it seems she is waving goodbye to what he assumes is the receptionist further into the building, out of sight. Then she’s pushing one of the doors open with her shoulder and coming into focus, pastel colors subdued in dusk.

Sasuke notices she’s carrying a plain tote bag, and that there are also two large books and what looks like something reminiscent of a magazine in her hands, neatly stacked and held to her chest. She is wearing a sweater that is slightly oversized, a desaturated green.

Her face lights up when she sees him standing there, leaning against one of the blue columns situated a few steps away, closer to the road; her expression belays something like a mixture of ardor and avidity, and as she approaches, he also observes her cheeks match her hair.

His heart swells pleasantly in his chest; any shred of loneliness he felt in the past few hours dissolves.

“Sasuke-kun,” she chimes in affectionate greeting as she ambles over to him, all lenity and upturned lips.

“Sakura.” Her eyes flash lighter, more vibrant, as she gets closer; they are reflecting glow from a nearby streetlight that flipped on promptly at seven, an electrified yellow-green.

There is a short moment in time where they just gaze at each other, scant amount of steps between them, an oblivion of chartreuse and charcoal in spring twilight.

“How was your first day back?” She finally asks, smiling up at him.

He thinks it over for a second as he studies her, a gentle breeze of springtide. “...Fine. I saw Kakashi and the dobe.”

Her smile shifts into a knowing one. “I’m going to guess paperwork and Ichiraku’s.”

He pulls the health screening forms out of his pocket in answer, and her dimple makes an appearance.

“You can come by tomorrow just after eight in the morning, if that works for you; I’ll be here.” Different hours than today, then, he presumes.

He feels he should clarify that she’s not coming in early just for his sake. “...Shouldn’t I make an appointment?”

Sakura shakes her head. “Thursdays and Fridays I don’t have appointments or surgeries until a little later in the day. The majority of those mornings are set aside for medical research and correspondence with some of the clinics. As long as it’s before eleven, I can step away from things for a bit.”

Research. Interesting. She hadn't mentioned much about that in her letters; he hadn't realized it was something she did regularly. “What kind of research?”

She blinks in surprise, and he thinks she looks a little sheepish. “...It depends. Right now we’re doing some longitudinal studies on mice; behavioral assessment in accordance with certain stimuli, neurobiological response, brain scans, that sort of thing... I’ve also got some poisons I’m looking at for antidote development, but they’re pretty rare, so it’s not super pressing.”

His eyes flick to the books in her arms, a silent question. Her lips quirk upwards even more, then; he tries not to focus on them for too long, because she’s shifting the texts so he can read the titles. The thin magazine-like one is labeled Progress in Neuro-Psychopharmacology and Biological Psychiatry; it must be a research journal. The top book reads Neuroanatomy Through Clinical Cases, and the other reads Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release.

“...Some light reading,” he comments dryly, his version of a joke, and he revels in her soft exhale of breath, a shy version of a laugh. He has missed it.

“I suppose. I actually need to return these; they’re almost due. I meant to do it yesterday, but...” She’s blushing again. Vivid eyes meet his hesitantly before sweeping away. “...I forgot.”

Heat edges up his neck.

“I… wasn’t sure what you wanted to do this evening,” she continues, pursing her lips a little as her fingers clutch the books closer to her again. “I thought maybe we could swing by the library? I’d like to take a quick look to see if they have some new things in yet; it shouldn’t take very long.”

Sasuke muses that Sakura absolutely is the type to visit the library regularly. He used to go often, when he was younger. He wasn’t checking out books of that caliber, though; he wonders how long she’s had them. He also ponders momentarily if rogue ninja status is enough for the powers that be to revoke your library card from the system. Probably.

He hasn’t been able to read regularly for awhile, being away; books have been unnecessary weight, something extra to carry, and also a distraction from what he was trying to accomplish. Though he would accompany her wherever regardless, he realizes he would like to start reading again. It would be something to occupy his free time, when she is busy.

He nods his assent.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking a little relieved and meeting his eyes again, luminescent jade. "They close at eight today, so we should probably get going."

He nods again, glancing down at the books still in her arms. He considers for a second, then holds his hand out. Sakura blinks in confusion, long lashes skimming her cheekbones.

“...I’ll carry them,” he offers, neck heating up again as she stares. “...If you’d like.”

Her skin blooms with color, darker than earlier. “Oh. Thank you.” She hands them to him carefully, soft fingers brushing his. Her touch is delicate, incredibly distracting; her glowing cheeks, even moreso.

She adjusts her bag over her shoulder and then turns; he falls into step next to her as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

They walk just east of the hospital, which tells him the library is likely still in the same location, despite Konoha’s changing landscape. Some of the buildings they pass along the way are under construction. That seems to be a recurring theme in the village right now; much of what he saw earlier today passing through with Naruto was the same. Sasuke wonders if the library will have expanded, too. He doesn’t think he’s passed by it, yet.

There are a few people milling about, but not nearly as many as earlier. He supposes the majority of residents must be retired for the evening, inside their homes with family. There are a few restaurants they pass that smell fairly appetizing, but Sakura doesn’t say anything, so he concludes he was right in thinking that she has eaten already.

“So, how were things with Kakashi-sensei and Naruto?” Sakura asks conversationally, peering up at him from his right. “Anything other than paperwork?”

Sasuke contemplates before responding. “...Naruto and I went apartment hunting.”

Pink brows furrow a little bit as she grins. “Did you invite him?” She asks, though he suspects by her expression she already knows the answer.

He shakes his head. “Kakashi mentioned it as I was leaving and he invited himself.”

She laughs, then, glancing in the direction of the mountain of faces at their old sensei. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He probably appreciated a morning with Naruto out of his hair. He’s been helping there a lot, when he’s not on missions.” She pauses, then adds, “I imagine apartment hunting with Naruto would be pretty draining, though. He’s gotten a little better at cooling it with the nonstop chatter since Hinata, but not by a ton.” She stops again, thinking, before inquiring, “Did you end up finding a place?”

Sasuke nods. “It’s north of here.”

She smiles again, then purses her lips as if she’s considering whether to say something more or not. Finally she adds, green eyes darting to his and then looking away shyly, “...Not too far away, then.”

His gaze softens. “...Not too far.”

They amble by a few street vendors selling gardening supplies, closing up carts for the evening; they must be doing fairly well, as all that’s left over from the day's plantable wares are saplings here and there, and a few starters, small labels detailing their required care poking up from the dirt containers they’re sitting in. There are several taller displays interspersed between carts, stocked with watering cans, spades, gloves, and the like. Sasuke thinks it is quite trusting of the merchants to leave their goods out overnight, evidently without fear that they will be stolen or damaged; many of them are walking away holding only money boxes. It speaks to the relative security of Konoha, in comparison to most of the places he's been.

“Did you get everything you needed for your apartment today?” Sakura asks him after they meander a few more steps.

He blinks. “...Mostly."

“Was there something in particular you wanted to do, after the library? We could stop by a store, if they’re open, and get what you're missing.”

He shakes his head, then admits, “I… didn’t have anything planned.” He worries, then, that maybe he was supposed to plan something. They’re together now, or at least he hopes they are; he'd kissed her, and he would like to, again, if they're alone. Maybe this should have been more formal. He then thinks he should answer the second part of her inquiry: a box and a drying rack would probably be easy to find at a general store, but the majority of places in Konoha that are open past seven only sell food. “...I think the store I went to closed at seven,” he adds.

Sakura looks as if she’s deliberating again. “What are you missing, still?” He notices she doesn’t seem upset that he didn’t plan anything; maybe it’s okay.

It takes him a moment to respond, carefully. “...A small storage box, and a laundry rack.”

She brightens. “I actually have a spare drying rack that I'm not using, if you want it. The washing machine in my unit broke in February, and when my landlady replaced it, she got a washer/dryer combo.” She thinks, then adds, “...And I think I have an empty shoebox in my closet; would that be big enough?”

Something like serendipity unfolds in Sasuke’s chest and begins to vine between his ribs. He thinks unbidden of the blooming cherry blossom tree he can see from his window, just within reach, if he only goes beyond the glass.

He nods. “...Thank you.”

Multifaceted eyes peer up at him warmly. “No problem.” Her cheeks darken again. “We could… walk for a while, and then swing by there at the end. If you want.” Her fingers are gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter. “I wouldn’t mind walking by your building at some point before that, so I… so I know where it is.”

Sasuke nods again, heart skipping a little. He had hoped she would show him where her apartment is tonight, too; he would like to walk her home. He also hopes ‘walk for a while’ means he gets to spend more time with her between the library and going by his building, before they go to hers.

He thinks maybe he should voice that. It comes out as a question. “...We could walk around a bit after the library?”

She’s gazing up at him with red cheeks and smiling with a gentle light in her eyes. “...I’d like that,” she murmurs.

His ears feel warm again.

They turn a corner, and then they are at the library. There is a small expanded portion of the building on the south side now, and it is painted a slightly different mauve-leaning gray than it used to be, but otherwise it appears the same. When they near the entrance, Sakura pulls open the door for him, since his hand is occupied.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, before they head inside, bell on the door jingling.

The librarian working at the front desk nods at Sakura in recognition as they enter, a fairly young woman with chestnut hair. The librarian Sasuke remembers was quite a bit older, elderly now that he’s thinking about it. He briefly wonders if she passed away in his absence. The thought makes him morose; he hopes she just retired. She had always been kind to him.

“Finished with those already, Sakura?” The woman asks, friendly and motioning to the books in Sasuke’s arm as he makes his way to the desk to set them down, Sakura beside him. She must know her well.

“Yes; the journal was interesting, this time. Very relevant to the experiments we're running, and much more substantial than the last edition.” There is something somewhat critical in her voice regarding the referenced last edition, as if something in it wasn’t up to her academic standards. She’s well within reason to be captious; she has become an expert in her field in a rapid amount of time, and if she’s doing research regularly, he’s sure she has the data to back up her assessment. He wonders just what kind of experiments she’s running that have to do with neuro-psychopharmacology; whatever they are, he imagines they must be complex.

The woman is wearing a name tag that reads Ichika, Sasuke can see now that they’re closer. Sakura pulls out what must be her library card from her tote bag; it’s connected to a lanyard with several keys and what he presumes is an ID badge for the hospital.

“Thank you," the librarian says as Sakura hands her card over. As she does so, the woman glances at Sasuke with brown eyes, and then back to Sakura, as if waiting for an introduction. “And this is?”

“This is Sasuke,” she answers, smiling, then adds, “Uchiha.”

“Welcome,” the woman named Ichika greets him, without any malice. Sasuke wonders if she just doesn’t know who he is, or if she’s being friendly because of Sakura’s presence. Maybe it’s because she’s a civilian.

“...Thank you,” he offers sincerely after a moment.

“It was nice of you to carry those books. I know from experience they’re quite heavy. My name’s Ichika.” She gestures to her name tag. “I don’t suppose you like to read as much as Sakura does?” Ichika laughs as she hands Sakura’s card back and starts scanning the books as returned. “I think by now there are more books in the library that she’s read than ones she hasn’t.”

Sasuke glances at Sakura knowingly, and she looks downwards bashfully for a second.

“...I like to, but I don't think I’d understand half of what’s in these,” Sasuke answers honestly, turning his gaze back to the librarian. He sees Sakura flush out of the corner of his eye.

Ichika laughs. Sasuke thinks then that she really must not know of his prior rogue ninja status. “I usually have her write down the titles of the books she’d like us to add, because I don’t know that I can even spell some of the words.” She squints at the last book. “ Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release. I haven’t the faintest idea what a neurotransmitter is, or what it would be releasing.”

Sakura smiles. “Neurotransmitters are the body’s chemical messengers. A release is when the neurotransmitter causes a response in the receiving neuron; they can be disrupted in diseases and biological toxins. Tetanus is a good example; it goes up synaptic terminals of interneurons where it blocks the release of inhibitory neurotransmitters. The result of the block is that motorneurons become overactive, and then cause muscle contractions and spastic paralysis, like lockjaw.”

Ichika blinks blankly. “I don’t know where you keep that information in your head, Sakura, because it certainly wouldn’t fit in mine. Guess I’ll try not to step on any nails in the meantime.” She’s shaking her head, but her tone is amicable. “Well, they’re all checked in, with a few days to spare. I left out the new journals and that other book you asked about in the usual spot, back in the Medicine section.”

Sakura nods, and the librarian’s gaze turns back to him.

"Would you like a library card?”

Sasuke is glad he won’t have to ask. “...I used to have one. I’m not sure if it’s still on file.”

“I can check our records, if you want to browse in the meantime. If it’s not still on file, we can set you up with a new one; you can take books today either way, if you find some you’re interested in.”

Sasuke nods; that was easier than he thought it would be. “...Thank you.” Ichika turns to approach a row of filing cabinets a bit further back behind the main desk area, he assumes to check for his name in their database; he turns to Sakura.

She’s smiling at him as if she wants to ask him a question, but she doesn’t say anything. When she turns to journey further back into the library, he follows. They pass through two interior rooms, organized by genre and alphabet just the same as they had been years ago. The shelves are a little fuller than they used to be; with the population expanding, it makes sense that they now have a wider selection available.

They turn a corner to another interior room, and suddenly he sees a familiar face. His replacement is hunched over in a corner, nose buried in a book that appears from its cover to be about painting. When Sasuke inspects the rest of the room, he sees that the majority of the books in this section have titles related to art.

“Oh, hey, Sai,” Sakura greets casually, heading over to him. Dark eyes glance up at her from his book. Seeing him here must be a regular occurrence, given her lack of surprise.

"Hello, Ugly,” he responds, somehow both cheerful and monotone all at once. Sasuke frowns. He’d been around Sai a few times following the war, before he left for his travels. He never liked his nickname for Sakura.

Sai then looks to him, still standing at the threshold of the room, keeping his distance. He knows him, but not well.

“Welcome back, Traitor," he adds, tone friendly enough. Sasuke supposes that one’s fair. He inclines his head minutely, hand in his pocket.

Sai twists his gaze back to Sakura. "Have you recovered from your birthday extravaganza?"

Sakura blanches and stiffens a little in surprise as Sasuke eyes her with great interest; clearly this was not something she’d expected to be asked about. "Uh… Yeah. It doesn't take long; I eat during and can heal my headache the morning after."

Sai nods. “Yes, Beautiful said you didn’t get nearly as plastered as she wanted you to.” The way he says it is with way too positive of an inflection, as if he’s talking about it being great weather outside instead of crude wording for getting drunk.

Sakura rolls her eyes, then. “She would think that.” She pauses, then looks at Sai carefully. "Ino should be back tonight, right?"

"Yes. I am excited. I'm feeling quite amorous."

Sasuke twitches and his frown sinks deeper, but Sakura rolls her eyes as if she is used to this lack of filter, and gently pushes his book into his face, firmly but carefully so as not to damage it.

"Too much information. Just say you miss her."

Sai smiles as he moves the book away. "It is less information than Beautiful gives."

"That's because she's not normal," Sakura replies, sighing. Sai nods almost mechanically, as if he is cataloging this tidbit on human social interaction away in a filing cabinet for future reference.

There is a pause that is just a bit too long, before Sai offers, “I am researching for an upcoming painting.” Sasuke doesn’t know Sai well enough to understand, but Sakura does; apparently this is his way of telling her that he is busy with his book.

"I won’t keep you, then. Don't let her forget about our plans, though, and tell her I missed our spar this week."

Sai smiles. "She was preparing a new playlist prior to her mission." This also interests Sasuke, but not as much as Ino trying to get her ‘plastered’. He is for some reason having great difficulty imagining Sakura even a little drunk.

Sakura sighs deeply through her nose this time, and says flatly, with no enthusiasm, "Great.” After a beat, she adds, “Well anyways, tell her I say hi. See you. Good luck with your painting.”

Sai nods, and Sakura then turns to go a different direction, Sasuke following close behind. They pass through four more interior rooms before they finally make it to the Medicine section towards the back of the building, where one book and two more medical journals are sectioned neatly away in an empty portion of shelf. The book is just as thick as the one she’d just returned.

“I didn’t know you liked to read, still,” Sakura mentions as she carefully picks up the stack. She’s smiling at him again; that must be what she wanted to say earlier. Maybe she’d expected Sai would be there, that they would pass through the room he was sitting in, and that’s why she’d held off.

Sasuke nods. “...I haven’t read much in a while.”

Jade eyes are soft on his. “Well, if you want to look for a bit, I could look, too.”

He nods again.

XXX

Roughly twenty minutes later, Sasuke leaves the library with Sakura, comparing what they’ve checked out underneath the streetlight just outside; the light has faded enough that it is a bit difficult to read without it.

They still had his information on file after all, though the woman, Ichika, had him fill out a renewal slip and updated his contact information to his new address before giving him a new card. It is a strangely comforting and nostalgic feeling, to know that he was still present in the archives of Konoha in ways he had been unaware of.

He had picked out two books: one about the history of kenjutsu in Fire Country, and another historical text documenting the overthrow of the daimyo in the Land of Silence. He has never been there, given it is beyond the reach of Shinobi authority; he figured it would be interesting to read about. With it being a samurai-led country, it made sense to read at the same time as the book on kenjutsu.

“These sound like you,” Sakura says after scanning the titles of what he’s picked, glancing up at him kindly as she rotates so he can read the information of her own. Cradled in her arms are the Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience, the other scholarly journal, Human Brain Mapping, the book from the Medicine section titled Translational Research in Traumatic Brain Injury, and what appears to be a fiction book, an addition to the others, titled Spoiled Suitopi.

“You read fiction, too,” he observes as he reads the title of the last one, and she takes this as her cue to shift them back together neatly into one stack, largest to smallest.

She laughs a little. “I try to. It’s a good mental reset after reading medical texts; everything starts to blur together after a while. This was actually a recommendation from Ino; she’s into the dramatic stuff, clearly. Sometimes they’re decent.”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to ask. “...A birthday extravaganza?”

She smiles timidly, expression shifting to something a little embarrassed. “I wouldn’t call it that; she showed up at my apartment last weekend with ingredients for drinks, and then we watched terrible movies in my living room.”

Sasuke is learning all kinds of things about Sakura this evening. “No Sai?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s a me and Ino thing; he doesn’t really pick up on the nuance of them being terrible, and we figure we don’t want to give him poor examples to follow… he’s got enough of those already, dating her.” She grins a little, then. “Also, he can’t really handle his liquor.”

Sasuke thinks Sakura must be able to hold hers fairly well; she had seemed pretty confident earlier, regarding the morning after. He knows her mentor Tsunade has quite a reputation. He himself has never drank much.

“He’s... interesting.”

Sakura shrugs nonchalantly. "He's better than he used to be, regarding the oversharing. Ino is worse, honestly.”

He considers her words, then decides to drop the subject, because he doesn’t want to think about that. Sakura had said in her letters that Ino and Sai were together; he can only imagine what she knows about them, likely most of it against her will and learned in the manner he's just witnessed.

He shifts his attention upwards; a few stars are starting to peek their way into the night sky. He follows their path north, to the barest hints of lavender sinking below the horizon. It has become even more silent outside, fewer people and slightly cooler temperatures. There is still a breeze. They spent longer in the library than he'd anticipated.

He’s not sure what time she usually goes to sleep; if she works at eight, it’s probably early. He wonders if he should ask.

“Thank you for going with me. I’m sorry it took a little longer than I thought,” she says, before the question comes to him. He shifts his eyes back towards her; he’s about to tell her not to apologize because he clearly spent time browsing, too, but she’s already speaking again. “You said your apartment is on the north side, right?”

He inclines his head in an affirmative.

“We could walk that direction, if you want; there are a few newer things on that side of town I could point out that are kind of interesting. If…” She pauses, as if considering her wording. “If you haven’t seen them already, I mean.” She gestures to his selection from the library, gripped in his hand. “We could drop off your books, too. Not as much to carry back, then, with the box and the laundry rack.”

“...I’d like that.”

She smiles up at him again, tender effervescence. He realizes as they start making their way north that they both have been talking in more hushed voices, as if the blanket of nighttime shifting atop the village has quieted them in addition to their surroundings.

There is something soothing about treading around at nightfall with her. The village is well-lit enough that it’s fairly easy wandering, and lights emanating from windows cast everything softer, more inviting phosphorescence sifting onto the pathway beneath their feet. Earlier today, trekking back and forth between businesses and his apartment, it had felt more unfamiliar, like there was a disconnect and he was just passing through, despite the knowledge that he was transporting things to a permanent living space. It feels decidedly less transient next to Sakura, a hint of sweetness in tart recollections. He watches their shadows for a fleeting moment, cast close together to the right of them, near touching, and occasionally faded by windowpane glow.

There is a casino she points out a few blocks down where Tsunade apparently used to lose money fairly regularly. She explains it was her mentor’s favorite because it was somewhat close to the residence typically taken up by the Hokage; she used to call it lucky, even though she never won. Sasuke finds out through this story that the Hokage residence is still sitting empty; Kakashi has apparently still not moved there, preferring instead to stay where he has been residing for years. Sakura mentions in a softer tone that she thinks it’s because of his apartment’s proximity to the graveyard where his old teammate, the Nohara girl, is buried.

There is a long stretch of silence in which Sasuke considers just how Kakashi has always seemed able to see straight through him. He’s fairly certain the girl had been a medic, too.

“...Naruto’s house isn’t far from the Hokage’s office, either,” Sasuke observes finally, changing the subject. He’s with her right now; he doesn’t want to ruminate too long. He thinks that's improvement.

Jade eyes sparkle up at him. “No, it’s not. I’m pretty sure that was on purpose; I don’t think they intend to move again. I’m sure he’ll give you the tour eventually - he’s pretty proud of their place; Hinata keeps it pretty nice - but it has some extra rooms.”

He tries not to think about the implications of that for too long. Naruto being in charge of a tiny human is not a very reassuring thought, even with his apparent strides in social awareness.

They pass a yakitori place she mentions is good, a few more blocks down. It seems pretty calm for such a restaurant, not as busy as Ichiraku’s usually is, though it’s later now and they’re likely getting ready to close. “I’ve been there with Naruto and Hinata a few times,” she tells him. “At least, when we can convince him to go eat something other than ramen.”

Sasuke hadn’t realized Sakura was that close with Naruto’s wife, though it makes sense instantaneously; she has known her for years. He thinks for a second before questioning, “Is she still as quiet?”

Sakura purses her lips in thought. “She talks more, now, for sure, but she’s still pretty shy around people she doesn’t know well.” She smiles, then. “I think Naruto has been really good for her, actually. Her for him, too; they balance each other out well.”

He supposes that’s true; perhaps Hinata is the reason for Naruto’s continued emotional growth. He ponders momentarily whether he and Sakura will balance each other out well.

She’s looking at him as if he should say something, so he does. “...He had vegetables in his ramen today.”

Sakura laughs. “Yes, she does force vegetables into his food every once in a while, now, so he's more used to them. I think she might have slipped Teuchi some money to start throwing them in his orders, to be honest."

Sasuke snorts, because of course that would be how that came about.

"It’s for the best," Sakura continues, lips quirking upwards still. He tears his eyes away from her mouth after a second. "He was eating pretty much all noodles and junk for so long. Hopefully it’ll start to cancel out with a few more years.”

As they walk farther, he starts to recognize things from earlier today; a bed of alabaster azaleas surrounding a residential building painted green, and a rather large street sign on a corner, right next to an ornate bench. They are getting fairly close to his apartment building. He holds off on saying something for a little longer, though, because he wants to spend more time with her. He hopes that's not too selfish; he has missed her. A lot.

“There’s an interesting place over there,” Sakura notes, pointing out a clearly aged building that he thinks he walked by on his return trip from the market earlier in the afternoon. “They’re only open two or three days a week, but it’s antiques now. I don’t usually buy anything other than books, but it’s fun to look through; they get rare ones in, from time to time. The owner is really nice.”

He nods. That would be a good way to spend an afternoon. He suspects she must have a collection of books at her apartment, then. He wonders how many.

She is mute for a moment, as if in thought, as they pass through another intersection. He wonders if he should be adding more to the conversation, but it doesn’t feel like an awkward silence; just an easy one.

He spies another familiar sign, this one advertising the market hours. “...My building is a few blocks this way,” he mentions quietly, loath as he is for this evening spent with her to come to an end. She looks up at him for a moment, then nods, and he subtly starts leading her in the general direction of his apartment complex.

His building comes into view a short time later. He points it out right before they pass beneath the cherry blossom tree, and Sakura nods in recognition. “Sai used to live somewhere over in this area, before he moved in with Ino. I’m not sure where, exactly. I know he liked how quiet it was, though.”

Sasuke nods as he pulls his key from his pocket, and they cross the street. He had been right about the light pollution; there is little enough of it that one can see the stars rather clearly, more so than one could from the library.

He wonders if he should perhaps invite her in. He thinks of the letters, still sitting on the small end table in the living room.

She saves him from making the decision. “I’ll wait here,” she tells him politely, leaning up against the old brick. He nods.

He goes up the stairway, down to the last door on the right. Once he unlocks his door, he places the two books on the kitchen table inside, and locks the door again behind him. It only takes him a minute before he is coming down the stairs again.

She smiles at him, then blinks when he holds out his hand. She colors, he thinks, when she realizes he’s offering to carry her books for her again; it’s harder to tell with the lack of light.

