#AND. AND. WHO ELSE IS MORE FITTING TO STAND BESIDE HER THAN PSYCHE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunmoonandeddie · 3 years

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who you are and who you’ve been

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 8,490

summary: Sometimes love takes a little longer to find you.

warnings: SMUT. Mention of past abusive relationship, drinking, swearing.

a/n: Thank you so much to @zeilenkrieg for commissioning this and being so patient while I wrote it!!

“Mama! Mama! You here?”

You sighed as you looked up from your coffee, seeing your daughter coming through the living room. She had on that pair of daisy dukes that she stole from your wardrobe—the ones you used to wear in the heat of summer, a white shirt tied to let the sun on your tummy. You used to scandalize your own mama with that outfit…

You had argued with her that she had worn the same kind of outfit back in the seventies, and that vintage was in. But she liked to wear hers with cowboy boots and you preferred it with a good pair of sneakers.

God, you missed being young… Your twenties had been absolutely wild, even if they had started out with that horrible pandemic in 2020.

You still washed your hands after touching almost anything. An instinct that never went away.

That year and the couple years before had been… insane. But at least it incited real change in the world. The people had learned from their mistakes, at least for now.

History did have a habit of repeating itself. Humans were fickle, forgetful creatures like that.

“Yes, honey bun?” You said as you stood up, moving to hug her.

At thirty-seven years old, she was the only good thing that ever came out of your marriage. That, and knowing how to wash blood out of clothing.

The only problem was that by the time you’d finally left him, you had no friends left. You were in your forties by then, with no family besides your daughter, and no friends left to speak of. You hadn’t even had Facebook at the time to keep in touch with old schoolmates from university. And by then, what was the point? They were all leading completely different lives and probably hadn’t spared you a thought in at least a decade.

“When’s the last time you left the house?” She asked, her hands on her hips in a stance that reminded you so much of yourself that it scared you.

Now that… that was hard to answer… You honestly didn’t think you’d be able to remember. You got practically everything delivered, you worked from home…

Shaking your thoughts away, you shot her a look. “I’m fine right where I am.”

“Your doctor called and said you haven’t been taking your medication.”

“Fuckin’ snitch,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the window, staring down at the now cold coffee.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “He said you haven’t picked up your refill in over two months.” She came over to stand next to you, staring out the window with you for a long time. “Mama, you’ve gotta take your medicine… You remember what happened last time…”

Ah, yes, the infamous incident.

Which was an incident in a long line of incidents.

There had been a… few times when you’d stopped taking your medication—either intentionally or simply because you had forgotten—and it had resulted in a stay in the psych ward at the local hospital. It had happened far too many times for your daughter to not be in contact with your doctor so she would be informed if you had stopped getting your refills.

You didn’t blame her, of course. But it did make you feel like a horrible mother. One who couldn’t even take care of herself to the point where your daughter had to.

“Yes, I remember last time,” you sighed, staring at a cardinal. “You know, my mama used to tell me that if you see a cardinal, a loved one who’s passed is visiting you…”

“Mama, I signed you up for a seniors’ social club.”

You blinked.

And then, you blinked again.

You turned to look at your daughter, disbelief written all over your face. “No the fuck you did not. I swear to all that is holy, Josephine Ann, if you signed me up for one of those… those… pre-death support groups, I’ll tan your hide!” You gasped as some of your coffee splashed onto your sweatshirt. “I brought you into this world, and I sure as hell can take you out of it!”

“You’ve been saying that since I was two,” She said, taking your arm and guiding you to sit down at the kitchen table. “And it’s not a pre-death support group. I feel like that’s offensive somewhere so make sure you don’t go running around the group saying that.” Josephine used a paper napkin to dab at the coffee on your sweatshirt, muttering about throwing it into the wash and getting you a new one.

This was what you meant by your daughter taking care of you.

“Josie, really, I can get my own sweatshirt.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta,” she said as she came back with a new one, helping you change.

Sometimes you felt like she thought you were a hundred years old.

“Honestly, mama… I just want you to be happy… You should have friends. You shouldn’t be cooped up in this house all day, all the time.”

“What do I need friends for when I’ve got you? And Danny?” You asked.

But you had been hit with the sudden reality that except for Josephine and her girlfriend, you were alone. Completely, and utterly, alone. Hell, they were the only people you had ever invited over to the tiny one bedroom you owned.

Repairmen didn’t count because they were there to do a job, not keep you company.

God, you had wanted more than this, once upon a time. You had once had dreams, of maybe being a writer and making the New York Times’ Bestsellers List, of a husband who adored you and brought you flowers every Friday, of lazy Sundays eating waffles on the couch with the love of your life.