As she hands them to him carefully, she says, voice soft, “My place is a little south of the library; not by too much.” Her eyes flit to his, then dart away; there is a careful smile on her lips. “Maybe a little over ten minutes from here.”

They wander together in an easy silence, her leading the way more now. There are a few crickets chirping. It was fairly warm out today, so it makes sense that insects are starting to make their return. A gentle breeze continues to waft through from time to time.

He walks close enough to her that he can faintly smell raspberries, each time the wind blows just right. There are even fewer people out and about now, it being closer to nine in the evening; the road is fairly deserted. They go by the library again, lights turned off, and more closed businesses. It soon transitions into older construction that he assumes must be residential.

She was right; it doesn’t take long, around twelve minutes at a leisurely pace, before she points out a building further down the street. “That’s the one.”

As they get closer, he notes that hers is also an older building, built out of cream brick; there is something nice about that realization, that she also apparently chose something older with a bit of history over something brand new. There are few enough street lights that one can see the stars overhead well at night here, too.

“There’s a patio or balcony attached to each unit,” Sakura remarks once they’re closer, pointing at one on the northernmost part of the second story that is brimming with potted plants, much more than any of her neighbors’. “That one’s mine.”

As they round the corner of the building, he assumes to reach the front entrance, she tells him it was one of the reasons she selected this apartment, aside from its proximity to the hospital and her family's residence. "My parents' house has balconies for both bedrooms. It was strange to imagine not having one. This one’s attached to the bedroom, too; it’s nice to sit out there, if the weather’s not too extreme."

It’s a smaller complex, only two stories high. He thinks there must be six units, given its size and the trio of balconies they passed beneath, three small patios in their shadows on the ground level. It is somewhat close to the hospital, as she’d said, but far enough away that it's not necessarily an area that would bustle with activity, even during the day’s busiest hours; it is very still right now, peaceful. They pass through a glass door that is not locked, leading into a common area with six doors, three on the main level, and then three on the second level, with a metal stairway leading upwards. A huge, two-story high bay window sprawls by the main door, overlaid in a diamond pattern, which must allow light to stream in the majority of the day.

Each of the doors to individual units has at least one or two plants framing it, but he knows which one is hers right away. An array of thriving potted plants surround the upper northernmost side door, spilling out to surround the entire right side of the banister that frames the edges of the building. Hers is also the unit furthest on the upper right, like his; another nice realization. A few of her plants are flowering, but for the most part they are varying shades of green, with accents of paler colors. Desaturated and calming, just as he’d guessed she would like, rather than intensities of marigold and cobalt and fuchsia. It's hard to tell in the dim lighting, but as they get closer, he thinks that the few blooms are pistachio and lavender and blush in color, like her hair.

Or her cheeks. Jade eyes are on him again as he finishes walking up the stairway behind her.

He follows her to her door and leans a little against the railing behind him while she grabs her keys from her bag; he doesn’t think she’d mind if he came in for a few minutes, but she didn’t explicitly invite him, and he wants to be polite.

Once she’s unlocked it, she turns back to him to take her books. Her hand brushes his, and it’s incredibly distracting, again. “I’ll be right back.” She smiles at him before disappearing inside her apartment.

She leaves the door slightly ajar behind her, and he tries not to look. He busies himself with observing what appears by her neighbors’ doorways instead. No light emanates from beneath the doors of any of them; he wonders, this being older construction, if more of the tenants here are older, and are perhaps in bed already. The upper units probably aren’t occupied by extremely elderly people, given the stairs, but the ground level units’ decorations appear more classic and refined, less youthful. He notes the pots surrounding the other doors are very matchy, but Sakura’s are less so; hers are various shades of neutral terracotta colors, soft and inviting, some with unique shapes.

She’s back quickly, foldable drying rack and shoebox in tow, closing her door mostly behind her. She also must have set her tote bag aside; it's no longer situated on her shoulder.

He realizes all at once as she meets his eyes, handing him the items she’s gifting him, that he does not want this evening to end.

“Thank you,” he says, voice husky.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs, just as hushed.

Sasuke studies her eyes for a long moment, trying to commit the life in them to memory, though he already has, he thinks.

“...May I see you tomorrow after you work?” He finally asks quietly, trying to keep the hope out of his tone. He knows he’ll see her for his medical clearance in the morning, but he would still like to spend time with her outside of that, if she doesn't have plans already.

She looks crestfallen, smile slipping a little before coming back. “I would love to see you, but I have dinner with my parents every other Thursday, since I get off at four. They stopped by for a visit on my actual birthday, but they wanted to do cake and a gift tomorrow night after our usual supper time.” She pauses, searches his expression for a moment. “Maybe the day after tomorrow, if you’re not busy? I get off around four on Fridays, too.”

He nods, committing this part of her schedule to memory. “...I’ll meet you at the hospital, then.”

Her smile gets wider. “Okay. I can show you around the other newer parts of the village, if you’d like. The southwest side has really expanded.”

He nods his head in agreement, thinking. He would like to ask for more time with her, before he starts taking mission assignments again, but he also doesn’t want to monopolize all of it; she has years worth of life here, roots other than him that need tending. He hopes she’s saying yes because she actually wants to, and not simply for his sake.

He takes a deep breath, forcing down nervous vulnerability at his next question. “...And Saturday?”

She blinks, then blushes darker, smile growing wider still. She casts her glance downwards to her feet out of shyness, shifting a bit. “Saturdays I work seven to three; I’m going to stop by the market after for some gardening supplies with Ino, but other than that, I didn’t have anything set in stone.” But then jade eyes flick back up at him, and they are slightly apologetic.

His heart sinks for a second, rejection stinging a little behind his eyes. She doesn’t want to see me that often. He’s been absent for too long. She's probably tired of him already, though she hasn’t said anything. He has enjoyed tonight, but he's aware he doesn't make the best company.

“Naruto sent a clone by this afternoon that was going on about an original Team Seven reunion dinner, though. He mentioned Saturday night as a possibility,” she reveals, and his world comes back into focus, heart reversing upwards back into his chest cavity.

Sasuke huffs amusedly, then, relieved. “...Of course he did.”

She sighs wistfully, shaking her head. “Ichiraku’s, I’m sure. I’m pretty sure I’ve tried everything on the menu in triplicate, at this point.”

He eyes her carefully, trying to dry swallow his fear of rejection like a pill. Corrosion, he thinks. “...After dinner?”

Shimmering seafoam again. Happy, transparently pleased, and he’s glad he asked, shoved away the nerves; he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if it’s going to make her eyes look like that. “Of course. We could… hang out here, if you want. Or was there something you had in mind?”

His gaze softens. “Here is fine,” he answers. It is more than fine, actually. He’d go anywhere, if it meant he could soak in her presence longer, but he’s more than a little curious about what her apartment looks like on the inside. His own is pretty sterile, even now mostly put together after the afternoon, devoid of most anything other than necessities. He has an inkling that Sakura is the type to truly make wherever she's living feel like a home, though, given the pleasant spread of life he’s seen spilling out here on her doorstep.

“Okay,” she confirms, dimple reappearing. “I’ll look forward to it.”

There is something in her eyes after a second, gears turning, a question she must want to ask him.

"Would you…" She's talking even more softly, now, hushed as if she's going to scare him away. Her eyes meet his apprehensively as she shifts her weight from one side to the other. "Would you want to maybe... have tea tomorrow morning? I'm… not sure if you have plans or not, but I have a little time, before I work. There's a good place near the hospital, and then after we could get your exam done at eight like we planned."

The vines between his ribs twist pleasurably. She does want to see him, after all. She's not too busy. She's looking at him nervously, as if he would say no, as if he hasn’t spent the last twenty-four hours longing for her company again.

"...I'll look forward to it," he answers quietly, because he will; he likes tea, occasionally. He thinks he will like it better with her.

Her entire countenance brightens somehow, even as she flushes darker. "Oh. Good." She sounds relieved.

"...I can meet you here," he finds himself saying, and her eyes are sparkling at him, now, at what's implied - longer with her, another walk together. "What time?"

She purses her lips now, apparently still nervous. "Would… seven be too early?" Her voice trails off a little, as if in hesitance, as she finishes the question.

He chooses his next words carefully, meaningfully, so there is no uncertainty. "Not at all."

She regards him then like he has done something wholly wonderful, cheeks a rich red in dim light and expression heart-wrenchingly elated.

There is an expectant pause as the oblivion happens again, dimmer now but just as powerful. He really wants to kiss her; he’s been thinking about it the entire evening. He wonders if she has, too, and if maybe she wants him to. There’s no one around, in this little entry area of her small complex, in front of her door and her plants in faded hues.

He decides to go with his gut.

It’s somehow even better, this time, anticipation and lips meeting and a barely audible exhale of breath through the nose on her part, almost like she’s suddenly at ease; he thinks, pleased, that she must have wanted him to. Her hands gently meet his chest, tentatively pressing against him. He would like to do something with his, but it's still occupied, holding what she's supplied him with. He settles for pressing his lips to hers with a little more confidence than yesterday. It’s tender and over much too quickly, much like the evening they have spent together; all soft light settling, lambent and beguiling.

She is crimson when they part for a breath, before shyly directing her gaze away and shifting back down; he realizes that she must have been standing on the tips of her toes to reach him.

Her hands linger on his chest, and then her gaze comes back up to his, almost determinedly.

“I’m… really happy you’re back.” Her face is still flushed, but she doesn’t look away. Her pupils are dilated, bottomless black dwarfing green.

Heat creeps up his neck. His pulse pounds just below her fingertips, as if she’s tugging at his heartstrings with them.

“...I am, too,” he whispers, before he leans down again.

He thinks that he could stay here forever, clutching all that she’s given him, enveloped in a sweet ambrosia of tart berry and newly unfurling plants and soft lips that he’s thought of all day, now against his again.

She gently drops her hands from his chest when they finally part. She’s smiling; she is so pretty.

“Good night, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice is near a whisper. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“...Good night, Sakura,” he murmurs in response.

XXX

The journey from her place to his really is quite quick; he doesn’t see anyone on his way back. Stars are visible almost the entire way, Leo and Ursa Major and Cassiopeia. The moon is a thin sliver amongst them, raised high in the sky.

Once he's inside, he carefully folds out the drying rack she’s given him in the small laundry closet and lays out damp clothes to allow the air to finish the job. He's glad he didn't need to make another trip to the store. A trip with her was better, and she somehow had just what he needed. He thinks perhaps she always has, and his vision has simply been too blurry, obscured by smudged glass, to see it.

Sasuke retrieves the stack of her letters and places them in the box gingerly so as not to further bend them. He stares at the picture for a long time before also stowing it away, sliding the container onto the shelf in the closet for safekeeping.

He doesn’t feel tired yet, and it's not too cold, so he goes to visit the memorial stone, after, as he’d planned. He feels it is the right thing to do, after having been gone so long.

He confronts many things as he sits there, the bevy of crickets and soft swishing of grass the only sounds on this quiet spring evening, a long list of engravings barely legible in the shadows.

Melancholy is one of them, seeping in slowly, as he’d known it would. Grief and acrimony and betrayal, too. A little bit of anger, still. He also experiences sillage, the aroma of his mother’s flower garden and the scent of his aunt and uncle’s baked goods and the smell of an empty house, all blending together in his olfactory senses like it was yesterday, a bitter incense of nostalgia that is hard on the inhale.

This time, though, semisweet berry and antiseptic are also among them, memory fresh in his nostrils, and he experiences a little bit of comfort, too.

Sasuke doesn’t sleep well, after, but when the nightmare comes, gruesome, and he’s awake for the remainder of the night, he has some books to help steady him until seven comes.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #slow burn indeed we doing a snail's pace out here #like gold #fanfiction

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imaginethathaikyuu · 5 years

Text

kinktober - day 10

bokuto koutarou - cock worship + deep throating

kinktober faq prompt list

*NSFW warning featuring blow jobs, cock worship, a mildly dominant bokuto, a very possessive bokuto who likes being called ace, and lots o’ dirty talk* gender neutral reader

After a long day at the gym, there’s nothing Bokuto loved more than coming home to you. He always managed to get lonely on the days his volleyball team didn't have practice, so knowing he had you to spend his day with made him feel much better.

Because of that, his off days were often his favorite days. And you always had a way of making them special…

Koutarou had quite a strict routine; he spent an hour and a half at the gym and arrived home at the same time every day. Meaning: if you wanted to do something mischievous, you knew how to pull it off so he’d get home at just the right time.

But sometimes, it was more fun to tip him off about what you were up to.

After his first twenty minute set, he pulled his phone out of his pocket just to glance at it, not expecting to find a text from you. And when he opened that text, he definitely wasn’t expecting what you sent.

You sent two messages.

I miss you, Kou

That one was sweet. But you knew Koutarou would see it at face value. So, to get your point across - and to be a giant tease - you sent him a picture.

You were doing the washing when you came across Bokuto’s volleyball jersey. He had hung it up to dry the day before, so it was freshly cleaned. That’s when you got your idea.

And Koutarou did not think he’d get that turned on at the sight of you wearing his jersey - and only his jersey. You had the shirt pulled up just enough to show off your bare hip and nothing else, and fuck - you looked so good in his clothes.

His gym shorts felt very tight all of a sudden, and he had to close his phone so no one around him saw the photo. He didn’t want to risk anyone seeing you but him.

And then, he decided to leave the gym early - and immediately go home to you.

He found you sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for him, still wearing his shirt. And seeing you in person was much better than in a photo.

“Hi,” you said, “aren’t you home early?”

“There are way more important things for me to do than lift weights,” he told you, approaching you quickly. “By that, I mean you.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders and he wrapped his strong arms around your waist.

“And… I can’t really work out while I’m this hard.”

“You poor thing.”

“It’s your fault!”

“Well, do you want me to help you out or not?”

His answer was to pull your legs around his waist and then lift you off the counter to carry you off to your bedroom.

“Next time, just be waiting on the bed, babe.”

“Whatever you say, Ace.”

His eyes widened while you innocently kissed his smooth cheek. It took everything in him to not push you against the nearest wall and fuck your brains out then and there.

Instead, he’d force himself to have some control so he could actually enjoy you. You were meant to be savored.

When he placed you on the bed, you gave him the sweetest look as you said, “just hurry, Kou, I need you.”

He pressed kisses up and down your neck and said, “What do you need, baby?”

“I - I need your dick,” you said honestly. “Please.”

“Okay, sweetheart, you can have it.” He kissed your cheek and looked down at you with an award winning smile smile. “But you didn’t say where you need it, so… Get on your knees for me.”

He was excited. You could see it in his golden eyes as you looked up at him, now sat on your knees between his legs, your cheek resting on his knee.

“You’re so cute,” he said, rubbing the side of your face with his thumb. “But I know a way you’ll be even cuter.”

You giggled, “How?”

“By having my big cock in your mouth, baby.” He tugged his shorts down just enough to expose himself, and you pulled them down his thick thighs for him.

“I need it, Kou.”

“I know you do, honey.” You watched with wide eyes as he stroked himself - you never knew how you’d fit all of him in your mouth but you were always so desperate to try. “I need you, too.”

He pulled your face closer, telling you that you can get started - and god, he needed you to get started.

He tapped the blunt head of his cock against your lips, and you caught a drop of his precum when he did it.

“Open that pretty mouth, baby.”

You did as you were told and opened up, wrapping your lips around his tip. And he immediately groaned and brushed your hair out of your face for you.

You caught his hand in your own and held onto it tightly - you needed some way to keep yourself anchored to reality - it was hard to keep your mind clear with Koutarou’s girth in your mouth.

You swirled your tongue once, lapping at the precum and then pulled off of him and moved to his base. And then you pressed opened mouth kisses to his shaft, looking into his eyes as you did so.

“You’re so big, Kou,” you told him, knowing how much he loved your compliments. “I love your big cock so much.”

“Show me how much you love it, baby.”

You had teased him enough, so this time when your lips wrapped around him, you took as much of him into your mouth as you could.

You really had to work up to taking all of him - right now, you didn’t even have most of his length in your mouth. You stroked what was remaining with your hand and started bobbing your head, reveling in the sound of his loud moans.

“God, your mouth is - fuck - so fucking good, Y/N, fuck.”

Your eyes were starting to tear up and you put all your focus on not gagging, when Koutarou’s hand moved to the back of your head.

“I know you can take more of me, baby,” he told you, “I know you can take all of me.”

He pushed himself deeper, by jerking his hips and pushing your head down, and he fucked your throat with two or three thrusts before you gagged and pushed away.

“Holy fuck, your mouth feels so good,” he groaned. “One more time, baby, you can take it one more time - ohhh.”

You could feel drool dripping from your mouth as Koutarou’s cock assaulted your throat - and you took him for as long as you possibly could, but he was just too big.

You pushed him away again, this time slipping him out of your mouth, and he pulled his hand out of your hair.

“Fuck, I want to cum down your throat so fucking bad -”

Until he looked down at you again and remembered what you were wearing. And that gave him an idea.

“Never mind - get up here. I’m fucking you while you’re wearing my jersey.”

He helped you stand and then pushed you to kneel on the bed.

“I want you on all fours,” he said, lifting your shirt up. “Fuck, I love this ass.”

His strong hand fell down onto your ass cheek like a paddle - he wears number four for a reason.

“Kou, please.”

“What, baby?”

“Fuck me with your perfect cock, Ace, please.”

“Oh, I’ll give it to you, baby - all while you’re wearing my ace number, and god, do you look good wearing my number.”

And with another slap to your ass, he thrust his cock into you to the hilt. He pushed your head down into the mattress so your ass was up for him and then he pulled out and dipped in again - you felt him even deeper than before.

“Koutarou, fuck -”

“Do you feel how deep my big dick is inside you, baby?”

“It feels… ah, so good, Ace,” you moaned - and Koutarou’s head was spinning.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

“Your perfect cock feels so fucking good inside me -”

“Again, tell me how good it feels.”

“I love being full of you, Kou, you fit so perfectly inside me - fuck!”

Every word you said made the ace’s grin grow more and more - he was fucking you with a wide smile by the time either if you were close.

“Are you close?” he asked, “Are you close to cumming around this cock, baby?”

“Yeah -”

“Yeah? Then do it. Cum on my cock, Y/N - so I can cum deep inside you.”

“Koutarou -”

“Cum for me now, baby - god, fuck, you are tight - you’re cumming, aren’t you, baby? I can tell.”

You weren’t able to reply - or even hear what the hell he was saying. And you were squeezing him so tight he could barely move. It felt like the two of you were bonded together, completely joined, and if he moved out of you he’d be ripping of a body part.

“I’m gonna cum,” he told you, pulling your ass back against him. You were flush against his hips - and he was moving you around like a rag doll. “I’m gonna fill you to the brim, baby.”

And he did - with a loud groan that sounded more like a growl. He came inside you as if he was marking his territory - he coated your walls and it was hot, slick, messy. He loved it. You were all his - wearing his jersey, moaning his name with his cum dripping out of you.

You were his. That’s the only thing he was able to think as he came down from the euphoria you had just given him.

“So perfect,” he mumbled to you, “can you just… stay like this forever?”

“No - I’m already sore.”

That perked his ears, and he came out of the fog-like state your perfect body had placed him in and moved away from you, letting you relax on the bed, and then he flipped you over to face him.

“Your Ace wants to cuddle.”

“After I clean myself up, Ace.”

“No,” he whined, “I like you dirty.”

You sent him a questioning look, and he clarified: “Only when I’m the one who made you dirty, babe.”

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 11: 69

#kinktober 2019 #kinktober #Bokuto Koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #not family friendly

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janetbrown711 · 4 years

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❝You are the only one who really understands me, so please—don’t go.❞ Dewey webby Delong with issues of webby leaving with Louie growing up and married and Dewey having issues and separation problems and aaahgavckfmgkf

Webby knew Louie was out of his damn mind when he swore that he’d be able to fix the whole Dewey being drunk out of his mind with Dante, Huey being anxious, and whatever spat Della and Daisy had gotten themselves into all before the rehearsal dinner started, but Webby did nothing to stop him. She was honestly quite interested in just how he would attempt it all, and just how spectacularly it would fail. That was why, despite her granny’s concern, she let Louie to it.

However, her concern started to edge her when the dinner was starting in five minutes and there wasn’t a sign of Louie, Dewey, Dante, or Daisy anywhere. She figured Louie would probably try to fix everything last minute, as was often a technique of his (though weaker than his others). Sighing, she told Lena she’d be back in a moment and went to search for her fiancée.

However, when she heard a loud thud, she was diverted from her path and rushed to assist whoever had fallen. To her surprise, it was Dewey, who didn’t appear even the slightest bit soberer than before. Whatever Louie had attempted, it didn’t work.

“Dewey, are you okay? Why are you alone? Where’s Dante?” Webby asked, looking up and down the empty hallway.

“Gone,” Dewey mumbled, his breath reeking of alcohol.

“Are you okay? You totally fell,” Webby asked, looking him up and down to check for any possible injuries.

“Head’s fine. Made of solid rock,” Dewey grinned cheekily, knocking on his head a few times.

“You’re coming with me mister,” Webby rolled her eyes at his slurred speech, wrapping an arm around him and helping him up, taking him to the kitchen.

“Where we goin’ Websssss?” Dewey asked. “Party’s thata way.”

“We are going to sober you up for Louie because he clearly doesn’t know how to do this,” Webby snarked.

“True dat,” Dewey nodded.

“So where’s Dante if you’re alone?” Webby asked again.

“Dante’s... Dante’s... mm...” Dewey tried to think but couldn’t come to a conclusion. “Dewster’s all alone tonight.”

“Did he say that? Why?” Webby raised an eyebrow. She knew Dante, he was better than just abandoning Dewey like that.

“Dewster’s aloneee tonight baby, no reason other than my brain,” He answered. Unfortunately, that did nothing to clarify the situation.

“What about Huey? Louie said he was going to sober you,” Webby questioned.

“Dante an’ Hubert got in a squabble,” Dewey shrugged.

“Well he better show up soon if this doesn’t work,” Webby sighed.

“What we gon’ try?” Dewey asked.

“That’s a surprise,” Webby said, so Dewey wouldn’t run away. It was going to be the tried and true method of dunking his head in ice-cold water until he could stand on his own.

“Alllll by myseeeeEeelffffffff,” Dewey had begun to drunkenly sing to himself, as was his habit. No matter what situation they were in, if Dewey was drunk, he was singing somehow.

“Dewey, you aren’t by yourself, I’m here,” Webby rolled her eyes.

“Not for long,” he muttered. This caused Webby to stop.

“What do you mean by that?” Webby frowned.

“I mean...” Dewey’s face flushed and he looked to the ground. It seemed for a moment he would answer when suddenly vomited on a fake tree in the hall. Webby sighed.

“We need to get you to the kitchen. I’m sure you can explain there,” She sighed and practically carried him to the kitchen, and he luckily didn’t vomit after that.

Eventually, they reached the kitchen and Webby made her request for a big bucket of ice water, and the sobering began. She had to dunk his face in a total of five times before he demanded she stop and she knew he came back to his senses.

“Tell me what happened,” Webby sat Dewey down and crossed her arms.

“What do you mean?” Dewey rubbed the back of his neck.

“Where’s Huey or Dante? How did you end up alone and wandering the halls of the hotel?” She clarified.

“Right. That,” Dewey sighed. “Huey found me with Dante, Dante got snappy at Huey, Huey got snappy back, Dante left angry, Huey tried to get me to come back to save his ass so he wouldn’t have to give his speech, I got mad for him getting mad at Dante and stormed off, telling him not to follow,” he explained.

“How long were you wandering around? And how did Huey lose track of you?” Webby raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know everything, okay? It’s foggy,” he shrugged. Webby nodded slowly.

“I see,” She said. “What about all that alone talk? When I said you aren’t alone you said ‘not for long’. What do you mean?”

Dewey went silent for a moment.

“Webby... I-i feel like you’re the only one who understands me...”

“Dewey, you promised-”

“I know what I promised,” he closed his eyes. “But...”

“Dewey, I know what you want to say but you cannot do this to me. The wedding is tomorrow, you cannot do this to me,” Webby looked away.

“I wasn’t going to say any of that, I would never do that to you or Louie,” Dewey clarified sharply. Webby took in a deep breath and let him continue.

“What I meant is... you’re my best friend. Huey’s off in college with a fancy girlfriend, Louie’s getting married, Lena has a girlfriend, heck, even Violet of all people has a girlfriend, meanwhile... I feel like I’m all alone,” he slumped. “I feel like once you get married I’m just going to be... alone; that you won’t want to hang out with me anymore...”

“Lena isn’t dating anyone,” Webby suggested softly.

“She doesn’t count,” Dewey rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I know, I’m sorry...” she sighed.

“Dewey, you’re a very good friend to me too. Trust me when I say, I don’t want to lose this friendship either. I care a lot about you, and I won’t leave you. I promise you’ll never be alone. Plus, you have Dante right?” She put a hand on his shoulder. He nodded.

“I do,” he sniffled.

“C’mon dummy, we need to get to the dinner. We’re already late,” Webby punched him in the shoulder, to which he winced and they left back to the dining hall.

In all honesty, when Webby walked into the dining hall she half-expected everything to be on fire and a huge disaster, with Louie trying to fix it all in the middle. Instead, she was greeted by Louie with the smuggest and calmest face she’s ever seen in her life.

“Well, well, well... look who’s late,” he grinned.

“Har har. You didn’t sober Dewey, so you didn’t win,” Webby pointed out. Louie rolled his eyes.

“Well, I did everything else, including showing up on time, soooooooooo...” He winked.

“I get your hoodie for one month,” Webby rolled her eyes. Louie accepted this, holding out his arm for her, which she accepted and all of them took their seats.

After that, everything seemed to go on without a hitch. Webby looked around the room and saw Daisy and Della were getting along just fine, leaving Donald much happier and more comfortable than before, Huey being relaxed and talking to Violet about things, and Launchpad was having a nice conversation with the person whose car he crashed into. In short, all was well. Webby was genuinely surprised. Then again, she had always known Louie for having a way with words and people.

However, when Dewey began to hit his fork against his champagne glass (which wasn’t missing a single drop), Webby began to worry about what it was he was going to say.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other honored guests, let me be the first to toast to my brother and my best friend’s soon to be marriage,” he raised his glass.

“I’ve known my little brother my whole life, minus forty-five minutes, and let me tell you he is quite the character. He’s selfish, lazy, and yet somehow the most caring and loving person I know. His schemes may get him in trouble a lot, but hey, I know they’ve saved my butt on multiple occasions,” he joked, which made the whole room laugh.

“Without him, I’m sure everyone in this room would probably have found themselves in a bit more trouble than they are right now,” he said, to which several people nodded in agreement.

“Now, Webby is fierce, sweet, and one of the kindest and yet also one of the scariest people I’ve also ever met,” he looked at her. “I couldn’t imagine someone better for my little punk of a brother.”

“So I raise a glass to their soon to be unity. Here’s to Louie and Webby; may their marriage be happy, may it be lengthy, and may it be filled with laughter and good times.” He raised his glass and everyone cheered and drank as he sat back down.

“That wasn’t terrible Dewey,” Louie elbowed his brother and laughed.

“I try,” Dewey rolled his eyes and smiled as he took a sip of his water.

“I thought it was very thoughtful. He doesn’t have your way with words but it was from the heart, be nice,” Webby elbowed Louie.

“He’s my brother, I have my rights,” Louie teased further. Webby chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“Thanks,” Dewey said to her.

“No problem,” She gave him a short and sweet smile and the night continued.

After the toast, everything continued normally, and without a hitch (unless you were Huey, Violet and Lena though, as they still had their bets going on, which they all took quite seriously). The dinner ended, and soon everyone headed off to their room to prepare for what tomorrow held.

However, just as Webby was going to kiss Louie goodnight before he would disappear until the wedding, a certain uninvited someone burst through the door of the hotel and checked in out of nowhere. Once Webby caught word of it, she and Louie went down to the front desk to see who on earth would check into a wedding like that, and the night before of all times.

However, the moment the figure opened their mouth a lot of those questions answered themselves.

“Hello there Sharpy, happy to see me?”

Goldie.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

#my fics #loubby #louie duck #webby vanderquack #dante canul #huey duck #dt fanfics #dewey duck #wedding #cuties

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

Text

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

(For these first couple chapters I have tagged people I thought might be interested in reading this. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)

The next chapters I will be posting every week on Thursday/Wednesday because this is a prewritten fic (look at me being responsible—)

Chapter Two: Fuck This

The Present.

“That fucker drives me fucking insane!” Patton’s shouting bounced off the walls. “Virgil keeps getting fucking mad at me and I don’t even know what I’m doing fucking wrong at this point, but he won’t fucking tell me what the fuck it is either!” He ranted. Remus nodded along, sat across from him. His legs were crossed with his pointy elbows resting on top, and his spine bent awkwardly so he could settle his head in his palm. Thoroughly entertained, Remus hummed every now and then in agreement like a sham therapist.

“And Roman! He... he... You know why he’s a bitch,” Patton lamented. A cackle shattered Remus’s short-lived, feigned seriousness.

“The last time we saw you was fucking Christmas,” Patton mocked. “Maybe because you didn’t fucking invite me, idiot. Of course Logan wouldn’t, though, all high and mighty smartass. And my puppet idea was a fucking good idea goddamnit. Bullshit. Bullshit!— ugh,” Patton sighed out his remaining traces of frustration. He crossed his arms over his chest and sunk into the green bean bag. Some of the styrofoam beads spilled out a small tear on the poor, battered, ever shrinking bean bag.

Grinning wildly, Remus said, “While that was a marvellous performance, I must say it could do with a little more variety in your profanity.” Patton gave an amused, breathy snort.

“Why are we friends, Remus? You’re such a bad influence on me,” Patton said teasingly. Remus rolled his eyes as Patton plucked another Pepsi can (which contents had most definitely not been poured down the drain and refilled with a concoction of cocktails) from his mini fridge. Remus let Patton hide his alcohol stockpile in his room since his dear friend was so paranoid of the other sides discovering it. “Encouraging me to curse, letting me have access to vodka…”

“Oh, shut up. You’ve become an alcoholic all on your own,” Remus said dismissively.

“...True,” Patton conceded. “You were always more the type for cookie mix,” Patton added as an afterthought. Remus doubled over into a laughing fit. Cookie mix most certainly had nothing to do with cocaine. He couldn’t help but laugh at the smug knowing look Patton sent him as him floundered.

“You— you can’t— I’ve been clean for a few months now!” Remus said defiantly, sinking further into his beanbag with his arms crossed. (Quickly, Remus double checked, pulling his hair over his eyes only to find clear brown, no white in sight. Phew.) Patton hummed sceptically. “But you did have shrooms recently,” he teased.

Remus huffed. “No I haven’t— …Wait—” Remus paused, “Have I?”

“I don’t know,” Patton smiled, “Have you?” Remus let his eyes wander the room. “I can’t remember…”

Patton rolled his eyes fondly.

“You know as long as you’re not over doing it, and you’re being as safe as possible, it’s fine with me. I don’t have any right to judge,” Patton said reassuringly. Yes, Patton knew it was inherently wrong to not at least try and steer his friend onto a less self-destructive path. Remus, to him, was like a hairless Chinese Crested puppy. Very weirdly adorable in the nasty kind of way. (That sounds bad, but he truly means it in the best way possible. What he lacked in hair as a metaphorical dog, he made up for in personality and a good heart muddle somewhere in there). Which meant he struggled to ever say no to him.

Patton also knew that the last thing he wanted to be was a hypocrite. Maybe once he got himself on the right track, then he’d intervene more.

“Seriously, how did we ever become friends?” Patton said genuinely. “I still thought babies were delivered by stalks when we first became friends.”

“I dunno… we just did,” was all Remus could come up with. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he couldn’t quite get comfy, he resorted to sitting upside down on the couch instead. Much better.

Silence settled over the two for a minute. Patton stared into space, deep in thought. Taking sips of his drink, he felt the alcohol lethargically burning down his throat. Remus resorted to picking at his nails again in the stillness, wondering if it’s possible to have a tattoo underneath your nails.

“I don’t regret it,” Patton said thoughtfully. Remus cocked his head to the side, neck cracking when his body slipped down the sofa a bit. “Becoming friends with you,” Patton clarified. “You’re the best friend I could ask for, really. You don’t baby and shelter me like the others. You let me just… be,” Patton said sincerely. “Which always seems too much to ask of the others,” Patton tacted on bitterly. He took a generous swig as if to emphasize his point. Remus scoffed, the tiny movement making him slide the rest of the way down onto the carpet. “Aww I’m flattered, honey.” His tone was excessively teasing, yet his expression was anything but.

Midst lazily reaching for another can, Remus swatted Patton’s hands away. “I think that’s enough. You’re already starting to monologue. If you keep going you’ll have a hangover so bad, it’ll feel like you actually hanged yourself,” Remus tutted. While Patton was no light weight (his words hadn’t even begun to slur yet), from the way Patton was chugging it down, Remus knew his body just hadn’t caught up yet.

Meekly lolling his head back to face skywards, Patton whined but didn’t protest. Sinking lower into the cushy bean bag, his eyes traced imagery patterns on the ceiling.

God, Remus knew that look.

“I just don’t know anymore, ReRe,” Patton said defeatedly, “Every time I think I’m over it, they keep giving me false hope. Everything I say and feel is ignored, and whenever I’m right, they always think it’s a stupid flook. They never listen. I don’t think they ever will at this rate. I don’t even know if I want to be friends with them anymore or I’m just really fucking lonely and my brain’s just hard wired to associate, I don’t know, being happy? With them?” His eyes were vacant, dull. “Why can’t it be like when we were little?”

While the whole point of their little get together was for Patton to vent with free will to cuss as needed, this more sappy, philosophical stuff… Remus didn’t like. You can’t blame him for not liking to see his best friend this miserable. Still, he knew it was best to let Patton keep going.

“Even if they did actually care about me, I’m sure they’d stop the moment they knew we’re like… a thing. Logan would think I’m crazy— Virgil and Roman too… I know what they’d think of us and it’s so— so—” Patton made a nondescript noise of frustration. “They’d say you corrupted me or some shit. I… I’m not embarrassed of you. I should stop acting like I am. I hate this stupid dumb angel reputation I have anyway. I’m just… I have to admit the only real reason I haven’t really said anything at this point is it’s kinda funny seeing their reactions whenever I accidentally say something that sounds wrong.”

Remus chuckled. “I don’t know how they haven’t caught on yet, honestly. Your half of our brain cell is just as sick as mine. They must be in denial.”

“Yeah…”

…

“I should be going to bed,” Patton tried to stand up. As soon as he stood however, his knees buckled. Remus dashed to his side and caught him. “You goof…” Remus positioned him upright. Steadying hands on his hips, Patton tried to stand up straight. A task easier said that done when you’re a gay panic. Inevitably, Patton limply collapsed on top of Remus.

“I don’t think I can make it to my room…” Patton’s cheeks flushed and the red ran down his neck.

“You wet noodle.”

“You… blue cheese lover.”

(“Is that supposed to be an insult?”)

(“Who the fuck likes blue cheese?”)

Arm slung over his shoulder, Remus hauled Patton into the hallway and onwards. He would have carried Patton if he hadn’t been so surprisingly stubborn. All well, anything to make him happy. They returned to their earlier, lighter bantering. The alcohol started to really catch up with Patton, his quips came slower. No less witty, though (by their standards).

Everything would’ve gone like normal if it wasn’t for a certain nerd who had decided on a coffee before bed. Most counterproductive. As soon as Logan had started out his room, he spotted them. His eyes settled into a potent, yet subtle glare. Like a droplet of poison spilt on an unassuming biscuit.

“What the…”

“Logyyy!” Patton perked up at the sound of his voice, lifting himself from Remus’s side that he’d been slumped on. The sudden movement made him lose balance. Scrambling to catch himself, Remus found himself with two arms wrapped around his shoulders now.

“Is… is he— are you drunk?” Logan sputtered. Disbelief shaped his words like they felt alien on his tongue. “I’m not thaaaat drunk!” Patton retaliated. Logan ignored him, cold, tired eyes set on Remus. “What did you do to him?” Logan said as aggressively as a guinea pig could manage. Confusion still mostly coloured his stare. “Me an’ Re er havin’ bestie time, duh!” Patton answered. He sounded giddy, but his voice had a touch of satire only drunken Patton could manage. Even in his drunken state, Patton subconsciously was trying to maintain his image.

Remus frowned. This learnt behaviour was ingrained into Patton.

“He shouldn’t be around someone like you in such a vulnerable state,” Logan said, already trying to pry Patton from his arms. “No—” Remus began, looping his arms securely on Patton's waist, “I’ll take care of him.”

“Noooo,” Patton recoiled, trying to melt into Remus’s side. “It's bestiee tiiiimme wi’ Emu.” Patton's arms slid up Remus’s shoulders around his neck as he squirmed. “You’re drunk, Patton,” Logan dismissed.

Seething, Remus shoved Logan off. “You heard him,” he said, sternly. “Back off before I carve out your tongue, blend it, and force feed it to you,” he threatened. Arms crossed, Logan huffed like an exhausted parent. “You’re all bark, no bite,” he dismissed.

“Oh honey, you ha’ no idea how mu’ he bi’es.”

Schooling his face into glares and scrunched eyebrows, Remus sighed out the giggles brewing in his lungs. Nonetheless, Patton was proud of the brief smug smile he provoked. Pretending he didn’t hear that, Logan insisted, “You’re a bad influence on someone like Patton. People like you shouldn’t be around him, especially when he’s inebriated.”

“Better under the supervision of a friend. He’d drink himself to death otherwise.”

“Yes, but preferably, that should be Virgil or Roman or I, most certainly not you.”

“It’s not my fault he doesn’t feel comfortable enough around anyone else, tin can.”

“Re,” Patton interrupted, whining, “I’m bored le’s gooo.” He tugged on him.

“—He’s drunk he doesn’t know what he’s saying— you know what— Okay, Patton, you choose. Me,” Logan pointed to himself, “or him?” He said overly pronouncing his words.

…

“…‘M drunk not a fuckin’ kid,” was Patton’s response. “We go now,” and he was stumbling down the hallway dragging Remus with him.

Both missed the shell shocked expression on Logan, not daring to believe his ears. Patton cursing? An intoxicated Patton, no less? No. Nope. Absolutely not. He needed coffee desperately.

When they finally got to Patton’s room, Remus carefully directed him, even lowering him onto his bed. Patton had the tendency to unceremoniously flop face first onto his bed like a starfish.

“I swear I’m gonna strangle Logan,” Remus muttered as he made sure Patton was comfortable, tucking in his blankets.

“I don’ think he into bdsm,” Patton said as an offhanded thought.

“You never know. He could be partial to a spider gag…”

“You really just want to try that thing out don’t you? I swear to god— oof.” Remus snatched his pillow from beneath his head to fluff it. Pretending to not pretend he was punching a sheep’s limp corpse, he fluffed it extremely thoroughly.

“You gotsa stop relying on me to keep you in check, ya know,” Patton pouted, arms crossed. “Your— you’re fuckin’ innsaaane!”

“I only ask you sometimes…” Remus said (the worst part about that sentence was that it was utterly true).

Blank stare piercing Remus, Patton paused a moment for his brain to function before deadpanning, “I’d like to talk to you about Jesus Christ—”

Remus shoved Patton’s pillow back, and he promptly forgot everything in favour of burrowing down into his bed. Touch light as moonlight, Remus herded Patton’s wild locks from his forehead. “What am I gonna do with you…”

“You’re na’ gon change my mind… kinky b-hole,” Patton mumbled, caught between the conscious world and sleep. Remus’s eyes smiled. Crouching down, he hovered over Patton. Hovered over his forehead, wondering. Pondering, debating, convincing himself. His breath stirred Patton’s brown locks. They scattered like a spooked flock. Running. Patton shivered.

He shouldn’t. Backing away, Remus was ready to switch the lights off and evacuate, yet was stopped.

“Reeemuuuuuss,” Patton called. Suddenly, he was wide awake again.

Huh?— his breath hitched. His hand caught on the doorway.

“Staaaaayyy! Preddy please?” He made grabby hands.

But— they don’t—

Did he deserve…? Right now? His nails dug into the doorframe.

…

“Okay! I’m coming, I’m coming,” Remus assured, relenting. Lazy giggles from Patton rewarded him. Flicking off the light, Remus strode back over. Laying together in silence, Remus picked the paint and splinters out from underneath his nails and waited. When Patton didn’t budge, Remus took his arms and used them like a seat belt. Simultaneously, Patton glued himself to his back like a limpet. A warm wall of heat.

“Remouse?” He mumbled into his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“You’re really sweet. like… like tomato sauce.”

…

Welp okay then.

Next Chapter:

#WAW(B)F?#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #intruality #moduke #logan sanders #ts logan #remus x patton #patton x remus

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Radio Abel, Season Eight

Part 4 of 5

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope.

ZOE CRICK: This is a very special edition of our show, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right, Zoe! [laughs] It's our first broadcast since Fort Canton became the seat of the UK government. We’re only a few feet away from the office of the prime minister, Amelia Spens. [sighs] Prime Minister Amelia Spens. [laughs] How did this happen again?

ZOE CRICK: There's never any one factor that determines who rises to power, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, for the benefit of any listeners not up to date with current affairs, uh, can we list the -

ZOE CRICK: An understandable predicament, given the post-apocalyptic demise of the 24-hour news cycle.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - can we list the factors that led to Amelia's appointment?

ZOE CRICK: Opportunism...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: ... And?

ZOE CRICK: I'm thinking.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought you said there was never any one factor.

ZOE CRICK: You know, I think Amelia's a special case. Most world leaders aspire to the job, for better or worse, but Amelia only ever wants what's best for Amelia, whether that's nabbing the last reservation for an exclusive spa treatment -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - or seizing control of a country.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Listeners, I realize that the phrase “seizing control” had some negative connotations, and I'd just like to explain what I meant when I said that's what the prime minister did to the UK. There was a power vacuum and no one else was up to the task, so Amelia stepped in.

ZOE CRICK: I'd also like to clarify what I said. Amelia does only want what's best for Amelia, but right now, that's what's best for the country, too.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope.

ZOE CRICK: Amelia wants to live in a UK with hot running water, a plentiful supply of luxury goods, and no V-types. If she's the best person to make that happen, then her being in power is a good thing for all of us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And on that note, here's a song that always puts me in an optimistic mood.

ZOE CRICK: Radio New Hope is still fully independent and completely unbiased.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I wouldn't call your veto of progressive art rock unbiased.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, many of our listeners are out scavenging for supplies and running away from zombies. We don't need to make their lives any harder. My point is that our proximity to the prime minister has no bearing on our editorial stance.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, definitely. The fact that Amelia's just down the hall and controls the penal system doesn't affect what we say in the slightest. I hardly ever think about how easy it would be for her to kick me out of Fort Canton and leave me to the V-types.

ZOE CRICK: The only person who'll do that is me the next time you try to put on some King Crimson when I'm not looking. Amelia said a strong government has nothing to fear from a free press.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Might have been a test.

ZOE CRICK: She knows if we suddenly started spouting propaganda, our listeners would get suspicious. As long as she lets us carry on as normal, she looks confident, like she's got nothing to hide.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Which she hasn't. Probably.

ZOE CRICK: Do you really think that's necessary, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's journalistic ethics, Zoe. We've got to disclose it.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] Go on, then.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, one of Amelia's first acts as prime minister was to give us a new studio.

ZOE CRICK: It's hardly new.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's a lot nicer than what we were in before. Less sticky.

ZOE CRICK: To explain, listeners, Amelia is building a scale replica of the House of Commons at Fort Canton. Just like the original, it's furnished with green leather seats. Although most of the leftover building materials went to settlements more in need of refurbishment than Fort Canton, no one else wanted the green leather, so we've got it. All of it. Everything in this room is green.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's... a very relaxing color?

ZOE CRICK: In moderation. [sighs] I feel like I'm broadcasting from the depths of the swamp.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The important thing is that our new upholstery wasn't payment.

ZOE CRICK: Are you satisfied?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think so. We can't be too careful about this. Transparency's critical.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, perhaps, but it's hardly the most exciting way to fill the airwaves. Here's some music to lighten the mood.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope that's made it clear, listeners. Radio New Hope has no official affiliation with the prime minister, so you can stop filling ROFFLEnet with requests for new laws. We can't help you with them.

ZOE CRICK: And in many cases, we wouldn't want to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. To whoever wrote to us under the username Undying_Love, no, I don't think human/zombie marriage is going to be legally recognized anytime soon.

ZOE CRICK: I also think it's also safe to say that if and when the DVLA is back up and running, zombies probably won't be eligible for driving licenses.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: To be fair, we have received some reasonable requests, uh, it's just that we can't do anything about them. We're just broadcasters.

ZOE CRICK: That's right. While it's wonderful that so many of you are politically engaged, you need to direct your efforts towards the right people. If there's something you want discussed in parliament, contact the leader of your settlement.

ZOE CRICK: I'm glad that's cleared up. I must say, it's a relief not to be talking about politics for once.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not that politics isn't important, listeners, it's just that Zoe and I haven't really had a break from it since Amelia became prime minister.

ZOE CRICK: If we're not bumping into settlement leaders in the canteen, we're tripping over King Jamie's retinue when he drops in for his weekly conference with Amelia.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We can't even get a cup of tea without getting caught up in an argument about V-type policy.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, it's exhausting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So allow Radio New Hope to be your refuge from current affairs.

ZOE CRICK: Here's a song with absolutely no political message at all.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Since we're not talking about politics, let's catch up. Uh, Zoe, what have you been doing recently?

ZOE CRICK: Well, last night I went to see Amelia to -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No need to go into too much detail.

ZOE CRICK: - borrow a David Attenborough DVD.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh.

ZOE CRICK: She says they keep her children entertained, but I'm not sure they fully appreciate the lion cubs of the Serengeti. Anyway, I never even got to ask her for it because she was too busy arguing with the representative from the Psychoanalysts Enclave. The UK Alliance hasn't really figured out taxes yet, but Amelia's interpreting the concept loosely. In exchange for services, she wants control of all the dirt the Enclave acquired prior to the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Purely to keep it confidential?

ZOE CRICK: Of course.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, that's sort of like... It's politics, really, isn't it?

ZOE CRICK: All right then, Phil, what non-political activities have you been engaging in?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've been researching Alan Parsons.

ZOE CRICK: Don't you know everything about him already?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm putting together a biography. It's important that the history of significant cultural figures isn't lost. To make sure my information’s correct, I’ve been cross-referencing my sources with the fan community on ROFFLEnet. It's just that there aren't that many Alan Parsons fans -

ZOE CRICK: Who’d have thought?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - because many of them died in the apocalypse.

ZOE CRICK: I'm sorry.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The point is that because there are only a few people left with expertise in classic progressive rock, everyone else on the message board figured out who I am and that I work near Amelia.

ZOE CRICK: So you can't even escape politics on the Alan Parsons forum?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly. I've been bombarded with questions for her, things she hasn't addressed in her own broadcasts. I printed them out, actually. [paper rustles] Here, you can take a look.

ZOE CRICK: You know, some of these aren't bad. I wonder if Amelia would come on the show and answer them.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I always secretly wanted to host Question Time.

ZOE CRICK: Listeners, I'm very happy to announce that the prime minister Amelia Spens has agreed to appear on Radio New Hope and answer some of your questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I won't ask how you convinced her.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't have to. She said it would be good for her image.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really?

ZOE CRICK: Yes. She says the population sees her as intelligent, refined, and sophisticated, but that those qualities make her hard to relate to. According to her, appearing on Radio New Hope will increase her appeal to people who don't care about personal grooming and who haven't read a book since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is that what she thinks of our listeners?

ZOE CRICK: To be fair, reading materials and cosmetics are in short supply.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes, and people's priorities have changed. Some of us are more concerned with staying alive than getting our well-manicured hands on the last remaining issues of the Times Literary Supplement.

ZOE CRICK: A fair point. Listeners, to find out what our prime minister's priorities are, send your questions to us over ROFFLEnet.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe, since this is our first prime ministerial interview, do you think we should have picked a more appropriate song than that?

ZOE CRICK: It's too late now.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: People of the UK, we'd like to introduce a very special guest to Radio New Hope. Please welcome our prime minister, Amelia Spens.

AMELIA SPENS: Hello, Phil and Zoe. I must say, I'm glad this is a radio broadcast. This studio looks frightful.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Now hang on. It's decorated with offcuts you gave us.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, is this where they ended up? I thought we were going to burn them.

ZOE CRICK: We're off to a good start, listeners. Let's have some serious music before we get into the questions.

ZOE CRICK: Our first question is from Concerned of Dorchester. “Prime Minister, when democracy is reinstated, will zombies get the vote?”

AMELIA SPENS: “When democracy is reinstated.” [laughs] Phil and Zoe, I hope these aren't all going to be comedy questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think just focus on the zombie part for now.

AMELIA SPENS: I think we can all agree that one of the few silver linings of the apocalypse is the way outdated prejudices and social orders have been rejected.

ZOE CRICK: Just to be clear, you're not ruling out zombies having the vote?

AMELIA SPENS: Not until I know who they'd vote for. V-types are very intelligent in large groups.

ZOE CRICK: This next question is from Sir Augustus Headley Coombs. “Prime Minister, do your duties as a mother hinder your ability to run the country?”

AMELIA SPENS: Quite honestly, if anything, they help -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm sorry, Prime Minister, you don't have to answer that. I apologize on behalf of Radio New Hope to you and to all other mothers listening for airing a question that implies that motherhood might compromise a woman's abilities to do her job.

ZOE CRICK: Quite. We all know that if Amelia's abilities are compromised, it's by her refusal to do anything that might damage her manicure.

AMELIA SPENS: Are you still annoyed about that, Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: Now isn't the time.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There's really no need to acknowledge this question, Prime Minister. Let's move on.

AMELIA SPENS: It's a reasonable question, and the answer is that dealing with a clutch of screaming children with no control over their emotions is the best training a prime minister could have.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from, uh... this person's username is just a string of cat emojis. They say, “Prime Minister, doctors and scientists are increasingly aware of the therapeutic benefits of caring for animals. Simply stroking a cat has been proven to lower blood pressure. Why, even when there's so much evidence that animals make it easier to cope with mental health difficulties, are kitten pens still not compulsory in all settlements?”

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, did you write this? I told you, if you ever need a way to relieve stress, just come to my quarters and I’ll -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So that's a no on the kitten pens for now, listeners. Here's a nice loud song to block out the sound of your own imagination.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This question comes from BV, but I'm not sure we should ask it. Zoe, take a look.

[paper rustles]

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, I see what you mean. But if this is a true public forum, nothing should be off limits. Besides, I think the time for editorial qualms would have been before you printed out the entire message board.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Perhaps it wasn't the best use of our paper allowance.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, just ask it. I've scheduled a hot stone massage after this and if I have to cancel, running out of paper will be the least of your problems.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um... “Prime Minister, how does it feel to be the most attractive world leader of all time?”

AMELIA SPENS: It's a meaningless accolade.

ZOE CRICK: Of course. We shouldn't judge politicians on their appearance.

AMELIA SPENS: No, I mean there's no competition.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, the next question's also from BV. Uh, this one's a bit more sensible, though. It's about health policy. “Prime Minister, I am the CEO of a corporation with an extensive pharmaceutical arm. I'd be happy to discuss supplies for ministry hospitals. Perhaps over a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947 Saint-Emilion, and some caviar.”

ZOE CRICK: Wait, pharmaceutical corporation? BV? Is this Valmont? Prime Minister, I don't think this is a genuine request.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm terribly sorry, BV, but a meeting won't be possible right now. I have to be very careful about the relationship between business and government. You understand. More importantly, red wine and caviar is a dreadful pairing. Let me know when you've got some Dom Perignon and then we'll talk.

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, I know that was a dreadful song, but could you at least -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hey!

AMELIA SPENS: - but you could at least stay awake for the duration. The rest of us had to.

ZOE CRICK: I was awake. I just like to close my eyes sometimes, or the green gets too much. Anyway, what's the next question, Phil?

[paper rustles]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, I don't think we need to ask that one.

AMELIA SPENS: Nothing is off limits. Please go ahead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um, Outraged of Essex asks, “Prime Minister, does your involvement with Zoe Crick create a conflict of interest regarding your appearance on this program?”

AMELIA SPENS: I don't know, Outraged, do your hobbies create a conflict of interest with your job?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from [clears throat] Nice Try, But If You Think I'm Writing My Name In That Box, You've Got Another Thing Coming.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't know ROFFLEnet usernames could be that long.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Prime Minister, is it true that you're demanding the Psychoanalysts Enclave give you all their information? Would the details go public? Asking for a friend.”

AMELIA SPENS: Firstly, the UK Alliance doesn't demand anything, it's a negotiation. As for the information, it sounds like its secrecy is valuable to you. Interesting. Write to my office and we'll talk.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Happy and Glorious asks, “Will the king attend the State Opening of Parliament?”

AMELIA SPENS: The State Opening of Parliament took place in the House of Lords, not the House of Commons. Since we haven't built a House of Lords, it just wouldn't be right to reenact such a historically significant ceremony. A shame, as I'm sure King Jamie's speech about self-sacrifice and duty would have been a hoot.

ZOE CRICK: Couldn't you adapt the ceremony for post-apocalyptic times?

AMELIA SPENS: What do you mean?

ZOE CRICK: Before Z-Day, the State Opening of Parliament consisted of several commemorative rituals. For example, the Palace of Westminster cellars would be searched for explosives in remembrance of the Gunpowder Plot.

AMELIA SPENS: And you're suggesting we open Parliament with zombie-themed rituals, is that it? [laughs] Amused as I am by the thought of King Jamie being chased through Fort Canton by a horde of V-types, there are several recent events that it would be best the population stop associating with the office of minister.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You mean all that stuff with Sigrid?

AMELIA SPENS: It's easier for people to forget if they're not being constantly reminded, Phil.

ZOE CRICK: Lance Corporal Kapoor asks, “Is there any truth to the rumor that defense resources are being spent retrieving high heels from the last remaining Christian Louboutin shop in Mayfair?”

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. Politics is all about image, and I need to look stylish yet powerful to intimidate our enemies.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But aren't zombies our biggest enemies? Do they notice shoes?

AMELIA SPENS: There's a lot we don't know yet about zombies.

ZOE CRICK: On that note, here's a song that'll make us all feel powerful.

AMELIA SPENS: Are we nearly finished? All this green is giving me a headache.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Almost. The Truth Is Out There asks, “Is the UK Alliance withholding information about UFOs?”

AMELIA SPENS: UFOs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Unidentified flying -

AMELIA SPENS: I know what they are, Phil. Listener, was the zombie apocalypse not enough? Haven't you had your fill of government conspiracies? Don't you think if - actually, no, I'm not going to dignify this stupid question with an answer. That's it, I'm afraid, Phil and Zoe. It's time for my massage.

[chair legs scrape across floor]

ZOE CRICK: Wait, there's one more.

AMELIA SPENS: No.

ZOE CRICK: Where is Janine De Luca?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Janine. I'm amazed anyone noticed she was gone. Don't worry, listeners. Colonel De Luca is on a secret mission and it's all under control. She and her appallingly drab outfits will be back at Abel in no time. And with that, I'm off.

[door opens]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think it's probably time for some music.

ZOE CRICK: I think that went... about as well as could be expected.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, considering it was our first prime ministerial interview, we didn't read the questions before going live, and we're broadcasting from what looks like the inside of a spinach tin.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] I thought you liked the decor.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Just didn't want to complain. Fort Canton's been a stressful place to work since Amelia became prime minister, but I try to remember that we're all on the same team. Everyone wants to get rid of the V-types and we need to work together, focus on the big things, and not sweat the small stuff.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Like how our studio looks like Kermit the Frog's fever dream?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly.

[magazine pages rustle]

ZOE CRICK: Phil? Phil, we're live.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, sorry. Uh... [clears throat] Hello, ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope, where your entertainment is our priority.

ZOE CRICK: Except when we're reading... [magazine rustles] Vogue? Phil, don't take this the wrong way, but I never thought of you as being particularly interested in fashion.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I never was, Zoe, before the apocalypse. But one of our runners picked this up from a dentist's waiting room during a meds run and I was curious. So fascinating, really, that there used to be this whole industry dedicated to the way we looked.

ZOE CRICK: The people in these pictures had no idea what was coming.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If they had, maybe they'd have worn more practical shoes.

ZOE CRICK: Yes. [laughs] Good luck running from a zom in those. They're quite fun, actually.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, they're pretty good, but I prefer these.

ZOE CRICK: Wow! [laughs] Those are quite something. You couldn't wear them to work, though.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not unless you were this next musical artiste!

ZOE CRICK: Welcome back, listeners. Today we're reading Vogue, which is like gazing through a portal into another dimension.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A dimension where people thought it was sensible to make dresses out of tin foil and feathers.

ZOE CRICK: Mm, I'm not sure sense had anything to do with it. These clothes are about fantasy. They're works of art.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, those ones are, but look at this other fashion mag I picked up. [magazine page rustles] This article is called “Summer Must-haves.” It's telling me I must spend 700 pounds on these trousers. And it's next to an advert for some magic cream to make me look young. Now remember, before the apocalypse, a lot of people worried about not wearing the right clothes or that it was a bad thing to look their age.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, that's a good point. Nowadays, if you see someone older, you know they've probably got some wisdom to share. Always handy in the post-apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly! Just yesterday, a teenager asked me where the toilets are.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, impressive! [laughs] Here's a song by someone even older and wiser than Phil.

ZOE CRICK: You know, Phil, how we look hasn't become totally irrelevant since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well... yeah. Uh, it's-it's important to look basically alive so that no one mistakes you for a zombie and tries to knock your head off with a baseball bat.

ZOE CRICK: True, but I was thinking more about the way we express ourselves. For example, isn't that a Dream Theater T-shirt you're wearing?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes. You know, it does cheer me up to wear a T-shirt featuring a band I like, even if they are all dead.

ZOE CRICK: And I'm wearing socks with cats on them. Every now and again, someone will stop me in the corridor and compliment me because they like cats, too. Then we'll have a conversation about cats and the whole day gets a little brighter.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They are pretty nice socks.

ZOE CRICK: Thank you, Phil. [giggles] Since we're on the topic, why don't you put on a song for our listeners and I tell you about the morning I spent in the kitten pen?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, do I get a choice?

ZOE CRICK: Nope.

#zombies run #zrs8 #s8 radio #s8 radio part 4 #zr transcript

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: I’m not really sure where this story came from (and tbh, not sure how it’s going to end!), but I had the desire to write a Maxwell Lord fic. I don’t know if I’ll follow the same posting pattern as I have with others simply because I have less written before posting the first chapter. Anyway. Enjoy!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale

Part 1

Start with the Appetizer

Sunshine.

She was the human embodiment of sunshine, he thought. Her laughter, her smile, her personality, the way she looked – it was like sunshine washing over him. He could not be exactly sure when he realized that he lacked that kind of warmth in his world, but once she shined on him, he craved it. The need to be in her presence consumed him and for a moment in time, he thought he could cage the sun. But like Icarus, he learned that to treat the sun as a folly would burn him. To pay it reverence meant to live in harmony. Once that lesson is learned, life can continue.

She was his sun and he was certain that he would worship at her altar for eternity.

---***---

Evelyn Blaker stood in the doorway to Donovan Bercholder’s office, watching the large man scramble around in a panic-induced pattern. As she stood waiting for his blustery nature to die down, she leaned back to slightly to keep an eye on the conference room down the hall. Chimetech representatives were already in the room, waiting for them. She had noted a tall, blond man walking with them and something in her stomach began to tap its toes.

“Where are the damn reports I asked for, Evie?” The man’s naturally loud voice seemed twice as loud as usual and she knew it carried down the hall. The tapping got worse as she racked her brain to remember who was coming. Clark Gibson oversaw their medical division, but he was a short man, with coke-bottle glasses that made him look owlish, nor was he blond.

“Donovan, will you keep it down? The Chimtech folks just arrived. And the reports are in the conference room where I had Helen put them half an hour ago.” Donovon stopped to look at her. In the year he had been at Bercholder Medics, he had come to know Evie as a sprightly and jovial person and he often called her a little ball of sunshine. He had never met a person so warm and welcoming and nice and being the new guy in town? That went a long way to helping him gain the trust of his very wary workforce.

But the tone she threw at him was hard and her face was stony. Nearly five-hundred people would lose their jobs if this plan failed and she wasn’t going to lose her work family because Grant Bercholder had been a thieving bastard. She had put in too many late nights for the last year trying to save this company for Donovan’s hysterics to suddenly derail everything. On a large markerboard in her office, she had written a quotation from Knute Rockne when this whole Hail Mary pass idea began,

Build up your weaknesses until they become your strong points.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s go.” He took a deep breath and gave her a smile. Evie heaved a sigh of relief and smiled back. The gauntlet was about to open.

---***---

Maxwell Lord stood at the window of the conference room, looking out at a view of the Hudson River and beyond it the rise of the Catskills Mountains’ foothills. He had to admit it was a beautiful view and he marginally forgave Clark for dragging him out of the city for this meeting rather than having Bercholder’s people come to him as everyone else did. Everything he had read about the company told him they weren’t worth doing business with, but Clark somehow convinced him to take the chance.

As he continued to look out of the window, he realized it was quieter than it had been moments ago, and he could hear the small talk within the room. A loud voice had been shouting something about reports and he smirked at the panicked tone in said voice. A man who couldn’t control his emotions had little chance of controlling a company. Maxwell suspected that this meeting would be short, and he could get back to the city in a reasonable amount of time. He turned from his perch when he heard two sets of footprints enter the room.

A large burly man – who looked more at home in an Adirondack lumber camp than in a boardroom - and a shorter woman walked into the room. Maxwell assumed the man was Donovan, but he had no idea who the woman was. He sized up his counterpart as Donovan walked up with a hand extended in greeting. Maxwell took the hand and was not surprised to feel strength behind the handshake. He noted the woman was introducing herself to his people and stopped to chat longer with Clark than the others.

“Maxwell, welcome! You’ve had a chance to meet everyone here, I hope?” Donovan’s naturally bombastic, yet cheery nature, was evident in his voice and Maxwell noted that the panic that had been there before was now gone. Intriguing.

“All but the woman that came in with you.” Came the reply

“Evie! Come say hello to Maxwell Lord.” Evie looked away from her conversation with Clark and nodded as she stepped over. The tapping her stomach got worse when she realized that the blond she had seen was the one man who could derail this whole thing. She tamped it down as she, too, extended her hand to him. “Maxwell, this is Evelyn Blaker, our head of accounting. She’s been working with your Clark to broker this deal.”

He was surprised – all the reports he had read recently had been signed off by an E. Blaker. He didn’t realize E stood for Evelyn rather than an Eric or Edward. He silently berated himself for his lack of attention to detail on this whole project and he frowned slightly. This isn’t how he did business and sure as hell not how he became a success.

“Mr. Lord? It’s great to meet you and Mr. Gibson in person.” Her face broken into her characteristic grin and Maxwell felt bowled over suddenly. As they shook hands, fissures of pleasure rippled across his skin, a strange warmth seeping into parts of himself that he thought closed to the outside world. He held her hand longer than necessary before she pulled away. He felt struck dumb, but thankfully, no one seemed to notice as Evie gestured to everyone to take their seats.

As he sat, he noted she was a few seats over, giving him a perfect chance to observe without her noticing. He didn’t understand why he felt changed by her presence and why others didn’t seem to be changed either. She was pretty enough, he supposed. Nothing like the socialites he sometimes dated or the models he carried on his arm at events. And yet here he was, unable to take his eyes off her.

She had blonde hair, too, but hers had a coppery hue that almost seemed like a reflection of firelight. He could tell it was long given how big her chignon bun at the base of her neck was and he noted how elegant that neck was, her skin almost glowing in the late afternoon sun as it streamed into the room. She was shorter than him and he noted her slender fingers as she took notes, causing Maxwell to wonder how those hands would feel on his chest or maybe his cock. He shifted slightly at the thought, attempting to maintain the hard, professional aura he always carried.

Donovan’s voice droned in the background and then Clark’s. He barely paid attention to what they were saying when suddenly, Evie stood up. He was startled, to say the least, when she took the projector remote and brought up a series of charts. He was lost when she began to speak with her honeyed voice.

“Gentlemen, as you look at the projections on the wall you will note that our finances have been less than stellar for most of the last six years. However, since Donovan’s arrival this cash flow bleed has all but stopped. As you can see on this next slide. . .” Evie felt the best offence was a good defense, so by getting the bad out of the way, she was able to move towards a rosier projection that would better sell the company.

She walked around the room, explaining charts and projections with ease and she smiled to herself thinking she could give this whole talk dead. No one knew these numbers like her, and she could see subtle changes in Clark’s face as well as a few others as she moved from the worse of it. Occasionally Donovan broke in to clarify something or to answer a question, but this was all on her, giving Chimtech everything they needed to say yes to this deal. This pass was going to work, dammit.

As Evie talked and walked, Maxwell continued to study her. She carried herself with confidence that he admired and noted that her walk contained a little hop that he could help but enjoy, especially when he realized it caused her breasts to bounce subtly. He decided her golden-brown eyes were her most attractive feature as he found them to be expressive and engaging. And in a strange bit of sentimentality, he thought the color reminded him of dappled sunlight in September. Suddenly, he realized she had stopped next to him as Clark asked another question.

She leaned over Maxwell’s chair to point out something in the projections book that they had in front of them and then pointed to its counterpart on the screen. His heart stuttered a bit and then took off when he got a whiff of her shampoo, something soft and warm. The urge to bury his nose into her neck and breathe deeply nearly overwhelmed him and it took his infamous willpower to tamp down the urge.

What in the hell was going on with him?

“Any questions?” Evie stood back and rested her hand on the back of Maxwell’s chair. She smiled at the group with Donovan beaming back at her. She wanted this to work as much as he did, but Chimtech was notorious for being persnickety with their vendors. She watched as Clark nodded to Maxwell and she glanced down at the man sitting next to her. He looked serious and she noted he didn’t seem to pay attention to anything either her or Donovan said. She began to feel nervous that they just prostrated themselves in front of this man for nothing.

“Let’s get a contract written up and signed by the end of next week.” Maxwell flashed a dazzling smile to the group, but he refused to look up at Evie, fearing he couldn’t contain his facial expressions under her warm gaze. As it was, he could feel her heating up with excitement behind him and he craved to feel that again, but just for him.

“Maxwell, I am pleased to hear this! I’ll have my lawyer work with yours on the language of the contract and as soon as its signed, we can go into production.” Donovan got up from his chair and walked over to the man, shaking his hand. “Our lead point on this is Evie, so Chimtech will be working with her directly.”

“Sounds great.”

Sounds great indeed, he thought.

---***---

As Evie stepped out her car, she still wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to be at this get-together or not. The last year had been rough, the last month had been rougher, and last couple of weeks had been hell. The work she had done to help save Bercholder Medics was starting to catch up with her and she wanted a quiet evening to herself and maybe a week to catch up on much needed sleep.

As she spent most of last week in the city working with Chimtech’s lawyer and Clark on the final contract, she hardly slept. It was as if she was waiting for Maxwell Lord to swoop into the room and take away everything that she had fought for. He had shown up a few times, but never said anything and left before long. She wasn’t sure what to make of the man, but every time he came in, she found herself strangely drawn to him.

She felt something similar during the presentation meeting, too. She found his initial demeanor to be harsh and a little cold, almost as if he were detached from the whole thing. And yet, the times he sat in on the meetings for the contract, the aura he gave off was different. She wondered if had been because they were on his turf and he was more relaxed. Regardless, he invaded her thoughts and she seemed relieved when the contract was signed, and she was back in Poughkeepsie.

As she walked into the Bercholder house, she realized that Donovan needed to celebrate this win and more importantly, her coworkers needed to have some happiness in their lives after such a rough time at it. Earlier in the day a large party had been held at the factory for all the workers and everyone was sent home with pay for an early weekend. Now all the department heads and a few extra guests were treated to a nice evening at Donovan’s home at the foot of the Catskill Mountains.

“Evie!” The voices calling her name sounded cheery and excited and she could feel their joy seeping into her, giving her the energy boost she needed. She found herself slowing passing through the Bercholder house, hugging people and shaking hands, all grateful thank yous that came from her peers, who wanted to express their gratitude for her role in keeping the company open. Soon, though she was ready to be alone, despite how pleasant everyone was being.

She finally wandered out into Donovan’s garden, a large sprawling greenspace that was inviting with fragrant blooms waving in the breeze. Towards the back of the yard was a bower with a swinging bench that had a perfect view of the mountains and at this time of day, the spectacular sunset. She sat down on the bench with a glass of wine that had been pressed into her hands and just relaxed, letting the late summer evening weave its magic around her.

She stayed in place long after dusk overtook the sky and she was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. When the person spoke, she jumped a mile, letting out a little shriek and dropped the glass on the ground. She spun around with a hand on her chest.

“Oh my god, you scared me Maxwell!” Her voice came out breathy and rushed, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He bowed his head and extended his hands towards her.

“I’m sorry Evie, I thought you heard me call your name as I walked out.” He had been watching her from the house, as mesmerized by her beauty as he had been when they first met. When he realized she was here; he ignored all attempts at conversation so he could step outside and join her.

“No, I didn’t.” She shook her head and now that she was calming down, she started to laugh as she bent down to pick up the wine glass that thankfully had not shattered. She set it up right and off to the side before turning towards him. She was surprised to see him here, thinking he wouldn’t have come so far for such a small celebration. And yet here he was, and she was grateful for the coming twilight – it hid the growing blush on her cheeks.

“May I?” He gestured to the open space next to her and she smiled at him and scooted over, patting the cushioned seat. When he sat down, she almost felt dwarfed by him. She didn’t think she was particularly short at five foot six inches, but for some reason the six inches Maxwell had over her seemed extra pronounced up close.

“Would you like more wine to replace what you lost?”

“No, I wasn’t even drinking it. Someone handed it to me, and I didn’t have the heart to say no.”

“Not a wine drinker?”

“Not a drinker at all.” He nodded and for a moment they lapsed into silence. It was quite comfortable between the two of them, given how little they knew of each other. Maxwell moved his legs slightly and the swing began to sway. They sat enjoying the quiet night, occasionally broken by noises from the party, but both were lost in thought about the other.

“Thank you for the portfolios, our staff thought it was a wonderful gesture.” Evie’s voice was soft but carried easily in the quiet and Maxwell nodded. The boxes came only a few days after that first meeting, so the company took it as a sign that the company-saving move was secured. Donovan burst into Evie’s office and pulled her into a giant hug before waltzing her around the room. She laughed as he left and the thrill that what she had done worked shivered up her spine.

When she opened her box, she found that she too had received a portfolio, but hers was a deep plum – her favorite color – whereas all the rest a classic blue to match the Bercholder logo. She ran her fingers across the gold embossing of her name before opening it up. She had received a note like everyone else, but unlike the form letter found in other portfolios, hers was handwritten by Maxwell himself. As she read the spiky handwriting, she was grateful she was alone in her office.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was equally soft, and it struck her that in the handful of times that she had talked with Maxwell that soft wasn’t a word that she would have described him. And yet. . .

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Don’t play stupid Maxwell, you know what I’m asking about.” He smiled and she could see his teeth gleam in the dark. She thought that maybe she should be scared to see such a smile from a man known to be so ruthless, but it didn’t seem dangerous to her.

“I did. I want to take you to dinner.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that I want to see more of you.” She smiled softly. She never felt like the kind of woman who would be so attractive to a man that he had to see her. So, she couldn’t help but preen internally at his comment. She was quiet for a beat before she spoke again.

“If I do agree to a date of some sort, you must promise me that regardless of what happens, Chimtech keeps Bercholder as a vendor.”

“Of course.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and turned him towards her. He was struck that even in the darkness she seemed to shine like the sun, as if her hair stole the light from the stars. The look on her face was serious and for a moment he paused. She took his hand into her own and squeezed, hard.

“I mean it Maxwell; you promise me that you won’t let whatever is going on ruin this for Bercholder. People are relying upon this contract to keep their jobs and I will not do a damn thing to hurt them.” Her soft voice was now hard, with a harsh undertone that surprised him. She didn’t seem to glow anymore, instead it was as if she had been eclipsed and something cold left in her place. He was taken aback by the sudden change.

“Evie, I promise. Bercholder is Clark’s responsibility, I never had a hand in anything but approving the contract.” She relaxed and nodded but to his surprise, didn’t let go of his hand. The hardness left her and the golden aura he had come to crave from her returned. The moment had passed, and the silence returned, surprisingly as comfortable as before.

Evie would never admit to anyone but herself, but she wanted to accept his proposition the day she got the letter. She had thought of him often over the last few weeks, with each meeting dragging her further and further into thoughts she shouldn’t be having about the man. She recognized at the very onset of all this that Maxwell Lord was a powerful man and he oozed that every time they had meet, but she sensed something else was there and whatever it was, it drew her in like a moth to a flame. When he kept hold of her hand longer than was usual, she felt herself breakout in goosebumps.

During the presentation, she could feel his eyes on her, and she pointedly avoided looking at him in the eyes. But when she leaned over his chair, she had to grip the seat’s back to keep her hands to herself. Up close, she could see his golden locks and wondered if they felt like silk since they certainly looked it. Her palms itched to touch him, and she was confused as to why she was feeling this way about him. Yes, he was handsome, but never had she yearned so much for a single touch as she did in that moment.

When Donovan put her in charge of the contract, she was lost. Every time he sat in on a meeting, she could feel herself grow warm under his eyes and she willed herself to ignore him lest she get caught up in his gaze. On the second to last day, he smiled at her and she felt her thighs clench with want. She was never anything but professional around him, but within the confines of her home, too many nights ended with his name on her lips as she came by her own hand.

---***---

She wasn’t sure how long they sat on the swing, holding hands and enjoying the night, but the sudden increase in party sounds caused her to look over her shoulder. She saw Donovan coming her way and she squeezed Maxwell’s hand once more before removing hers from their embrace. She almost felt sad to break the connection, but there was no need for Donovan to see the two of them be so chummy.

“Hello you two! I’d ask if you were enjoying the view, but it’s dark as hell out here and you probably can’t see shit.” It was a surprise to people that he was the CEO of a mid-size company. He looked the opposite of Maxwell and yet both carried that same indominable energy of a leader comfortable in their position. Bercholder’s staff was happy to have him in charge and that’s all that mattered to him.

“I enjoyed it earlier, Don. The sunsets are always spectacular here!” Evie smiled at him. “And I was just so comfortable I decided to just stay and enjoy the evening. Maxwell came to say hello and I think the Catskills are wrapping him under their spell.”

Donovan laughed and Maxwell smiled. All three knew the man was city born, city raise, and it would be a cold day in hell before he’d leave it all for a small place like Stone Ridge. As it was, Donovan was surprised Maxwell had accepted the invitation to the party, but he was pleased and hoped this was a sign their recently agreed upon contract was safe.

After chatting a little longer, Donovan went back into the house to continue playing host. The evening quieted down after the boisterous man left and the faint sounds of crickets filled the air again. When it seemed like they’d no longer be interrupted, Maxwell reached out and grabbed Evie’s hand, resting it on his thigh. He lightly brushed his thumb over her knuckles, moving to the back of her hand when she didn’t pull away from him.

If Maxwell knew Evie touched herself while thinking about him, he probably would have been pleased and more than a little smug. But the reoccurring dreams that he had been having about her didn’t give him much leverage. He woke up many mornings to a cold and empty bed that seemed all the harsher given how warm and light his dreams had been. He had thought throwing himself into his work would render this little crush meaningless until she arrived for contract negotiations.

It seemed the dreams were worse after those meetings and when he woke in the morning, he was hard as hell. It didn’t matter if he jerked himself off, his hands never seemed to live up to the softness of her lips and cunt that he experienced in his dreams. He couldn’t ever get over the sensations he experienced while asleep and Maxwell wondered if maybe his brain got addled at some point and that he was imagining that such warmth could exist from a single person.

But as he brushed his thumb over her hand, he could feel it creeping into his chest and spreading to his limbs. He itched to touch her everywhere, to kiss her, to fuck her, anything to crawl inside of her and stay there. He didn’t know what it was about her that had him so obsessed, but he was. Maxwell was known for his will power, but he found it slipping away from him whenever he was around her and suddenly, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kiss the palm.

Evie drew in a sharp breath at the sensation, a mix of surprise and arousal. She turned her head and looked at him, only to find him looking back at her. It was almost as if he was waiting for her to say something, do something. So, she curled her fingers around his chin and squeezed lightly. They continued to look at each other as he pressed a kiss to her wrist and then a string of them up her arm until he reached her shoulder.

He scooted over until he was pressed against her and leaned down to kiss the juncture between her shoulder and neck. Her breath hitched and a small moan sounded in her throat, the sparks of pleasure beginning to spread across her body. He smiled against her skin and continued to kiss up her neck while rubbing her knuckles with his fingers. When Maxwell reached just under her ear, Evie turned to him and even in the dark, he could see her eyes blazing with lust. Reaching up with her other hand, she rested her fingertips on his jaw and leaned in to lightly kiss him.

In that moment, the infamous Lord willpower that made or broke companies was abandoned, and he surged forward to meet her lips. He dragged his tongue along her lower lip, encouraging her to open and submit to him. When she did, he groaned at the sensation of her heat. As they deepened the kiss, he dropped her hand and brought both of his to her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He could feel the soft yield of her breasts against his chest and then her hands as they snaked up his back.

Evie could feel his erection growing against her thigh and she sighed against his lips, wanting to feel that hardness elsewhere. His hands rubbed circles on her hips and the sparks that began with that kiss on her throat seemed to cover her skin. It took everything in her to not throw her leg over his and to straddle his lap to feel friction where she needed it the most.

She broke off the kiss first, leaning her forehead against him, their noses lightly brushing against each other. Their breaths were heavy, and their eyes were darkened by their mutual desire. But they both realized they couldn’t very well keep making out in Donovan’s garden like a couple of horny teenagers trying to hide from their parents. He spoke first.

“Thursday night, in the city. Dinner with me at seven. I’ll send my car to pick you up from the train station.” The roughness of Maxwell’s voice caused a shiver to run down Evie’s spine, but she nodded, not even bothering to push back against his demanding tone. “I’ll text you with the information that morning.”

He lightly kissed her again before pulling away and sliding Evie back onto the bench. But he kept her flushed against him, as if he wasn’t ready for reality to intrude in on the moment. Evie laid her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder, marveling at how comfortable she felt around him. He placed his arm around her shoulder, and he began to rock the swing again. They sat there for a long time before they knew they had to leave. As Evie stood up, Maxwell grabbed her hand and looked at her.

“Thursday.”

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ww1984 #wonder woman 1984 #fanfic

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 4 years

Text

Float Like A Butterfly Ch.2 Boundaries

Summary:

Adrien remembers a promise amid chaos.

--------------------------------------------------

"You know, dude. You don't have to let her do that."

"Huh?"

"Chloe," Nino clarified, watching said girl go with a scowl before his eyes flicked back to Adrien. "You don't have to let her drape herself all over you like that."

Confusion clouded Adrien's face. "What? No, it's Chloe. She's fine."

"Bro, you can set boundaries for your friends! They're the dudes that're supposed to be the most chill with that!" Nino didn't mean to push but he knew how Adrien was about his friendships. "I know you're not the best when it comes to personal space-"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"-but, like, you should really start getting with the groove."

Adrien didn't like the worried frown Nino gave him and hurried to reassure his best friend. "Seriously bro, I'm fine! It's fine." He gave Nino a bright smile as proof.

Nino didn't look convinced. "You'd tell me if it wasn't. Right?"

"Of course, dude! You're my best friend." Stifling a twinge of superhero related guilt with practiced ease, Adrien held his fist up.

The concern in Nino's eyes faded a little. "Okay, bro." Holding up his own fist, Nino returned the gesture. "Just... Remember that if you feel someone's being uncool you can just leave or something, yeah?"

"Promise," Adrien replied with a smile.

"I mean it, man." This time Nino returned a small smile despite himself. His voice losing its gravitas. "Anyone gives you rancid vibes just get the hell away from them."

Truthfully, Adrien hadn't remembered. Oh, he didn't forget. But it stayed in the back of his mind. Untouched despite the many times people he knew gave him 'rancid vibes'. Never once did Nino's words resurface...

Until the Guardian drove him away.

----------

Adrien didn't want to be in class today.

Even if it was Mme. Bustier's birthday. He didn't feel like smiling so Nino wouldn't ask him if he was okay. Like he did every day.

And Adrien lied because... He didn't know why he kept lying to Nino. There was no point anymore, was there? No point in keeping everything bottled up. In holding back tears so his friends wouldn't ask questions he couldn't answer. Shouldn't answer.

His hand was shaking.

I shouldn't think like that. Adrien subtly grabbed his uncooperative limb, holding it still. Trying to shake his brain loose from its spiral. It was a special day. He shouldn't ruin it by-

"-Chloe Bourgeois!"

Adrien bolted upright in his seat. The sound of Marinette's anger shocking him back to the present. What- Chloe did what? But just as soon as Adrien's brain caught up Mme. Bustier and Marinette were out of the classroom.

Everyone was glaring at Chloe. She was ignoring them in that far too deliberate way she had. With her head to the side and her chin up, Chloe was the spitting image of, I don't care what you think. An almost perfectly crafted lie.

Then their akumatized teacher showed up and it was chaos.

Adrenaline surged through Adrien, keeping him grounded as he ran with his classmates. Despite his obtrusive thoughts.

Of course, Zombizou was after Chloe! Why wouldn't she be!? Grabbing a discarded mop when his surviving friends barricaded themselves in the locker room, Adrien turned and-

There she was. Shoulders set in determination, face serious, bluebell eyes red around the edges. Ladybug's mere presence was enough to calm everyone.

Adrien's grip on his makeshift weapon tightened, knuckles white. He turned away from her and took a breath. Trying to keep his turmoil off his face.

You should be helping her, said an admonishing, guilty voice.

She didn't want my help, an angry, bitter voice replied.

"Ladybug vouched for you."

Adrien wondered if that was true.

They were on the school's roof now. Adrien didn't remember how they got up there. Apparently the kissing zombies were becoming an epidemic. And Zombizou was still very focused on a particular individual.

"Chloe! Ha, always Chloe!" Alix advanced on her angrily. Backing the taller girl up to the roof's edge, with kissing zombies below. "You only think about yourself!"

"I don't know why we don't just give them what they want!" Alya added.

"Yeah! Good idea!" Nino backed her up.

... I should say something here, right? Adrien knew he should defend Chloe. Or at least try to de-escalate the argument. Because, by God, did Adrien know Chloe wasn't going to do it.

"Is it my fault that I'm better than all of you?"

Adrien should say something. But Ladybug beat him to it. In two short sentences she quelled his classmates righteous anger. She was right, of course. Chloe didn't deserve to get hit. And she was the perfect bait.

Ladybug's always right...

Thankfully, the zombies' attempts to climb after them kept Adrien focused on protecting those around him. Instead of wallowing in self-pity. Using the mop he still had, Adrien shoved the zombies back while the rest of his classmates went down Ladybug's yo-yo zipline.

But more kept coming.

"C'mon, Agreste!" Kim yelled, giving Chloe a push down their escape line.

Adrien ran and the zombies swarmed.

"Look out!" Max stretched out his arms and used his body as a shield, distracting the zombies.

"Max!"

Strong arms lifted Adrien up and put him on the zipline. Placing his mop handle so he could grab it and not the razor sharp wire. Kim sent Adrien off just as he was swarmed.

... No one had ever sacrificed themselves for Adrien before. He didn't like it.

Rose slipped from the roof of the bus and cried out as a zombie grabbed her leg. Ladybug quickly retracting her yo-yo and saving her.

He saw the look on Ladybug's face. Gazing out at all of the infected people that surrounded them. Adrien could feel the weight on her shoulders through that gaze. The weight of a city. Ladybug felt responsible for every citizen of Paris. They were counting on her. She let out a low growl of determination and went into the bus.

Inside, Ladybug stared at the driver's seat for a moment. "Anyone know how to drive?"

And when no one else spoke up Adrien replied. "I... can." It was the first words he'd spoken to her since...

"But we are a team aren't we? I'm tired of all these secrets."

"O-Oh! Thank you, Adrien."

Adrien didn't think he deserved any thanks but he nodded and got them on their jarring, halting way. Heading for the Eiffel Tower.

Ladybug's proximity was distracting. Not in the usual way, where he couldn't take his eyes off her and his heart sped up excitedly. His heart was speeding but it wasn't from excitement and his jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it.

Adrien felt... like when Ladybug didn't come to his surprise. Or when Chloe got the entire school punished for something she did. He wasn't sure how those two things were related but the feeling now was much the same. Only worse.

Focus, a familiar voice said. They're counting on you.

So, Adrien shoved his feelings down to where they usually went in public.

Then someone screamed.

Ladybug kept Alix, Juleka and Rose from kissing anyone else while Adrien sped towards the Eiffel Tower. Coming to a fast stop in its shadow. Grabbing Chloe's wrist in one hand and his mop in the other, Adrien bolted for the elevators. Alya and Nino on their tail. Barricading the doors just as Ladybug made it inside.

But they didn't count on zombies in the elevator.

"Alya!" Nino rushed forward to restrain the infected people, pulling them off his girlfriend.

"...There's nothing we can do for her," Adrien found himself saying. "C'mon!"

"He's right," Alya sat up to look a kneeling Ladybug in the eye. There was nothing but trust in her gaze, a gentle smile on her lips. "Just go and save us all."

Without taking her eyes off Alya, Ladybug slowly walked into the elevator. "Nino?"

Tipping his cap, Nino smiled as the doors closed with him still outside.

"Nino!" Ladybug threw herself at the doors as they started their ascent. Her fist struck the glass in frustration.

"...You'll fix it all in the end anyway," Adrien said. He meant it to be reassuring. It came out accusatory.

She doesn't need me.

Shut up!

"Only the best remain." Chloe felt the need to comment.

She doesn't need Chat Noir.

Not if he's wallowing in self-pity, she doesn't!

A growl left Ladybug's lips. "He's your best friend." Her eyes were on him as she ignored Chloe.

She didn't need you then and she doesn't need you now!

... It doesn't matter.

"You'll fix it," he repeated. Staring her in the eye.

And for some unfathomable reason, Ladybug seemed to accept that.

They arrived at the top... only to be surrounded by zombies.

"Ladybug!" Adrien cried out as he shoved Chloe toward her.

The swarm made to chase after them. So, ignoring the kisses already dotting his skin, Adrien used his body and the mop handle he still carried like a barrier. Stretching out his arms the way Max had.

There were so many of them. Pushing him. Grabbing him. Kissing him. Adrien spread his feet and pushed against the floor as leverage.

"Adrien!"

Looking up he felt Ladybug's palm on his cheek. Despite himself he found it comforting... Her eyes were so afraid. "Go!" he pleaded.

"No!"

"You're the only one who can fix this for us. No arguing now!"

So she didn't.

He watched her hurry away as foreign hands grabbed at his body. Cotton was a poor substitute for the protection of his magical, impervious suit. Strangers' lips slathered the skin on his arms, his neck, his face. The last thing Adrien felt was his flesh crawling in disgust as his strength gave out...

---------

Ladybugs swirled around Adrien as the far too familiar sensation of his free will coming back washed over him.

Just in time to see how close Chloe's lips were to his own. Adrien jerked his head back. Chloe followed his movement. NO! His hands shoved her away before he knew he was doing it.

Adrien stared at her on the ground. The alien sensation of unwanted lips on his skin ghosted over his flesh. Without a word Chloe picked herself up and dusted herself off. Adrien turned on his heel and strode away from her.

Ladybug was also staring. At Mme. Bustier coming out of the akumatization. She held her fist at eye level, a melancholy expression on her face. "B- Bien joue," she whispered.

Eyes stinging suddenly, Adrien looked away. Shutting them tight.

"Ladybug? What on Earth-" Mme. Bustier let out a gasp. "The akuma overtook me. Oh, no! I let my negative emotions get the upper hand. How terrible! I'm terrible..."

A jolt went through Adrien at her words.

The teacher's distress apparently pulled Ladybug back from her own distant sorrow. Shoving away things she couldn't do anything about Ladybug focused on what she could do. "...That's not true. It wasn't your fault. Papillon is the one to blame."

It's not the same, he told himself.

Isn't it?

"But I hurt a lot of people."

"No," Chloe's voice rang out. "I did." All three stared at her in surprise. "I forgot your birthday, once again." She didn't sound like herself. "And when I saw everyone prepare a gift for you, I totally lost it." She sounded... remorseful. "Because I too would've liked to offer you something." Sincere. "I'm sorry, Mme. Bustier."

Snakes slid themselves into knots in Adrien's stomach. He could remember the last time Chloe had apologized for anything. They were eleven.

"Thank you, Chloe. Those words are the best possible gift you could ever give me." And Mme. Bustier wrapped her in a hug.

Chloe's eyes found Adrien's and he felt... unpleasant things.

"Um, I should be going!" For some reason Ladybug was addressing Adrien specifically.

"Right... Thank you."

"No problem." Ladybug smiled despite the strain around her reddened eyes. She waited a moment, expectant. But when nothing was forthcoming she swung away. An odd mixture of relief and guilt on her face.

Adrien didn't speak to Chloe as they took the elevator down. He didn't speak to her as Mme. Bustier, still shaken from her ordeal, went home. Didn't speak to her as the Gorilla pulled up and she got in without asking. It wasn't until they were on their way to Le Grande Paris and the privacy screen was rolled up that Adrien spoke.

"...I don't want you kissing me." He didn't look at her.

"What? Adrikins what're you-"

"I don't like it." His tongue felt heavy and there was a tightness in his chest. "I don't like that nickname."

"...You never complained about it before." Chloe didn't say it dismissively, like she would for anyone else. Because Adrien wasn't anyone else.

Adrien did look at her then. "It was fine when we were kids and then, when we got older, I told myself it didn't bother me. But it does." He felt queasy. Adrien wished he had Chat Noir. Chat Noir never had this much trouble expressing himself.

"Well... okay then." Chloe threw her ponytail behind her. "Just Adrien, then."

And Adrien was so relieved when a knot untangled itself in his stomach that he almost let it slide. Almost. "I don't want you trying to kiss me."

"I'm just greeting you." There was no inflection in her words, like she expected what was coming. "Everyone does it."

"Don't. Lie. To me." And it's the first sign Adrien gave of the anger behind his words. Superseding even the guilt in his gut. Not breaking eye contact no matter how much he wanted to.

Chloe broke it first, looking down. "Maybe... when I realized that you were the only boy I could stand I... Started thinking of you as mine. You were my friend!" Her eyes flicked to Adrien and away again. "And I, maybe, thought I was the only girl who was good enough for you."

"That's not your decision," Adrien snapped. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. And he didn't really want to stop them.

"Well, someone had to make a decision!"

Adrien's eyes burned into her.

Chloe winced. Even her infamous tactlessness had its limits. "Adrien..."

He turned away from her.

"What do you want me to say!" Her voice rose. "That I was selfish!? That I wanted you all to myself!? That I was a terrible friend!?"

"No," Adrien replied evenly, still looking away. "I don't want you to say that."

Chloe took a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry... Adrien."

Oh. The sharp spike in Adrien's chest grew smaller. He looked at her. There were actual tears, tiny ones, in the corners of her eyes.

Before he could say anything the car stopped. And Chloe was out the door.

---------

Adrien stared at nothing. Arms wrapped around his knees on the bed. Allowing the tears that had built up all day to fall.

He didn't want to think about Chloe. Didn't want to go over every time she'd lean in and he'd lean away. Hated the way his skin burned at the memory of unwanted contact. Like it was still touching him.

Wrestling himself away from that train of thought only brought up Ladybug. Adrien didn't want to think about her either. Thinking about Ladybug made the writhing in his stomach worse.

Ladybug was as amazing as always. He could see her setting whatever she felt aside for the sake of the mission. Serious and focused like a great hero should be. No wonder the Guardian likes her more than me.

If he still had Plagg then Chat Noir could've helped instead of running around with a mop of all things! Could've actually been useful.

Chat Noir didn't stop you from being useless before.

A bark of laughter escaped Adrien's lips.

Not one person. Not one person mentioned Chat Noir's absence.

They kinda had more important things to worry about, the rational part of his brain pointed out.

Howling laughter came out of him, shaking his frame. I know. And the knowledge only made him feel worse. Friends, people he saw every day, had their minds taken from them. And here he was, what, whining about not being appreciated?

Fresh tears streamed down Adrien's face as he covered his mouth. Laughter turning into wailing sobs. What is wrong with me!?

Smothering the sound of his sobs with his pillow, Adrien screamed himself hoarse. Fingers futilely clawing at the fabric. Realizing, in between breaths, that he cried out for Plagg most of all. Heat built rapidly in his face as his chest constricted. Adrien let himself mourn Plagg's absence all over again. Everything was too hot, too much. He didn't remember how many times he'd cried over the sarcastic, arrogant little jerk but it didn't feel like enough.

Eventually, the raging storm in Adrien calmed. At least for now. He wiped at the dry tear stains, swallowing thickly. Taking slow, deliberate breaths. Blinking his reddened eyes, Adrien's sight landed on Plagg's mini-fridge.

A painful twinge pulled at his heart but Adrien was far too drained for it to last more than a moment. He stared at it. Having avoided touching the only piece of Plagg that still resided in his room.

Standing on shaky legs, he made his way over to Plagg's things. Kneeling, Adrien opened it, seeing nothing but Camembert. His nose too stuffy from crying for its intense odor to have any effect.

Adrien smiled even as his eyes watered. Closing Plagg's fridge he called for a cart to take the Camembert away. Without Plagg he really didn't need so much cheese.

It was time to let go. Even if it took him years. Adrien had experience with letting people go, after all.

#float like a butterfly #adrien agreste #adrien angst #ml angst #zombizou #chloé bourgeois #adrien and chloe #nino lahiffe #adrien and nino #ladybug #ml au #canon divergent au #canon divergence #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fic #ao3 fic #ao3 fanfic

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janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

KYFC..: Chapter 13

Hello, my friends! I hope you are all having/had a lovely Sunday. I apologize for being late with this chapter. I decided to try out a beta and it is definitely a learning process. I hadn’t anticipated the extra time editing would take, or wanting so many “final” read-throughs. Mind you, I truly believe the chapter is better for it. However....for whatever reason, I’m more freaked out about putting this chapter out there than any other so far. Haha. Whatever the case with me, I hope you all enjoy it.

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My heart burns with feeling, but whoa my mind, it’s cold and reeling. Is this love, baby, or is it just confusion? --Jimi Hendrix, Love or Confusion

John stares up at the red roof of the Edgar Allan Poe House and Museum in the late morning sun. It is a fairly small and assuming home, but he cannot help wondering at what secrets it holds. He has bubbled with anticipation since he read the words “..walking into Poe’s Baltimore home is both disturbing and ethereal” on its website at breakfast. He had invited the skaters along, but they all had other plans already. So, here he is, standing before it alone.

He is about to walk up the small wooden staircase at its entrance when he becomes aware of a presence to his right. He turns quickly and comes face to face with a hesitant Sherlock Holmes, shifting his feet and looking at John with a face full of uncertainty.

“Hi,” John grins and Sherlock looks surprised. “I didn’t see you at breakfast. You did eat?”

“I put together something in my room,” Sherlock answers, his expression shifting. “I often request that the kitchenette be stocked with some of the basics.”

“That is a great idea. I’ll have to remember that,” John nods, making a mental note.

There is a moment of silence while he considers the coach’s demeanor curiously.

“Are you going in or just passing by?” he gestures to the house.

“Oh, going in,” Sherlock clears his throat. “Poe is a favorite author of mine.”

“Mine too,” John remarks. “Want to go through together? We could go for lunch when we’re done.”

John tilts his head and furrows his brow as he watches Sherlock. The taller man looks utterly flummoxed and John has no idea why.

“Erm…well, I rather thought after this morning…after what I did...and said...” he pauses awkwardly, waving his hand in a rather general way as if hoping it will somehow clarify his meaning. John raises his brows in question and Sherlock sighs in frustration. “I know when I’ve been dismissed.”

“What?” John huffs a startled laugh. “No. That isn’t what I meant at all. Look, I know I left abruptly.”

“Quite,” the coach replies curtly.

“Okay, okay,” John responds, his tone growing defensive, “and I didn’t say much.”

“You would have avoided speaking entirely if it were possible,” Sherlock huffed, aggravation pulsing off of him in waves.

“Okay, Sherlock, I get it. I’m sorry,” John murmured. “I was...disappointed.”

Sherlock gives him a pointed look, but one that cannot hide the hurt in his eyes.

“With myself,” John rushes to say and continues in a decisive tone. “Not with you. I didn’t mean to give the impression that I wanted to disassociate myself from you.”

Sherlock’s face adopts an expression that screams ‘Really, John? Really?’. He lowers his narrowed eyes a moment and then gives John a sardonic smile.

“What impression did you think it would give?” Sherlock’s voice drips with annoyance, his whole body radiating anger.

They stare at one another, their words hanging between them, like a thick smog that leaves no room to breathe. John is no idiot. He gets what Sherlock is saying, but his past was the last thing he had wanted to talk about, especially after such a fucking spectacular night. Still there was no way around it. John had been angry while telling the story, but it had soon faded, leaving him exposed and frustrated. He had wanted only to leave as fast as he could before Sherlock had a chance to properly judge his actions and throw him out. He hadn’t meant to cast any sort of judgment upon Sherlock or make him feel he was being rejected. Christ, he is such a dick.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, hoping his tone conveys the depth of his feeling. He does not want to lose this friendship. He cannot lose it. He watches Sherlock for any sign of forgiveness and, to his relief, he sees the coach’s grey eyes soften and his annoyance fading.

“I should be the one apologizing, John. I am seldom able to deduce you so fully and when I finally could, I got carried away. It was stupid and an obviously very painful part of your past. I’m sorry,” Sherlock says in a rush, his voice flustered. He bites his lower lip and looks at John with nervous eyes.

“You,” John pauses, his mind processing all Sherlock just said. He takes a step forward with a playful and mischievous smirk, “can’t always deduce me? Like you do everyone else?”

“Haven’t I mentioned it before? I’m quite sure I have. You guard your secrets with great care, John,” Sherlock nods his head; half annoyed, half in awe.

“Yeah, but hiding something from you,” John puffs out a breath.

“Is nothing short of miraculous,” Sherlock ventures when John simply pauses. It sounds pompous, but it is exactly what John is thinking.

The two gaze at each as the taller man takes a small step closer and looks at John with an open, honest expression. John’s heart skips a beat while Sherlock’s next words give him a heart attack:

“You are the most intriguing man I have ever met.”

John is speechless for a full ten seconds. Any longer than that and Sherlock would have thought he had done something wrong. John takes another step closer to buy himself some time while he searches his mind for a reply worthy of Sherlock’s declaration. It is still so hard to believe this wondrous man would ever be interested in John the way he so clearly is.

“But I’m so...ordinary,” John finally laughs, unable to think of anything more articulate. For all his intelligence, Sherlock completely disarms him.

“No, John,” Sherlock is shaking his head before the words are even out, “you are extraordinary.”

John looks at him with nothing less than adoration and gives him a radiant smile. He believes he knows Sherlock better than most, maybe even more than Victor Trevor had, the wanker, but he wants to know more. He wants to know every detail of this man and his life. Every thought and memory, every feeling, every inch of his body. God, his body. John saw so much of him last night and it wasn’t enough. He longs to explore Sherlock’s body again, worship it with his hands and his mouth.

John bites his lower lip and shakes away those thoughts. This is no time to get distracted by desire, especially when John is this confused. What he feels, what he wants is so much more than the physical. John wants Sherlock’s mind and soul. He wants to know everything, feel everything. He wants to share Sherlock’s life. John can already feel Sherlock with him, even when he is nowhere near, like he is a part of him. John feels him down into his bones. It’s like nothing he has ever felt before and it is breath-taking.

What he has told Sherlock about his romantic life is true. He has devoted no time to dating during his time in the States. He put little effort into it in the UK, to be honest, but had dated off and on in uni and medical school. He really only felt anything for two or three of them and none of those feelings came close to what he feels for Sherlock. It is… What is it? John is so confused, his head spinning. What does it mean when you don’t just want to spend the night with someone, but every day too? To talk to him and learn about him more than you want to sleep with him?

John looks at Sherlock and is damned if the coach doesn’t look like he knows every thought in John’s head. Sherlock could probably see it all plain as day as it flickered over his features. John huffs to himself in fond exasperation before making a small bow, befitting of Poe himself.

“Shall we?” John gestures toward the brick house before them.

“Please,” Sherlock replies with a dazzling smile and his own stately bow.

With the air between them cleared, they enter the house and pay admission. Soon their guide is leading them through a most fascinating tour. Though it is no longer furnished, it is not difficult to imagine what it looked like when Poe lived in it, between their guide’s descriptions and Sherlock’s additions. Not surprisingly, he knows a good many things the guide does not. To her credit, she smiles each time he begins speaking and waits patiently for him to finish. He is courteous as well, not interrupting her canned stories before jumping in. John appreciates it all until he begins to notice how her eyes stray from Sherlock’s face to glide down his body approvingly. Clearly impressed with more than just his knowledge of Poe, she begins flirting with Sherlock in more and more obvious ways as the tour goes on.

When they stop to view Poe’s portable writing desk and chair, Sherlock moves closer to marvel at it. After the guide is finished with her speech, the coach begins mumbling about Poe’s writing habits and his works. It is truly fascinating how much Sherlock knows and John is more than happy to listen. He would gladly listen to Sherlock for days on end and never tire of it. The man’s voice caresses John’s very soul. Each sound is rich, smooth dark chocolate coating John’s ears with warmth.

Unfortunately, John does not have time to savor Sherlock’s voice or his words. A few sentences in and he notices their guide slowly moving in on Sherlock. Irritation wells up within him and John immediately has the impulse to touch Sherlock. Stake some sort of claim with a touch that is just intimate enough to say ‘Back off. He’s mine.’. Something that will definitely tell her to get the fuck away from Sherlock.

But he doesn’t. Sherlock is not his.

John just presses his lips together into a thin line and grumbles nearly inaudibly. He has no business being jealous. No place warding others away from Sherlock as though he were his. Sure, they spent the night together, that annoying voice in the back of his mind reminds him. They had sex, but that does not mean they are together. It does not mean Sherlock wants to do it again. They are able to step back into their lives and friendship seamlessly. This little jaunt proves it. There is no awkwardness between them, just some initial misunderstanding and then back to their kind of normal. If John is honest with himself, he has never felt so comfortable with anyone in his life. Not even Bill, and that realization strikes him with the force of a bullet.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice finally breaks through his thoughts.

“What?” John shakes himself back to the here and now, only to see both Sherlock and the guide looking at him curiously. He blinks once or twice, trying to devise from Sherlock’s face what might have been said.

“Are you ready to move on?” he asks him, obviously repeating himself.

“What? Oh, yes, yes. Move along,” John marches on with a vigor he doesn’t feel.

The three continue with what remains of the tour and soon the duo bids the guide farewell. None too soon for John, who notices her pressing a bit of paper into Sherlock’s hand under the guise of a friendly handshake. Her number, no doubt. Christ. John huffs and rolls his eyes before he can stop himself. He has largely kept his jealousy to himself. At least, he hopes Sherlock has not picked up on it. He has given no indication, but the git probably noticed the moment the woman began talking.

Sherlock and John step down the small staircase at the front of the house and head for a row of shops and restaurants a few blocks away. They walk in a comfortable silence, each left to his own thoughts. John’s mind wanders to the night before, this morning, the tour, the guide. He had been such a fool to leave Sherlock’s room the way he had. Hurrying from the bedroom and refusing coffee like he was ashamed or angry. Well, truth be told, he was angry about Sherlock’s deductions. He had not wanted him to know about Claire or the supposed baby. But why? John had done nothing wrong. Claire had lied, made up the baby and tried to trap him. He has nothing to be ashamed of, right?

Wrong. John was wrong. He was always wrong in a relationship. He kept himself closed off and his partner at arm’s length every time. Never letting anyone in and never actually giving himself fully to another person. Relationships can only last so long when one half isn’t all in. Claire had simply been the most persistent, but it had not worked either. She could not crack his shell. No one ever had and that was ultimately what John did not want Sherlock to know. If Sherlock saw that there was no hope of John ever loving him, if he saw that John was incapable of it, he would go. That is the truth of it. John really should not try to hide it, even in the interest of prolonging a relationship with Sherlock. It is dishonest and despicable. No better than the lies Claire tried to use to keep John. He will not be that person.

John shakes his head, trying to clear it. Lunch was meant to be a pleasant respite with a friend when he had originally suggested it. There would be plenty of time later, after the bout when John is trying to sleep in his own hotel room to think about his stunted emotions. John huffs. Not emotions plural, just one. John has absolutely no problem getting angry or feeling jovial, sarcasm, friendship - all within easy reach, but love. He loved his parents, of course. Everyone does. He had loved Bill, but not that way.

Bill.

Could he have saved him? Would it have made any difference or is Sherlock right? Would he be dead too?

John blinks and pushes away the thoughts more forcefully this time. Now is not the time for nightmarish questions that will drive his mind into darkness. If John is going to think about Bill at all and how he fits into who John is today, he has to remain objective. If John had to guess, he would say losing Bill contributed, but he was already doing it before Bill. In fact, Bill seemed to have been the only exception and now Sherlock is too.

Sherlock.

He seems to be the exception to every rule, and he seems to encourage change in John with every passing day. Today’s is more obvious than any John has noticed to date. He simply does not get jealous as a rule. He probably hadn’t cared enough about any partner in the past to get jealous. Yes, he expects loyalty when he and a lover agree to be exclusive, which he and Sherlock have not done. John left Sherlock’s room before they had a chance to even consider it.

Why?

Why had he left like that? People say John is brilliant and Sherlock is very much his intellectual equal, if not more so. His ability to strategize and calculate is amazing, and John still wants to learn more about his mind palace. Surely he deduced John’s inability to love as soon as he learned of Claire. John had told him. He told him he didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. Couple that with the stories of his other relationships and Sherlock would know that a relationship with John is the worst mistake he could ever make. John’s breath leaves him in a rush. He simply cannot bear the thought. He wants to be with Sherlock. He needs to be with him, but...

“Stop it,” the words hit him like a freight train.

John nearly stumbles on the pavement when Sherlock’s deep baritone cuts through his spiraling thoughts. He looks up at his friend, not failing to notice how the wind blows his dark curls into an unruly frame around his face. John narrows his eyes marginally.

“What?” he asks, confusion clear on his face.

“Stop,” Sherlock repeats. “I can hear you thinking. Isn’t that what you said to me? Just stop before you come to some erroneous conclusion.”

“Erroneous conclusion?” John repeats incredulously. “I can reason things out just fine, thank you very much.”

“I was not suggesting that you couldn’t,” Sherlock looks at him evenly. He narrows his eyes. “But you do not have all of the data.”

John resists the urge to snap at him in favor of looking away and straight ahead instead. After a few moments of silence, John sighs and looks down at his feet.

“I should have stayed this morning,” he says quietly, still not turning his head to face the taller man. “We should’ve talked and that’s my fault.”

“Well, we could talk now,” Sherlock suggests, the smile evident in his voice and John finally turns to look at him, still expecting to be mocked somehow. Sherlock does look amused, but John should have known better than to think Sherlock would ridicule him.

John gives him a small nod as Sherlock gestures to a nearby cafe simply called ‘A Taste of India’. What the name lacks, the air drifting from inside makes up for with warm spices and the scent of freshly baked naan. They are soon seated and indulging in some of the best Indian food John has ever tasted.

Halfway into the meal, John wets his lips and leans forward in his chair. He glances down at his plate and then meets Sherlock’s eyes.

“Uh, we should,” he clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “We should talk.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirks up. John watches him, trying not to look nervous and probably failing miserably, judging by Sherlock’s expression. There is nothing John would like more than to change the subject and brush this off as he has done so many times in the past. He has run full-steam in the opposite direction, but Sherlock is so different. John is different too and he just doesn’t understand what any of it means. He has been allowed into this man’s life and knows what a gift it is, he treasures it with everything he has. Sherlock makes John feel calm and free, whereas he has felt undeniably trapped with every other person he has dated.

John eyes the incredible man across the table as he elegantly slides a fork from between his plush lips and chews. John wonders at the feeling that blooms in his chest, all warmth and comfort.

Then he blinks and shakes his head a little.

“You said I didn’t have all the data?” John clears his throat, trying to get back on track.

“You didn’t,” Sherlock says simply. John huffs a quiet, disbelieving laugh as Sherlock leans in. “You are concerned about your past, about what I have learned of it, especially this morning.”

John swallows. Sherlock does not break eye contact or miss a beat.

“You’ve no reason to fear, John. No reason to hide. That is all behind you and has no bearing on us now,” he explains in a very serious tone. “It will not write our future or cloud my view of you. No relationship is exactly like another.”

If John’s brain was functioning properly, he would point out that all of his past relationships have been exactly the same for him. However, his brain has seized because Sherlock used the word relationship. He said it like it is something he wants, like it is already a thing, a real thing. He says it like last night was not a one-off as John had feared. Still with his track record, Sherlock cannot possibly mean that. Maybe he actually hasn’t put everything together yet, in which case it is John’s duty to tell him.

“Sherlock,” he finally says when his mind gets itself together, and it still is not firing on all cylinders, “there’s something you have to know about me.”

“Is there?” he tilts his head. “Please enlighten me.”

“When Claire, her name was Claire. When she told me she was pregnant it was because she wanted me to marry her,” John licks his lips and stares at his water glass like it holds all the answers.

“Yes…” Sherlock prompts him softly.

“I didn’t love her,” John stumbles on, sounding more ridiculous by the minute.

“Right,” an affirmation to continue, not a judgment.

“Sherlock, listen. I…” John stops to wrestle with the panic threatening to burst from his chest. “I didn’t love anyone. I have never loved anyone I’ve been in a relationship with. I can’t guarantee it will be any different if we...if we agreed…”

“To date?” Sherlock ventures.

“Uh…” John is astounded by his bluntness. His mouth is suddenly dry and he clears his throat again. “Um, yeah, if you’d be interested. Are...are you interested?”

There is a sliver of hope in the words and hangs in the air between them. Sherlock opens his beautiful mouth to respond as the ringtone they both know to be Greg’s sounds. He had insisted on his own specific tone after Sherlock ignored one too many calls, which was not long after the lanky git was hired. John has caught shit on occasion for not forcing him to pick up.

“Damn it,” Sherlock mutters as he produces the offending device. “Greg, hello. Your timing, as always, is impeccable.”

“As long as you’re not having a quickie, I’d say I agree,” Greg laughs. Sherlock closes his eyes in resignation and, as if he can see him, Greg’s chortling ceases. “Oh, shit. You’re not on speaker?”

“No, I’m not on speaker,” Sherlock snaps his eyes open, “but for god sake, Greg.”

“Well, put me on,” Greg ignores his admonishment. “I want to go over the plan for tonight. I assume John is with you.”

“We have already done that,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What do you think we did last night?”

“I don’t know. What did you do last night?” Greg jokes. Sherlock’s eyes go wide and he does not answer. Greg’s voice comes over the line again, his tone suspicious. “Sherlock…”

Of course John hears none of Greg’s side of the conversation and can only guess at what he said to elicit Sherlock’s expression of shock. He is about to whisper an inquiry when the coach lays his mobile on the table.

“You’re on speaker now, Greg. You said you want to review the plan,” Sherlock prompts, impatience clear in his voice.

The remainder of lunch is spent talking through everything they spoke of the night before in the hotel bar. Their former conversation pushed aside in favor of discussing the bout plan with Greg, much to John’s chagrin. As much as he likes the GM and knows hashing out the plan with him is the right thing to do, John wants to know what Sherlock was going to say. Hen cannot get it off his mind.

As they talk with Greg, John holds on to the hope that he and Sherlock can resume their conversation, but it is all in vain. By the time they are finished, John and Sherlock have just enough time to rush back to the hotel for a change of clothes, to collect the ladies and their gear, and hop the bus for the night’s venue. The ladies are scheduled for an extended warm-up before they take the track and Sherlock insists on keeping a schedule once he has made it. For his part, John tries to stay focused, but cannot get Sherlock’s last two words out of his mind.

“To date?”

Had his tone been hopeful, curious, dismayed? John can hear the words exactly, but cannot put an emotion to them. He tries not to talk himself into anything, recalling Sherlock’s assertion that he does not have all the data, but really only succeeds in talking himself out of things. He sighs as he watches warm-ups. It is going to be a long night.

---

Oh, just the idea that you’ll have all read it when you get to this is a relief. What did you think? Quite a different ending from the last two chapters, eh? Haha. Dear Jane took pity and didn’t leave you in the lurch this time. However, y’all need to brace yourselves. John was right when he said it’s going to be a long night. What? Is that foreshadowing, Jane? Da da DAAAAA! Damn you.

I hope this chapter finds you all well and provides a little respite, in spite of my not being able to provide Indian food with it. Mmm. I definitely recommend it though. Love, Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @thetranslucentwallaby @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @francj96

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #sherlock au #sherlock roller derby #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #johnlock au #john is confused

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leihey · 4 years

Text

Late Night Talks (One Shot)

Word count: 6,279

Pairing: Kanghyun (Onewe) x OC, gxb

Genre: Friendship fluff, angst

Warnings: Hints of (former) suicidal thoughts, cheating, toxic relationship, character death, re-creating your own self (does that make sense?)

Summary: A stranger takes care of a broken hearted Kanghyun, who reveals step by step the story why he’s so sad.

Theme Song: Day6 - Congratulations

[A/N: First ofall, special thanks to Jojo, Liana, Pauli and Lou who motivated me and helped me a lot with the translation and correction. Also, thanks to the person who made that beautiful cover. Second of all, English isn’t my first language and this is the first time that I wrote in English. Please tell me if you find mistakes. Last but not least, I want to become better at writing and need some criticism. I would really appreciate if you’d tell me what you think about my OS.]

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Thought we were meant to be.

Pain.

I thought that you belonged to me.

Tears.

I’ll play the fool instead.

Loneliness.

Oh, but then I know that this is the end.

Truth.

Plain truth. A truth that seemed so untrue, felt so wrong, that everything else seemed unreal too. That everything in front of my eyes became blurred. That took my safe place and let me break down. That took my breath. That destroyed me. That took away my happiness and my joy for life. With a sigh I turned off the music, took the headphones out of my ears and put them back into my pocket.

My gaze followed by a small leaf that slowly slid down into the shallow river in front of me. Single drops found their way onto the leaf and let it shine slightly in the moonlight. A full moon. Formerly a symbol for inner warmth and satisfaction. Now a fading memory which filled me with coldness and dissatisfaction.

Generally, the whole place shone with beauty. At least for others. For me it was just a grey, dreary image of pain.

“Where’s she?” An unknown voice pulled me out of my thoughts. A girl. She whispered. Why was she whispering? Who was she?

I shrugged and acted like I don’t know what she was talking about: “Who?”

She came closer. I didn’t look at her. My eyes were still fixed on the leaf. “That girl” She was still whispering.

“Which girl?” I replied, trying to sound emotionless. She sat next to me.

“You were often here together. But only when it was full moon. 25 times or something.” She took my hand but I pulled it away again.

“27 times.”, I corrected her. She took off her shoes and stuck her feet into the water below us. Goosebumps spread over her legs, which made me smile. Even when it is summer, the water is cold at night.

"2 years and 3 months. And today is the first time that you’re alone here. Why?“ She had stopped whispering. I didn’t know her, but her voice seemed familiar to me. “How do you know about it that much?” I remained emotionless. She giggled. “You’re very fixated on her, aren’t you? Another reason why it’s weird she isn’t here. I came here everyday for the last 3 years. It’s a part of my evening routine. I can’t fall asleep otherwise.” She explained to me. I looked at her. Now her eyes were on the leaf that was slowly being carried away by the slight flow of the river. Unlike me, she didn’t seem to be inhibited. Not frantic. Rather dreamy.

“Why are you even interested?” I asked confused. She just shrugged and slowly moved her feet in the water, propelling the leaf. “I’m just curious.” I sighed and ran my fingers stressfully through my hair.

“Not here.” I got up to leave, but was held on. “Please don’t go.” Just like her eyes, her voice was pleading. I just sighed again, but sat down again.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to annoy you and certainly didn’t scare you away.” I nodded because I didn’t have the strength to answer with words.

I searched the riverbed with my eyes. The leaf was already washed away by the flow of the river. Gone. Just like her. The water in front of my eyes made slight waves as small drops of water hit it. Tears. My tears.

“It’s because of her, am I right?” She put an arm around me after I nodded weakly. Yes, it was because of her. Yuri. Lee Yuri. The reason, the only reason I was here this day. The reason why I’ve been already here 27 times before. Yuri, the reason for my tears. For my pain. But at the same time someone I owe my life to.

“Will you tell me what happened?” She whispered again. “Why are you whispering?” I asked without paying any attention to her question. “To instill trust.”, she replied calmly, still whispering, “So that you feel more secure. And more welcome. To keep your inner self warm.” At the end she stopped whispering, but remained quiet and calm.

She pulled me closer to her, into her arms. I didn’t do anything against that, even though it was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. After a short time, she gently stroked my back. Enjoyable, but also unusual.

“I don’t know.” I replied after a while. This time I was the one who whispered. “What do you not know?” She asked a little confused. “Whether I’ll tell you what happened or nor.” I clarified, as I laid my head shyly on her shoulder. “That’s okay. Tell me what you want and remain silent about the things that make you feel uncomfortable. The most important thing is that you feel good.” She assured me. I put my arms around her and pulled her into a shy hug, after which she gently ruffled my hair and giggled. A slight, reserved smile crept onto my lips, which is why I finally started to recount: “We were together.”

Her movements slowed down a little bit. “You and the girl?” she inquired. I nodded and continued: “Yuri. That’s her name. Lee Yuri. She was my girlfriend.” I sighed. “My first one, I want to mention. I was used to get fooled by my friends, or rather classmates, because I was the only one who hasn’t had already a girlfriend, but that never changed anything. I just didn’t fall in love. And even if I did, I probably would have been too shy to speak to the person.”

She tightened the hug a bit, which startled me at first, but then I enjoyed the closeness and attention of another person. Even if I still didn’t want to admit it to myself, I knew that it was exactly what I needed.

“What about her? How did you get to know her?” She wanted to know. “It’s a pretty cheesy story, I think.” I uttered while I laughed shyly. “Who doesn’t like cheesy love stories?” She smiled encouragingly. Even though I wasn’t looking at her face because my head was still on her shoulder, I could hear it in her voice. “Well, that’s right...” I started a little shyly. “You probably noticed it already, but playing the guitar is a passion of mine.” She nodded. “You played here a lot for her. At least 10 times.” I smiled a little and continued talking: “13 times, to be exact. At least here.” I sighed heavily again.

“But to get back to the story, I’m already playing for years and I do it really often and I really enjoy it. Even before I knew her. I came here often when I had time. Mostly during the day, but also sometimes in the evening. Just rarely at nighttime. This place is beautiful, but probably not beautiful enough to go out in the evening. And probably too quiet for young people. There were rarely a lot of people here, if anyone was here at all. So, an almost perfect place to calm down and let your thoughts stray. I think most people feel the same way, but for me calming down means to pursue my passion, as in playing my guitar. I often covered songs. Songs that got stuck my head all day long or songs that simply described my current mood. But sometimes it happened that I just played anything. Not a special song but anything that went trough my head and that feels right in that moment. Whenever I did this, I just ignored what it sounded like and played how I felt. It was winter, about a year before we got together, when she sat down next to me. It was just evening, but since it was winter, it was already as dark as if it was midnight. Basically, it was similar to today. Full moon, dark and this place. The only difference was, that it was way colder and I had my guitar with me. Like every time during winter, I took heating pads to warm my hands in between so that it didn’t hurt when I plucked the strings. It’s because I’m this cliché guitar player who has incredibly sensitive hands.” I laughed briefly.

“Not just sensitive hands.” The girl murmured. I gave her a quick, confused look, but since she made no move to explain, I thought it would be better to just leave it at that and tell my story: “I usually go back home when those pads have cooled down. But this day it was different. I felt that it wasn’t time to leave. I didn’t want to go. So, I gritted my teeth and struggled through the pain. Of course, the pain affected my play. I often gambled away and took too much time between the individual notes until my hands were ready again. I didn’t know if she was there more often and had heard me, or maybe she just walked casually by that day. It doesn’t matter. The only important thing is she was there and she noticed something was wrong. She came to me and took my hands. Her hands were very warm and after a short while this warmth spread onto my hands. She said something like ‘Now play something for me, little Penguin!’, which of course I did.”

I closed my eyes to be able to recall the scene. The tears came again. I missed her. I missed her so much. I needed her. I still loved her.

“Why did she call you penguin?” She whispered again. Doubtless because she had noticed I started to cry. “She said I remind her of this animated penguin from that children’s series, Pingu. She wasn’t the first to feel that way. In fact, penguin was kind of an occasional nickname of mine before. However, since it has always been difficult for me to speak to people and I’ve never really had any friends, I no longer have anyone to call me that. Unfortunately.” I blushed slightly and pressed my face carefully into her shoulder.

“Hasn’t anyone ever spoke to you on their own?” She questioned incredulously. “Of course, they did. There were a few. Mostly others who were never really popular in the class or something. Sure, for what other reasons should you talk to the ‘Weirdo’ when you have another choice and can talk to someone else? But that never became a really close friendship either. I’m not usually that kind of person who talks a lot.” I laughed a little helplessly, firmly convinced she would think I’m a liar.

“I’m even more proud that you can tell me all this that detailed and comprehensive, you cute penguin.” She mentioned, clearly proud. She didn’t seem to be lying, which calmed me down but made be blush even more. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to be a cute penguin.”, she giggled.

“I am not cute.” I contradicted in a pouting tone. “Oh, you are not? And what do you want to call it that you’ve been lying in my arms and telling me about your worries for the last half an hour instead?” I shrugged. “A coward.”, I replied, “Or being stupid. After all, we don’t know each other.” She sighed and released the hug to look me in the eyes. “Hey, don’t say that. Cowards are the ones who fail to open their hearts and get help. And stupid are those who know they need and can get help, but don’t accept it. You’re not stupid because you opened your heart to a stranger.” She trembled, but her voice was firm.

“Are you cold?” I asked her, ignoring her words. “Doesn’t matter.” She responded just as firmly, but this time without trembling. “It does. I answered you, now it’s your turn. And please be honest.” She nodded hesitantly but seemed to doubt whether it was a good idea to answer. I took off my jacket and put it with the words “It’s very thin, but still better that nothing.” carefully over her shoulders. “But now you’re cold!” She protested compassionate. “That doesn’t matter. You’ve already done so much for me, I should retaliate! And girls become cold way faster than boys and freeze more, so everything is fine.” I smiled gently at her while saying that. “But then at least I want to wrap you in my arms again.” She demanded stubbornly. Softly giggling, I put my head back on her shoulder, my arms around her, and waited for her arms to do the same to me.

“Then tell me, penguin, how did you two get together?” I closed my eyes again and projected the picture back in front of my eyes. “I played something for her. Ed Sheeran’s Castle on the Hill. A wonderful song in my opinion. Like most of his songs. She felt quite the same and therefore asked me to play another song by him afterwards. Of course, I did it. I played his songs until my hands froze again. And I sang individual passages a few times as well.” My cheeks turned red again. “I really like to sing, but I don’t do it that often. I’m just too shy for that. And unlike playing the guitar, singing is just a hobby and not a passion to me. But after my hands and hers were cold like ice and I just couldn’t play the guitar anymore, we stayed here anyway. Neither me nor she left. While I was playing she leaned against me and put her head on my shoulder. I-it was kind of like what I’m doing with you right now. Only that she was sitting next to me and not that she was laying in my arms.”

I was quiet for a moment and waited for her reaction. She seemed to notice that I was waiting for something and began to stroke my back. “Cute. Did you like it as much as I do?” She asked calmly. “It was a bit weird. I never really felt the need to take care of anyone. I was never the kind of person who likes to wrap someone in my arms.” I looked up to the sky where the full moon was shining at me. “Rather the one someone takes care of? The kind of person someone wrapped in their arms?” She questioned. I nodded slowly as an answer. “That suits you a lot better.” She grinned. “And it’s better for me too.” She replied, hugging me tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell her that back then?” I shrugged. “I liked her. She was nice to me and warmed up my hands. And she was the one who started the conversation. I also was hopeful. Hopeful because I thought I might have a chance to have a friendship again. A real friendship. A close friendship. I didn’t want to mess up everything right away, so I just did things that were unusual for me.” It was quiet between us for a moment. I went through our whole story again in my mind. For the seventh time today. I relived all the feelings I had. And I wept away the tears again.

“What kind of things?” She sounded hoarse. No, she sounded like she wanted to hide something. As if she was suppressing something.

“What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer.

“Tell me what kind of things you did.” She demanded.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” I repeated.

She gave up and promised: “Later. Promise. But it’s your turn first.”

I was okay with it and started to enumerate: “You should know that after this evening we became really close friends and I wanted to maintain this friendship as long as possible. So, I took on the role of the person who started the conversation. We gave each other our phone number and after a few days on that we spent a lot of time together, I started some kind of ritual. She was the kind of person that wakes up really late while I was the kind of person that wakes up really early in the morning. So, I wished her a good morning every morning. And we had a phone call every evening. She asked me to play the guitar or to sing for her. Or just to speak, because the sound of my voice helped her a lot with falling asleep. I would be lying if I’d say that I didn’t wish something like that for myself. Someone who takes care of me and makes sure that I can fall asleep well. As I said, I’ve never seen myself in the role of the one caring for someone else. But to maintain the friendship with her, it was worth it to me. Then she was a big fan of going to some club or bar in the evening, while I preferred to go to places like this and enjoy the silence. But because I wanted to make her happy, I often came with her to those places. When we were in a relationship, we agreed that we would always spend full moons here and enjoy the silence. But in general, she was more of a fan of places where there are many people, where it was loud and especially when there was alcohol, which I don’t like at all. And she also thought that the man or boy in a relationship, whether it was a friendship or a real relationship, is the more dominant and the one who takes care of the woman or the girl. Maybe that applies to the most, but to me not at all.”

She seemed to be deep in thoughts, which I concluded from the fact that she didn’t react to my words and her movements had slowed down considerably. Since I didn’t want to disturb her, I just enjoyed the moment in silence. The warmth she gave me though the hug and the beautiful view.

“Didn’t you ever tell her you weren’t like that?” She broke the silence after a while. Still relaxed, I shook my head. “Why?” I straightened up a little and answered her question: “I liked her. I really did. So much that at some point I started loving her. More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. More than I’ve ever expected to love something or someone. She was the first and of course, the only girl I’ve ever fallen in love with. To whom I’ve given my heart and dedicated all my feelings. The first person to be in my thoughts all day and in my dreams all night. The first whose mere thought kept making me smile broadly and made my heart beat faster. The feelings completely overwhelmed me back then. And they still do. Just that they were beautiful back then. Even when they hurt, it was a beautiful kind of pain. Now it’s just a cruel, rough pain. A kind of pain that only tears you apart from the inside.”

The tears overwhelmed me again. Memories dragged me down again. My feelings destroyed me again. “Do you know what I noticed? You cry quietly, without any noise. How do you do that?” I looked up. She was right. I had never noticed by myself. “I-I just let the tears flow. I don’t know. I-it just h-happens. Why do you ask?” I stuttered. “To distract you so that you stop crying, Pingu.” She responded honestly. It worked. No sooner had I thought about anything else than my feelings ceased to destroy me. At least they stopped destroying me that much.

“How did you know that would work?” I mumbled in her ear. She smiled slightly. “I have a little sister and I often had to make her feel better. Do you want to take a break from talking?” I nodded cautiously. She let go of me and I sat next to her.

“What’s your name actually?” I wanted to know. “Lian. Wang Nai Lian.” She replied immediately, as if she had been waiting to finally answer this question. “Taiwanese, right?” I asked.

“You’re right. And you’re Korean, right, Hyungu?” I swallowed as it froze down my back. “How do you know my name?” I trembled slightly with fear. I was sure I didn’t say my name once in the whole conversation.

“Later.” She said firmly. I nodded. At first just slowly, as a sign that I agreed, then a little faster, in response to her question about my nationality.

“It’s beautiful here.” She whispered after a few minutes of silence, looking up at the sky. “You’re so right.” I agreed. She put an arm around me and pulled me back a little. “Are you ready to tell me more? Or do you need some more time?” I shook my head and assured her: “I’m ready.” I played nervously with a few blades of grass next to me and let my feet hang back into the water.

“How did you get together?” I rowed slightly with my feet in the water to create a soothing splash. “We were here. Two years and three months ago. 26 full moons ago. I had my guitar with me and played some love songs for her. Self-composed. At the moment when I played them, she didn’t know that yet. I had long considered what to do and how to tell her about my feelings. However, the moment she smiled at me and told me how beautiful the song was, I knew that my plan had failed. From that moment on, I just let everything happen and followed my heart. I did what my feelings told me. I blushed and looked shyly at the floor. She pushed my face up a bit at the chin and smiled at me. A simple smile. It triggered so much in me. My cheeks literally exploded at that moment and I was sure I looked like a tomato. My heart started racing. It got so fast I was sure it was already unhealthy. But all of the sudden it became a minor issue. In general, everything seemed to just to disappear. I’ve read so many romance novels and watched so many cheesy movies, but I’ve always suspected that all of this was completely over the top. It wasn’t. Not a bit. On the contrary, it was completely understated. Everything around us disappeared. The sounds echoed away from us. The only ones left were her and myself. How we looked at each other. I looked in her beautiful, golden brown eyes and she in mine. I looked on her pink, soft lips and she on mine. She was beautiful. But I’m sure you know that since you’ve seen us together several times. But that day, from that day on, it was different. She was more beautiful. I’ll never be able to forget this picture. How the moon shone through her brown curls and lit up half of her face. I don’t know how it happened, it just did. I kissed her. I never expected having the courage to overcome my shyness and just kiss her. But I did. And she returned the kiss. It was the most beautiful feeling of my life and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. It wasn’t a long kiss, but a beautiful one. But no sooner it had ended and my shyness returned. I realized what I have done. What would’ve happened if she hadn’t wanted to? I would’ve lost her. Probably forever.”

I dug my fingernails into my shirt to keep myself from crying. “But luckily that wasn’t the case. She returned the kiss, as well as she did my feelings.”

I looked shyly at the floor. “It was my first kiss. I didn’t know how it worked. How to kiss. How to kiss well! But I’m glad I did. That it happened.” I smiled lightly at the floor and felt my heart floating again when I remembered it. Seconds after that I was back on the ground and realized that all of that was over, I continued:

“The relationship with her was probably the best as well as the worst that could’ve happened to me.” I took a short breath, in which Lian asked, why. “I was no longer myself. No, worse. I had forgotten who I am. I loved her more than anything else and I didn’t want to lose her or risk that she could start liking me less. So, I started acting and talking like the way she likes the most. I replaced my real self. My real personality. And created a new self. A different one. A better one. At least for her. Not for me, not a bit. But it didn’t matter. It took its time, but after a while I got used to being a different person. Started ignoring the pitiful cries of my real inner self. And I started ignoring the pain…”

“You were in pain? What pain?” She interrupted me a bit upset. I affirmed this with a short, gentle nod before continuing my speech: “Pressure, pain, whatever you want to call this. I wasn’t myself. I was no longer in control of my actions. I suppressed myself, the real me. Of course, it hurt. Incredibly painful. You can’t imagine how bad.”

I leaned back a little and rested on my hands. “Can’t I?” She asked somewhat skeptically. I closed my eyes.

“Maybe. Maybe you can, maybe you can’t. Why?” I replied.

“Later.”, she said calmly, “After you finish talking.” I smiled a little. “Well, the pain was definitely unbearable.”, I resumed my story, “But not as cruel as the thought of living without her. I forgot my pain. Which doesn’t mean that it disappeared or I managed to hide it. But I forgot the cause of my pain. Just as I had forgotten myself before. I just wanted to be the way Yuri liked me the most. Because she meant everything to me. And she did a lot for me too! She supported me in one of the hardest times of my life. I would even say the hardest right after the current one. If not the roughest in general.”

I looked up at the sky. “Beautiful.”, I sighed heavily, “Just beautiful.” Lian put an arm around me and mildly stroked my shoulder. “What did she help you with, Pingu?” She tried to hide it, but her concern was clear in her voice.

“I had a sister.” I said even though it was very difficult to say. My head fell down and I started sobbing loudly.

“You h-had a sister? Pingu, why had? What do you mean by that? What happened?” She sounded surprised. Very surprised. And shocked. A normal reaction. But something bothered me about it. Something wasn’t right. Something was wrong.

I pushed these thoughts away for now and concentrated on calming down again. “Yes. I had a sister. Hyejin, that was her name, was born sick. Her heart was weak. Too weak. She spent her entire childhood in the hospital for some kind of surgery. It was finally over a few years ago. She came out on her 15th birthday, but we had to be careful that she was hardly exposed to stress, as it could have been problematic otherwise. And we did! Every evening when she couldn’t sleep or just wanted me to stay by her side, I played her one of her favorite songs on the guitar.”

Tears streamed down my face. “Often it was sad songs. Songs that were about death. We knew she wouldn’t live as long as normal people. Me and our parents knew that. We tried to keep it a secret from her. In vain, of course. But how should that even be possible? She received extra treatment all her life. She got private lessons, although we could hardly afford it. How could she feels normal about such things and have no idea?” I narrowed my eyes.

“But she also asked me to play her love songs. She often told me she wanted a relationship before she died. Or at least a friendship.” I swallowed. “I always told her that I was her friend. That always made her smile and she always assured me I was the best friend she could ever imagine. It meant so much to me. More than anything else at this point. But sometimes she asked about songs I had composed myself. She knew I didn’t have many of them because I rarely write them down, but rather play by feeling. Sometimes she asked about that. Whenever she noticed something was going wrong in my life. She always looked after me, although that was my job with her. That’s why she sometimes asked for songs I had composed myself. She knew how shy and self-critical I was and she always assured me that the song, just like my guitar playing, was beautiful. Our parents had barely time for us because they worked so much to be able to afford private lessons. That’s why Hyejin and I always took care of each other. We had a lot of late-night conversations, where mostly one special question came up. ‘Will mom and dad be happier when I’m gone?’ She always asked me. You can’t blame her, because our parents had lots of stress because of her illness. But every time she asked, I promised her, and I was 100% honest, that our parents love her and are happy she exists. And even if not, I could never be really happy again if she were no longer my cute little sister. But then came the day when I had to start studying and move out. I barely had time for Hyejin. It broke my heart. I just wanted to be with her again. Hug her. And play the guitar for her. Our parents got into arguments more and more often and I wasn’t there to help Hyejin. It was my duty as a big brother! But that wasn’t everything. A short time before our parents broke up, it must have been about sixth month ago, Hyejin and I got into an argument. Because of my behaviour. She accused me of no longer being myself. And in a way, she was right. At that point, however, I no longer noticed it myself. And since she never liked Yuri, I just thought that’s the reason back then. Shortly after our parents broke up, s… she…”

I started crying softly but also violently. “I-it was all my fault. I s-shouldn’t have left her alone. I should’ve been there for her. I had to s-support her. B-but I was so stupid and didn’t do it. I didn’t notice it! I-I should’ve thought about how hard it would hit her!” I stuttered.

Lian softly stroked my back and tried to calm me down: “Hey… Hyungu… Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault.” She looked at me pityingly and carefully wiped the tears from my face. “You did everything for her, you were a great brother.” She added.

I shook my head wildly and felt my heart break again. The second time that day. “She is dead! And I could’ve prevented that if I hadn’t been such an idiot and just been there for her! But no! And instead of simply accepting the pain as punishment, I let Yuri comfort me! No wonder she’s gone! I should’ve just followed Hyejin as I wanted to at first.”

Lian stared at me in shock. Even more shocked than before. “No! Pingu! Stop that right now, you SHOULD live! That’s important to ME! That’s important to Hyejin! It’s important to everyone who matters!” She almost shouted.

“Stop talking like you know me or Hyejin right now! Just stop! You barely know me and don’t know her at all!” I hissed unintentionally. It just happened, against my will. I was startled. Scared of myself. “I-I’m sorry.” I stammered when I realize what I had done. The only person to whom I seemed to begin to mean something, and perhaps the only one I would ever mean anything to again. She looked at me. But neither surprised nor angry, but understanding.

“No. It’s okay. You’re nerve-wracked, your emotions are killing you and you can’t possibly know about it. It’s okay. Just tell me, should I go or should I stay? Do you want to be alone or have someone to stay with you? Do you want to go on with speaking or take rest?”

I slid a little closer to her. “Is that okay?” I asked. She nodded and smiled briefly at me. “Please stay. And if it’s okay, I would still like to tell the end.” I responded. “Of course, it is. More than that. I’m glad about it. Besides that, I was the one who asked, wasn’t I? So, tell me, how could this, at least for her dreamlike relationship end?” Lian smiled softly, which I could only return weakly.

I took a deep breath and ended my story: “She cheated on me. For 9 months. That’s a third of our entire relationship. And I just didn’t notice it. No, worse. After I found out, she promised me it would never happen again, and after a few weeks in that we took a break of our relationship we approached each other again, she broke the promise right on the first day. Today. And as the idiot I am, I trusted her and thought she’d still love me. Just me.” I rubbed my eyes, but had stopped crying again and didn’t start again.

“She’s a bitch.” Lian said coldly, drilling her fingernails faintly into my shoulder. I swallowed because of the pain, whereupon she looked at me apologetically and loosened her grip a little bit.

“Maybe. Maybe she is. No, probably she is. But at least I am rid of this monster now and can be Kang Hyungu in peace again.”, I agreed, “Even if it will take time until I forget her or can get over her.”

Lian grunted understandingly. “Obviously it will. But you can do it, even if it takes time. And I will support you.” She promised in a firm and serious voice. I looked at her gratefully with a hint of joy.

“But I guess it’s my turn to tell. I actually don’t have a lot to say and will be brief if that’s okay.” She giggled. I gave her a quick approval and then looked at her waiting and asking.

“Well, where do I start? So, as I said, I also have a sister. Also, a younger one. About the same age as Hyejin. Her name is Tzuyu. When you said Hyejin had no one, you weren’t quite right. Shortly after you were gone, she met Tzuyu. They’ve been to our home many times and Hyejin has told us a lot of good things about you. She almost always talked about you and there was never a bad word. Just about your girlfriend. She suspected that she wasn’t entirely loyal. And that killed her. She was worried about you. She just wanted you to be happy. You, the person who brought her happiness and joy in life. She just wanted you to be fine no matter what happened to her. At some point her life stopped meaning anything to her. She knew she didn’t have much time left. And when I asked her why she was this laid-back, she replied that the most important thing for her wasn’t her life, but the happiness of her brother. I had heard a lot about you at this time and I just wanted to get to know you. I asked her what her brother looks like and…” She got something out of her pocket. “She gave me this picture.” The girl held out a picture. A selca with me and Hyejin.

“S-she gave you that?” My voice was brittle and squeaky. I would’ve expected anything, even that she was a werewolf. But never that she had anything to do with my sister.

“Yes, she did. And when she laid in the hospital bed, at least Tzuyu, who had visited her, told me from her that I should look after you and take care of you because she could no longer worry now.”

There was silence between us. Minutes of silence. Pleasant silence. “Then you got all the information about me from Hyejin?” I was still incredulous. Lian nodded carefully. “She loved you, Pingu. And she still does. Don’t do that to her and don’t blame yourself for her death. Try to be strong for her and smile for her like you used to do.” Lian asked me to. I forced a slight, dazed nod.

“Thanks.” The girl purred happily. I looked at the sky, at the full moon, and then at the mirrored imagine in the water. Countless feelings ran through me once. My head was all empty, as if all thoughts had been washed away by the river.

But I knew at least one thing. Even though I couldn’t clearly determine what I was feeling right now, I could say that I felt better by worlds than before the conversation. Before Lian.

“Are you ready for someone new in your life?” Lian whispered again. As at the beginning. Everything was like the beginning.

Just that everything was different.

“It will take me time to get over that with Yuri.” I answered.

“I’m just talking about a friendship.” Lian purred.

“I know.” I replied with a smile, put my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes.

Everything was perfect.

For her, as well as for me.

For us.

#Onewe #Onewe imagine #onewe imagines #onewe one shot #onewe kanghyun #Onewe fluff #kanghyun #kanghyun fluff #kanghyun Imagine #kanghyun imagines #kanghyun one shot

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simplyshelbs16xoxo · 4 years

Text

‘What I Want (For Christmas)’ Chapters 1 + 2

Surprise @yourdistinguishedglitterstudent I am your secret santa! I hope you enjoy this two-part fic I wrote for you! @sherlollysecretsanta

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

Chapter 1: Pining

Molly sighed deeply. It was almost December. Sherlock hadn’t even been back for a month, and yet, he was already plaguing her thoughts. She bit her bottom lip as her fingers twisted the engagement ring this way and that as if it would make her feel differently if it hit the light just right. It wasn’t long before she had given up the fight. She knew her heart would always belong to Sherlock Holmes—not the famous detective who hid behind the façade of a high functioning sociopath, but the real, flesh and blood man who shared his heart with her.

Speaking of, the detective swept through the doors to the morgue just as Molly switched the radio on. The chorus of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ echoed throughout the room, leaving Molly no choice but to laugh at the coincidence. Though she hadn’t notice, Sherlock was watching her with an amused look.

“Something funny?” he asked, unable to keep his lopsided smile off his face.

Molly wasn’t sure how to answer without giving herself away. “Inside joke…”

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“…with myself,” she clarified. Wanting to change the subject, she turned the questioning on him. “How are you adjusting? Being back in London and all.”

A surge of affection for his pathologist welled up inside him. “Well, it hasn’t been easy,” Sherlock confessed. “Change is annoyingly difficult.” Including your engagement, he thought. Had he not been an honorable man when it came to loyalty, Sherlock wouldn’t have held himself back from snogging her in the stairwell. So, why did he find himself inching closer toward her?

She nodded, empathetic to his struggle. “Look, if you never need an escape from it all, I have a guest room you can use.” What was she saying??? And, goodness, he was getting awfully close to her. It began to feel warm in the lab…or maybe it was just her face turning every shade of red.

A wistful look reached his eyes, not unlike the one that appeared before the cheek kiss that nearly landed on her lips. Sherlock was taken by surprise when Molly had him wrapped up in a warm embrace. Much to both their surprise, he reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. “Thank you, Molly.” His voice was soft as velvet.

For the first time since his return, Molly allowed herself this one moment of honesty, coming out in a whisper. “I missed you.”

Thomas Barnes may not have been the smartest guy in the world—especially not when Sherlock Holmes was around—but he knew there was something between Molly and the detective. Anyone with eyes could see that. They had been friends for years before he came into the picture, and anybody would be relieved to see that their friend was alive and safe after all. Whatever those two had ran deeper than that, though neither of them seemed to realise it.

As he saw his fiancée hugging the detective, Tom didn’t feel jealous or scorned. He felt sorry for them. He knew that Molly loved him, but she wasn’t in love with him. No. She was in love with Sherlock Holmes, and possibly completely oblivious to the fact. Tom did love her, but he knew Molly closed parts of herself off to him.

He moved quickly out from behind the glass, going down towards the morgue. Once Tom rounded the corner, he nearly collided with Sherlock Holmes who appeared to be momentarily surprised at his appearance.

“Mister Holmes,” Tom laughed lightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming this way.”

The detective was noticeably uncomfortable. “Quite alright…Tom?” He cleared his throat. “Well, I must be going. I was just checking on an experiment Molly was helping with.”

Sherlock stalked off down the hall, but stopped short before going out the doors. “And one more thing...”—he turned to face Tom—“…Don’t let her down. She deserves every happiness.”

Tom found it interesting that Sherlock had felt the need to assure him nothing inappropriate had been happening. And nothing was. A hug between friends, though it probably meant more than it appeared on the surface, was nothing to get suspicious about. There was a look in the detective’s eyes that he couldn’t quite place, but he knew the man must be heartbroken. And then Tom made up his mind. He’d need to keep up appearances until the last possible moment if it was going to work. He was going to help bring them together.

The guilt was eating her alive. She loved Tom, but her heart would always belong to Sherlock. She was irrevocably in love with Sherlock, but his timing sucked. Molly noticed the way he danced around the truth in the stairwell. It damn near killed her to watch him walk away. But it was the right thing…wasn’t it? Here were two men who loved her and she was tearing them both apart. With Tom, she knew she was holding back. Deep in her subconscious, she felt like she’d be betraying Sherlock if she opened herself up completely to Tom. At the same time, it wasn’t fair to her fiancé; she knew that.

“Hi, Molly,” Tom smiled, breaking her out of her reverie. “I saw Sherlock…”

Molly froze.

“…Is everything alright?”

She laughed out of relief. “It’s alright. He’s just struggling with everything that’s changed since he’s been…well, gone.”

“Remember when you told me you had always wanted to throw a Christmas party at your flat?” Tom asked.

Molly nodded. “Yeah, but we never got around to talking ‘bout it. I thought we were going to your parents’ for Christmas?”

Tom considered this. “We’ll just have the party the weekend before!”

A smile began to bloom across Molly’s face. “So…we’re actually doing this? I’ve got to invite John and Mary, and Greg! Anderson would like to come as well, and oh! Mrs. Hudson!”

Tom noted the one exclusion. “Yes, and Sherlock as well!”

Her face fell. “He’s not much interested in Christmas parties; trust me, I know from experience.”

It made him curious. What happened at that Christmas party from Sherlock and Molly’s past? Tom figured the best way to get Molly on board was to present things differently. “Well, we should at least invite him to let him know he’s always welcome.”

Molly bit her lip anxiously as she thought on it. “You’re right; it would be the kind thing to do.” Her smile returned. “I need to start planning! I’ll see you later!”

She ran off to her office, making the necessary phone calls. Tom was satisfied with how well things appeared to be going. Hopefully, it would all work out.

Chapter 2: What He Wants

Molly looked around the room knowing she had outdone herself. It looked as if her sitting room was transformed into what it felt like to be inside a Christmas tree. Garland and fairy lights adorned every possible surface, giving off a romantic glow. The tree in the corner had gifts aplenty beneath it, the branches decorated with tinsel and shiny baubles. Everyone had RSVP’d—well, everyone except for Sherlock, but she tried not to let that upset her.

When Tom walked through the door, Molly jumped feeling as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. God, this was torture. She swore her heart was trying to kill her, ironically enough. He carried a bag of decorations in his gloved hand.

“Though we could use a few more finishing touches,” he explained. “Like…” Tom pulled out, much to Molly’s horror, “…mistletoe!”

“Um, don’t you think that’s a little much?” she asked, now biting her lip. Nausea overcame her. She hadn’t a clue why it bothered her; it wasn’t as if Sherlock was actually going to show. It would be fine.

“Nonsense, Molls!” Tom exclaimed. “Mistletoe adds a bit of romance…sometimes unexpectedly.”

Molly watched as he hung it in the archway leading to the kitchen. The counter was filled with all sorts of goods that she had spent the last two days baking. The mistletoe had reminded her that she and Tom hadn’t kissed in, well, weeks. Not properly, anyways. There were cheek kisses and the occasional top of the head kiss, but he hadn’t dared touch her lips. Yet the only part of the situation that brought on clarity was the fact she hadn’t even noticed until now. And wasn’t he the one that was so insistent on inviting Sherlock?

“Tom, what exactly are you doing?” she asked.

He looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You haven’t really kissed me since—“ That’s when it hit her. “Since you probably saw me hugging Sherlock in the morgue. Tom, nothing is going on between me and Sherlock.”

He laughed. He was laughing at her. “Molly, I know you didn’t do anything.”

She was utterly confused. “Then what exactly are you getting at??”

Tom dropped the other decorations onto the sofa, walking towards her. “I was hoping I’d be able to keep this secret longer, but Molly, I can’t allow you to marry me.” He slipped the ring from her finger.

The relief in her eyes was apparent, though her eyebrows knit together in bafflement. “I don’t—Tom, what’s going on?”

But Molly never found out what he was up to, as John and Mary arrived, walking through the door. This was going to be a long evening.

Sherlock Holmes stared himself down in the mirror. He was dressed impeccably in his usual attire, his aubergine shirt peeking out from underneath his suit jacket. He knew it was Molly’s favourite colour on him. What was he doing? She was engaged and safe in the hands of that man. All that mattered is that she remains safe and happy. She was happy…wasn’t she?

It would be rude to not stop by. In fact, both she and Tom had invited him. His mind was made up. He would make an appearance, but he would not be staying longer than an hour. That was all he knew he could manage.

He slipped on his scarf and coat, glancing back at himself one more time in the mirror. “Once more unto the breach.”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock knocked upon the door. What he saw took his breath away. Molly stood there in ruby red flats and an emerald green chiffon midi dress with a ruffled skirt and a bow tied in the front just a couple inches below her breasts. Her dark hair had been left down in tantalizing waves. She was gorgeous. A sharp pain ached in his chest.

Molly looked alarmed. “Sherlock,” she smiled with a radiance as bright as the midday sun. “ Come in! I didn’t think you’d show.” If Tom was trying to push her towards Sherlock, she certainly wasn’t going to fight against it. She was exhausted from fighting her heart. For once, she would allow herself to give in.

“I thought I’d stop by,” he smiled back. “Oh, um…” Sherlock searched the inside pocket of his coat, retrieving a small, neatly wrapped package. “This…is for you.”

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Sherlock never gave gifts to anybody. Everyone had been acting so strange lately. In fact, it felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her. Molly checked behind her shoulder to make sure it wasn’t the case. John and Greg were talking with Anderson, and Mrs. Hudson and Mary stood by Tom who was looking toward her every so often. Okay, so she was just paranoid. Great.

“Thank you,” she told him, “but you really didn’t have to get me anything.” Why was this so difficult? She could hardly form a sentence around him. And God help her, he was looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in his world.

“I wanted to,” he assured her. She made no move to take the gift, so he kept it in his coat pocket for safekeeping. Sherlock couldn’t help but notice the deep red colour staining her lips. And then he tried to imagine how they would fit against his own; how he would kiss her if he had the chance. And, wow, it was getting toasty in here. For once, he was thankful for the interruption that occurred.

“Sherlock,” Tom smiled, extending his hand toward him. “Glad you could make it!”

“Ah, well, yes,” Sherlock replied, “I couldn’t let Molly down.”

“Well, come on, have a drink!” Tom exclaimed.

“I better not, I—“

“He doesn’t usually drink alcohol—it messes with his thought process,” Molly explained. “But perhaps a dessert?”

Tom perked up. “Yes, of course, there are plenty of desserts! Molly baked them herself.” What was that one that Sherlock liked again?? “Uh, she made ginger nuts—she says they’re your favourite!”

Sherlock couldn’t keep the smile off his face when he looked over at Molly. She apparently talked about him a lot. “I suppose a few would be alright.”

“Great!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s just through the kitchen.” He said this, noting the mistletoe he had hung there not long ago. He hoped that this would work.

Heading toward the kitchen with Molly, Sherlock said hello to everyone. He was much more cordial this time around compared to the last Christmas party. That one had gone disastrously. The scent of the baked goods grew stronger the closer they were, and then Mary piped up before they had a chance to enter the kitchen.

“Look who’s under the mistletoe,” she teased. And sure enough, as they both looked up, mistletoe was indeed in their presence.

Sherlock felt a rising panic. “Mary, you know full well she’s engaged. That would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, go on, Sherlock,” Tom encouraged him.

WAIT. Tom was telling him to kiss his fiancée? What was in those drinks? Sherlock was utterly confused. And poor Molly was so red, she could have been a decoration on a Christmas tree.

Molly pinched the bridge of her nose, now fully aware of what Tom was trying to tell her before John and Mary interrupted them. He was trying to set them up. He knew how she felt about Sherlock.

Sherlock turned his attention to Molly, noticing it was her left hand pinching her nose. He also couldn’t help but notice there was no longer a ring adorning her finger. Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled her in close, taking her by surprise. He cradled her face gently with one hand whilst he held onto her waist with the other. He leaned closer, softly brushing his lips across hers.

She was melting into him…in front of everyone. At this point, Molly didn’t care. Tom wanted to break things off just to play matchmaker? Match made. She nudged his nose with hers, encouraging him, and finally his lips were pressed firmly against hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth. Sherlock wanted to taste more of her, but he had to get a grip on himself with others around them still. Breaking their unexpectedly passionate kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“It’s about bloody time!” shouted Greg whilst the others cheered.

“I knew it,” Anderson repeated. “I told you, but did anyone listen? Noooo.”

“You’re no longer engaged.” It was all Sherlock could think to say at the moment.

Molly smiled. “It appears I’m not.”

“Would you like to be engaged again?” he asked, a knowing smile on his face.

“Oh my God,” Mary half-whispered, sharing her joy with Anderson.

“What?” Molly was dumbfounded. “Sherlock, I—“ His eyes never left hers, gazing at her adoringly. Regardless of how fast this appeared to be moving, she knew there was never going to be anyone else but the man standing in front of her. “It was always you.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and whispered in her ear. “Open your gift, then.” Sherlock pulled it from within his coat pocket and this time, Molly took it. Beneath the wrapping, there was a small wooden box with a painted anatomical heart on the lid. Opening the box, she revealed a lovely diamond set in a rose gold band. On either side beneath the jewel, two miniature skulls resided. A few smaller diamonds cascaded down the side of the ring beneath each skull.

Molly lifted her head, looking up into his eyes. “Would you?” she requested. He complied without hesitation.

As he slid the ring on her left hand, he spoke softly. “Even in death, we will never part.”

The others cheered once more, happy for their friends. Tom was alarmed by the morbid Christmas it turned out to be, but then again, he supposed you couldn’t avoid it when Sherlock and Molly were in the room. He had to admit, they understood each other in ways nobody else did. And that was okay. They were clearly made for one another.

Molly realised there was one thing that made absolutely no sense to her. “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” he replied as he kissed her once more.

“Don’t you think it was a bit risky gifting me a ring for Christmas? I mean, to your knowledge I was still engaged to Tom,” she questioned.

This made him chuckle. “I thought I’d present another option to you; it’s only fair if you know all of your choices.”

“Is that so?” she was calling him out on his fib. “That doesn’t seem like you. You’re usually prepared no matter the situation.”

Sherlock sighed in defeat. “Okay, fine, there were two gifts. I only brought the ring in case I had another chance. After all, I did muck it up last time I tried.”

“Last time? When was this? I think I’d remember you proposing,” she pointed out.

“I was going to in the stairwell that day, but then I noticed your ring before the words could come out,” he admitted.

Molly shook her head in amusement. “You’re an idiot,” she laughed, “but you’re my idiot.” And she couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him. A thought occurred to her then. “Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“What do you want for Christmas? I’m afraid I had nothing prepared for you this year.” Molly worried at her lip.

“What I want for Christmas, Molly, is you,” he smiled. “Only you.”

#sherlolly #sherlolly secret santa 2019 #sherlolly secret santa #my fanfiction #sherlock x molly

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theartofdreaming1 · 4 years

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Advent Calendar Fic Rec 2019, Day 21

This time, it’s not a Batfam-based one-shot... But I finally finished the next chapter of my DickBabs Fanfic, “Partners”, a police officer AU! :) You can also check this chapter out on Ao3.

Partners - Part 7: Revelations

Pairing: DickBabs

Rating: T

Summary: Barbara finally tells Dick what that mysterious letter contained.

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The Revelation

“Huh?” Dick stared at Barbara, a look of utter confusion on his face.

Barbara took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. She then repeated: “There is something I’ve got to tell you.”

At this point, Dick had recovered from his initial reaction and the expression of bewilderment that had been displayed on his face before was now replaced by a more serious one, wordlessly urging Barbara on to continue.

Before she could begin, there was another gust of wind of the chilly night air and while Barbara tried to hide the shiver it caused her, it didn’t escape Dick’s notice.

“Let’s get back inside,” he proposed, gently ushering Barbara into the pleasantly warm bedroom.

Once inside, Barbara sat down on Dick’s bed with a sigh, ready to begin and get this pesky, not-so-little something off her chest.

“I hadn’t meant to bring this up tonight because I didn’t want to ruin the evening,” Barbara began nervously, feeling a little defensive.

But when she caught a glimpse of the expression on her partner’s face, Barbara was relieved to find that there was nothing judgemental in the way he looked at her, only honest curiosity. With her heavy heart feeling a little lighter now, Barbara continued:

“There is something I’ve been neglecting to tell you - something I’ve been trying to ignore for my own sake as well, if I’m being honest…”

The redhead halted, not sure how to go on.

Since she was being honest about this ugly little thing that was bothering her, Barbara figured that she might as well be honest about the nicer things, too. It only felt fair.

“Dick, you inviting me to this party as your plus one really meant a lot to me and I was really looking forward to tonight,” a shy smile appeared on her face before she resumed more gravely, “which is why I haven’t told you about this before. But I just realized that it’s not fair of me to keep this to myself - not when you have been so open with me this entire time, and here I am, keeping secrets from you-”

“Secrets?” Dick knitted his eyebrows.

“Well, one secret,” Barbara clarified, nervously picking at the bedspread, “but a big one. I should have told you sooner, but I just… I just wanted us to have good time tonight, not being weighed down by my stupid mistake-”

Dick still looked confused.

“I have no idea what this is about,” he admitted haltingly, before assuring her, “but you can tell me. No matter what it is.”

The earnest expression on Dick’s face was all the encouragement Barbara needed to lay bare the source of her distress:

“The day you invited me to this ball, I found an envelope from anonymous in my locker, addressed to me personally, telling me in big black letters to “open in private”.

Dick’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

Barbara then went on:

“Inside the envelope there was a letter - more of a message, actually: Telling me that the author of this note had been watching me closely and in light of recent events wanted to give me a chance to prove my loyalty to my badge. If I was seriously dedicated, I am to come to Saint Dennis church this coming Wednesday evening, where it will be decided if I am to join their ranks.”

Dick stared at Barbara.

“‘ Their ranks’ ?” he repeated carefully.

Barbara nodded.

Her partner quirked an eyebrow.

“That seems to imply that there are multiple people involved.”

“Yeah,” Barbara agreed, “it certainly sounds like it.”

Dick took another moment to mull over what he had learned so far.

The expression on his face was most serious when he addressed Barbara again: “You think that ‘in light of recent events’ refers to-” “My entanglement with Richter’s ‘early retirement ’? Yeah, I think so.”

Deep in thought, Dick only nodded wordlessly, still processing, before asking Barbara: “Do you think that the sergeant from the 1-9 has something to do with this?”

“Rohrbach? I think it’s not unlikely.”

Intense concentration was etched on Dick’s face. Then, he looked at Barbara, his dark blue eyes razor-sharp:

“This could be a trap. To get you to admit to what you have pulled on Richter… To get rid of you.”

Barbara returned Dick’s stare calmly: “Yes.”

“And you’re going to go?” Dick asked, his eyes never wavering from hers.

Barbara already knew that Dick wasn’t going to like her answer.

“Yes.”

Dick closed his eyes, turning slightly away. He hunched over and let out a long and deep groan, his hands dragging over his face.

“Goddammit,” Barbara could hear Dick mumble under his breath.

She gnawed nervously on her lower lip, dreading what had to come next:

“There’s more,” she said haltingly.

Dick gazed up at her, incredulous: “More?”

“The message also said… it said that I could bring my partner - mentioned you by name - if I chose to; but nobody else was to know about and come to this meeting.”

Dick just kept on looking at Barbara as if he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop: “And?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

But Dick remained unperturbed.

“Yeah, it means that I can come with you if you let me - that’s the least distressing thing you have told me so far…”

Barbara couldn’t believe how Dick could be so oblivious to the distressing implications of what she had just told him: “They mentioned you… By name!!! Whoever they are, they know all about you!”

Feeling responsible for getting her partner involved into this mess, Barbara hung her head in shame, a stray strand of hair falling in her face.

Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears:

“I’m sorry, Dick, I didn’t mean to drag you into this. Richter was my mistake, not yours!”

“Babs,” Dick said softly, gently cupping her face, “you didn’t drag me into anything - I was the one who didn’t listen to you and went into that abandoned building without any backup in the first place... I was the one who got caught in the line of fire… You were the one who stopped me from saying something stupid to Richter that could have made everything way worse… I’m in this as much as you are.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Sure I do - we are partners. You have my back and I’ve got yours.”

He’d said all of this completely matter-of-factly, his voice now adopting a more pleading quality: “And as your partner, I’m asking you to please let me come with you to that meeting - I’d rather stand by your side than have you face this alone - if you’re okay with that.”

A wave of relief washed over Barbara. Despite her fierce resolve to go to that meeting and deal with whatever consequences that it would bring with it, she hadn’t realized how much she had hoped to have Dick’s support through all of this. Still, it was important to her to make one thing clear:

“You really, really don’t have to come with me,” she insisted forcefully.

She could see Dick getting ready to protest against her assertion most fervently, making it impossible for her to suppress the fond smile forming on her lips as she reached for his hand, “But I’m more than okay with you coming with me - there’s nobody I would rather want by my side.”

The indignation in Dick’s eyes turned into something softer, warmer: “Good.”

For a short moment, the two of them just looked at each other, tender smiles on both their faces.

Soon, Dick’s smile turned back into that goofy, endearing smile Barbara had come to love over the months of their partnership.

“Now, since we still have plenty of time for you to let me in on that great battle plan I’m sure you’ve already formulated over the course of these past few days-”

Barbara couldn’t help but chuckle: “You know me so well.”

“- and the entire point of today’s evening was to enjoy ourselves and forget about your mysterious message for a moment-”

“Very true.”

“I’ll venture to ask: Could I interest you in some more kissing before we resume our tour of Wayne Manor’s best sock surfable hallways?”

Despite the bravado of his words, Barbara could see the shy nervousness in Dick’s eyes.

A bright grin stretched across her lips.

“You can.”

***

The Circle *²

It was early Wednesday evening, mere minutes before the mysterious meeting was about to take place - Dick and Barbara were sitting in her car, right across Saint Dennis church, eyes fixed on the imposing architectural structure in nervous anticipation.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Dick asked gently. “If you want to call it off, that’s fine, too.”

Barbara’s eyes were still glued to the neo-gothic building.

“No, I’m sure… I want to know, I need to know where this is all gonna lead to,” she found herself saying, her voice carrying far more conviction in it than she currently felt.

She finally tore her gaze away from the church, looking over at her partner instead:

“How about you? I meant it when I said that you don’t have to come with me.”

Dick smiled.

“Well, and I meant it when I said that I’d rather stand by your side than have you face this alone.”

And with that, he reached over the console and took her hand in his. Barbara gave Dick a nervous smile. She glanced once more at the church, then looked back at her partner, when she felt a gentle, reassuring squeeze around her fingers. Her fraying nerves calmed a bit at the gesture. No matter what awaited her behind the church doors, it was nice to know she didn’t have to face it on her own.

She squeezed Dick’s hand in return, earning her an unwavering, warm smile from her partner.

Go time.

Entering the church, they found it to be empty except for the two people talking quietly to each other in the chancel, the area around the altar. Their quiet conversation came to an immediate stop when the heavy door thunked shut, announcing Barbara and Dick’s presence. Barbara could feel her heart beating faster. Nevertheless, she kept on walking towards the two individuals, the sound of her and Dick’s footsteps on the stone floor echoing eerily. Upon their approach, Barbara recognized that one of the people they were heading for was Sergeant Amy Rohrbach, causing the tension in her muscles to lessen.

Suspecting that Rohrbach might be involved with the mysterious message she had received, Barbara had put in the time and effort to find out more about the sergeant from the 1-9. After digging through a plethora of files and reports, she hadn’t found anything that would even remotely suggest that Rohrbach was not an exemplary police officer. Indeed, only one incident in the track record detailing the sergeant’s career had caught Barbara’s eye - and interestingly enough, it had involved officers Hicks and Richter.

The most peculiar thing about said report was that there was nothing concrete to be gained from studying it: The case had involved busting Juan Ricardo Banez, a known drug dealer, at his girlfriend’s home. Simple enough - but the exact circumstances of said bust were shrouded in mystery. All that Barbara had been able to find out was that some shots had been fired from both Rohrbach’s and Richter’s guns, the perp had wound up dead and Richter had taken a medical leave subsequently. It was the bag with half a million dollars that had been filed as evidence, her thorough knowledge of Richter’s history of taking bribes and collecting money for the mob, as well as her and Dick’s own run-in with Richter and Hicks just a few weeks ago, that allowed Barbara to piece together a pretty plausible scenario of what must have gone down that day… And if she was right, Barbara had no reason to think that Amy Rohrbach was setting her and Dick up right now…

“Gordon! I knew that you wouldn’t pass up on this opportunity,” the sergeant greeted Barbara friendly, her keen brown eyes soon flickering over to Dick - “and as I can see, you’ve decided to bring your partner along.”

Dick took this statement as a cue to introduce himself, shaking hands with Amy. On the outside, he was all friendly smiles and easy-going charm, but Barbara knew her partner was actually on high alert, making note of the smallest detail that could be helpful in unravelling the enigma their current situation proved to be.

After shaking Dick’s hand, Amy went on to introduce the elderly man next to her as Father Mike, who greeted Dick and Barbara warmly.

“He was kind enough to offer the back room of his church as our base of operations,” the sergeant explained, unfortunately neglecting to mention what this “base of operations” was actually for.

“Well, now that you’re both here, we might as well get started,” Amy said energetically, making a parting gesture toward Father Mike before motioning for Dick and Barbara to come along with her: “Follow me, the others are already here.”

Dick and Barbara exchanged a meaningful look behind Amy’s back.

When it came to Rohrbach herself, Barbara felt she had a good understanding of the sergeant’s character - the company that police woman kept, however, was still a different story.

Rohrbach lead the two partners to an unassuming door to the side of the room. The sergeant opened it, revealing a small, dimly lit room, with four indistinct figures already inside. The four shadows were seated along the long side of a medium-sized table that had been squeezed inside the small space, making Barbara feel like she was at a really bizarre film noir job interview.

The trio’s arrival was met with unintelligible mumbling, that soon was replaced by complete silence.

Dick was the first to speak, breaking the uncomfortable silence that was hanging in the air like cold cigarette smoke: “Soo… what is this, exactly?”

One of the silhouette-like figures stirred, a rough, deep voice rasping: “It’s an initiation, son.”

“And if you don’t pass, it’ll go hard on you,” another voice was quick to add.

A third voice practically growled: “We don’t like taking chances.”

“But Amy vouches for you,” chimed in the last person of this mysterious quartet, the voice suggesting a female.

Barbara strained her eyes, trying to recognize any of the people they were facing – why was it so damn dark in here? And why, for the love of god, could nobody get to the effing point?!

Fortunately, Amy seemed to have taken pity on Barbara's thinly-worn patience:

“We’re like a police force inside the police force, you see,” the sergeant said, sending a wry smile in Dick and Barbara's direction,”as I'm sure you have noticed, there are a lot of cops in this town that appear to be under the impression that they can do as they please – as long as the price is right. But our little group here,” Amy gestured towards her fellow conspirators, “we have made it our goal to remind those who abuse their position and privilege that they are not above the law.”

Barbara felt relief rushing over her - she had been right in trusting her gut; Amy Rohrbach was one of the few good cops in Blüdhaven. And even better - there were more! Certainly, they weren’t legion, but even a small group had a better chance at cleaning up the corrupt police force than she and Dick on their own.

“It's a risky business, though,” Amy was quick to remind them, continuing in a warning tone, “should our plans come to light before they are seen through, anyone involved with them would be dead meat.”

The sergeant looked sternly at the potential new recruits for her cause.

“Just, keep that in mind… Now, are you guys in?”

Barbara's eyes darted over to Dick's, the two partners sharing a single, determinant look that left no room for doubt that they were on the same page-

“Yes,” was their unison reply.

Amy smiled triumphantly: “I thought so.”

“Welcome aboard,” the raspy voice from before piped up, now sounding a lot friendlier than it had before.

With the flick of a switch, Amy turned on the bare light bulb of the tiny back room, finally revealing the four other members of this little circle.

“Please, let me introduce you to Blüdhaven’s few proud and, most importantly, honest cops.”

And just like that, Dick and Barbara made acquaintance with tall and gangly Officer Zircher from the 15th precinct, Sergeant Dixon from the 2-3 (his kind eyes and friendly smile a stark contrast to his hulking physique and gravelly voice), tough-as-nails Lieutenant McDaniel from the 1-8 and young, but fiery Officer Leonardi from Amy’s precinct (the young Italian American woman had started her stint at the BPD only three months before Dick had joined Barbara’s precinct).

Dick and Barbara were readily welcomed by their more seasoned teammates.

“The more cops we bring into the circle, the stronger a case we can bring to the feds,” Zircher pointed out eagerly, his slim face adorned with a lopsided grin.

“You guys have joined us at a very opportune time,” Amy informed Dick and Barbara energetically, ”we finally have found a DA who is willing to pursue this, as long as there is enough evidence to build a solid case-”

“A case Chief Redhorn won’t be able to slip out of,” McDaniel grumbled darkly.

Amy nodded.

“Exactly. Since the problem of corruption reaches up to the very top of the chain, Flores won’t make his move until we have an airtight case that will allow him not only to go after small fry such as Hannity and Hicks, but also make it possible for him to indict Redhorn for his crimes.”

Amy paused for a moment, then turned to Dick and Barbara, fixing them with one of her piercing stares:

“And this is where you two come in.”

***

Teaching Moment *³

Even with their secret mission going on, Dick and Barbara still had to deal with the usual day-to-day of their job.

Today, they had the pleasure of sorting out a reported noise complaint. What should have been a simple affair, was dragged out unnecessarily once the neighbors of the offender had felt compelled to weigh in on the whole ordeal, leading to a heated dispute on the stairs - which, ironically, ended up being way louder than the music blasting from inside the respective apartment.

Once the situation had calmed down and all the inhabitants had returned to their apartments, Dick and Barbara finally left the building, ready to get back to their cruiser.

On their way back to the car, Dick and Barbara could see that a group of four boys had gathered around it - or rather: three of the approximately eleven-year-old kids were standing around the car, while the fourth one was standing atop the hood.

Seeing the two police officers coming their way caused a certain amount of commotion among the kids.

“Kenny, get down! Here they come,” a boy in a red hoodie warned his friend.

But Kenny appeared to be unfazed.

“I ain’t doing nuthin’ wrong!”the kid insisted, his balled up fists raised as if to fight.

Barbara suppressed a sigh; she really didn’t feel like quarelling with an eleven-year-old today.

Dick, apparently, didn’t seem to mind:

“Actually, you are,” he argued with Kenny, gesturing towards the kid’s hands, “if you take a swing at me like that, you’re gonna break your thumbs.”

Surprised, the boy looked down at his hands, inspecting the way his other fingers curled around the thumbs of each hand.

Meanwhile, Dick approached Kenny calmly and Barbara couldn’t help but be impressed by the way her partner had managed to defuse the tense situation with a simple remark.

By the time Dick had gotten to Kenny and his friends, the kids gathered around the cruiser only stared at him curiously, their resentment from before - gone.

“Keep ‘em out, like this,” Dick explained, gently adjusting the position of Kenny’s fingers, making sure that the thumbs were outside the balled fist.

He then put his palms up, facing the boy: “Okay, now try”

Excitedly, Kenny punched against Dick’s palms.

Dick grinned approvingly: “There you go! Good job!”

He then lifted Kenny off the car hood. The boy smiled widely.

“Thanks.”

The boys scampered off soon after, although Barbara could still hear their delighted chattering until they rounded the corner down the street: “my turn!”, “hit me, Kenny, hit me!”

Barbara quirked an eyebrow at her partner while they were both getting back into the car, a teasing smirk on her lips: “Making the world safe for disciplined violence everywhere?”

Dick just shrugged his shoulders.

“I prefer to think of it as teaching finesse and self-respect.”

Barbara smiled and started the engine to resume their patrol.

“You were really good with those kids,” she acknowledged in a more earnest manner.

Again, Dick simply shrugged, making a dismissive gesture with his hands, “Practice - when I was still bartending at Hogan’s, waiting and hoping to get into the BPD, I spent some afternoons at the gym in zee mores, teaching kids some basic self-defense lessons.”

Barbara only shook her head, smiling fondly at her partner.

“How do you manage to fit your halo under that hat, Grayson?”

Dick grinned flirtatiously: “Same way you fit all that brain power under yours, I presume.”

“Flatterer.”

Dick gave her a playful wink, then went on to look out of the window to keep an eye on the street.

“So, what are the plans for the evening?,” he asked casually.

Barbara’s eyes flitted over to her partner.

“Well, I kinda planned on spending it checking out some stuff for Amy - why, did you have any different ideas?”

Dick grinned.

“Well, actually... I thought we could spend a nice evening in, something along dinner and a movie - but how about we combine those two?,” Dick proposed, continuing quickly before Barbara could disagree,”You could focus on working on the thing for Amy while I’m fixing us up some dinner, then, during dinner, you can fill me in on what you’ve found out and, depending how late it’ll be by then, we can check out something on Netflix or something along those lines-”

“Something like the new Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes?,” Barbara suggested teasingly.

Dick ducked his head sheepishly.

“That could be an option... if you insist on it.”

Barbara let out a laugh: “Sure, because I’m the one usually insisting on it.”

She was met with a goofy smile.

“But you know what,” Barbara said, after carefully considering his suggestion,”I think that’s a really good idea.”

“Don’t know why you sound so surprised,” Dick said with a fake pout,”I’m full of good ideas.”

Barbara nodded knowingly,“You’re full of something, all right.”

“Hey!”

They spend the rest of their shift bickering back and forth.

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to be continued... here

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Notes

*² Nightwing #60: The "initiation" at Saint Dennis Church happens in this issue (although Dick thinks that he gets a chance at infiltrating the corrupt cops after acting like taking a bribe wouldn't be too bad - Amy immediately sees through Dick's tough-guy-act, seeing him for the goody-two-shoes he is and instead introduced him to the circle) Nightwing #69: The "incident" between Amy and Richter is from said issue (meanwhile, Dick is in Gotham, helping out Alfred and Tim in the "Bruce Wayne - Murderer?" story arc); Amy is part of the raid out to get Banez, but once Richter suggests taking the money for themselves, hinting that killing Banez and his girlfriend would rid them of any potential witnesses, the situation escalates into a shoot-out between Amy and Richter, during which Banez dies and Richter and Amy get slightly hurt; DA Flores: Mateo Flores, the DA working together with Amy and the gang. He's also the brother of Catalina Flores, the new Tarantula... who is not going to make an appearance in this fic because... no. Just no. (I did not like that storyline at all.)

Zircher, Dixon, McDaniel & Leonardi: I don't think the police officers in the circle are ever mentioned by name, so I just chose the names of some of the most important Nightwing writers and artists from the Pre-New 52 run (and I made Leonardi into a woman, because... well, there are just too few women in those stories and that just won't do ;)

*³ Nightwing #71: Dick interacting with Kenny and his friends is a cute scene from that issue, I just had to include that here; Dick giving a self-defense class in zee mores is also from that issue, although that one is aimed at adults and where we meet Catalina Flores and... well, I decided to change it up Nightwing #142: We see Dick teaching kids how to fly on the trapeze during his time in New York, so I combined both of these instances of Dick teaching into him teaching self-defense to kids

#dickbabs #dickbabs fic #dick grayson #barbara gordon #advent calendar 2019 #advent calendar fanfic 2019 #advent calendar 2019: day 21 #i write sometimes #my fics: partners

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