But life didn’t end up the way you had dreamed it. There were no book signings or meetings with editors… there were no gardenias… and there was no smell of waffles and syrup.

And you’d made your peace with that.

Sort of.

Josephine’s arms wrapped around you as she rested her head against yours. Like a mirror of yourself, she was, from her face down to her toes.

Thank god. She didn’t deserve to have to look in the mirror and see reflections of her father.

“Will you at least try it?” She asked gently, her hand running up and down your arm, her freshly manicured nails tickling your skin. “It’s not like a pre-death support group, as you call it… It’s for seniors or people who are approaching seniority and are still active and want to go out and have fun, but maybe need some friends to do it with. Please?”

And how could you say no when she wanted something so badly?

“Alright,” you said after a moment. “I’ll go once. And if it’s horrible, I’m not going back. And I’m gonna tell Danny how you forced me to meet a bunch of strangers.”

She squealed excitedly, running off to your bedroom and going through your closet. “Okay, the first thing the group is doing is having a first meeting at a bar, and we’re gonna get you all done up.”

Oh, good. She was going all in.

“When’s the first meeting?” You asked as you sat on the bed, leaning back on your hands as you watched her.

“Tonight.”

Uh. What?

“TONIGHT?!” You shouted in shock as you jumped up. “What?! You didn’t think to ask me about this a few days ago?!”

She snorted, picking out a few tops that you hadn’t worn in what felt like decades. “I signed you up this morning, I didn’t know about it a few days ago.”

You watched in exasperation as she threw article after article of clothing onto the bed for you to try on. “I don’t think I need to wear four pairs of jeans to a bar,” you said, beginning to pick up a few of the pieces.

Josephine gave you a look as she continued. “Considering how long it’s been since you’ve been out, I think it’s fair that some of these might not fit anymore.”

Well, you had lost some weight… Not necessarily in a healthy way, but she was right.

In the end, she ended up shoving you into the bathroom and forced you to do a full shower—which meant body and hair.

You hadn’t even gone to such lengths when you were going on your first date with her father.

She spent hours on your hair and makeup, chattering away excitedly about the vacation her and Danny were planning. A South American cruise.

Josephine had never married, never had kids. Never wanted to after seeing what her daddy had put you through. It left a sour taste in her mouth, and even though it was legal now, her and her girlfriend hadn’t breathed a word of a wedding.

Though, you suppose they had a common law marriage at that point, if lesbians were included in it.

“Perfect,” she said as she got you to slip on an old jacket of yours that was a little too big. “Come on. I’ll drive you and pick you up.”

“Oh, honestly,” you snorted as you grabbed the purse Josephine had shoved all your things into. “You’d think I could take an Uber.”

The bar wasn’t what you had expected when she had first told you that’s where the meeting was going to be held. The last bars you’d been to had practically been nightclubs.

But this was… upscale. Sophisticated.

Now you understood just why she had put so much work into making you look presentable.

It didn’t look like anyone else was there yet, even though most of the patrons were around your age, so you took a seat at the bar, the group’s site pulled up on your phone.

“What can I get for you, miss?” The bartender asked as he set down a coaster in front of you.

A snort erupts from your throat as you look at him. “You always call women as old as me miss?”

“Oh, come on, you’re a catch,” he said, shooting you a playful wink. “My dad’s single, you know. If you were… looking.”

“Thank you, but I’m not,” you said gently, your cheeks flushed. “Can I get a Manhattan?”

The bartender nodded, gracefully backing off the subject of you possibly dating his father. And barely a minute and a half later, there’s a perfectly made Manhattan set on your coaster.

You’d barely taken a sip before someone came up beside you. “Do you have Macallan’s 18 Year Sherry Oak?” A man asked. At the bartenders confirmation, he hummed. “Can I get a double on the rocks?”

The bartender dropped a large ball of ice into a glass before pouring two shots of whiskey over it and handing it to the man.

“Macallan’s, huh?” You said softly, your heart pounding. Josephine had told you to make friends. That was the whole point of this, even if the man wasn’t part of the social club you’d been forced into. “You know your whiskeys.”

The tall man took a seat beside you, his eyes boring into the side of your face. You hadn’t dared look at him yet. “I’ve always preferred those who choose a Manhattan over a martini any day.”

“And why is that?” You asked, finally looking up at him.

And oh, you wished you hadn’t. He was… stunning. The very definition of male beauty. His salt and pepper hair reminded you of the photos of the men in the forties… The 1940s, that is. Blue eyes so striking that you lost your breath, and broad shoulders that you knew would haunt your dreams. He was wearing a glove on his left hand for some reason, but you didn’t linger on it too long.

But at least he was at least your age, if not a little older. You’d die if you’d just sort of flirted with a twenty-something asshole who just bought expensive whiskeys for the sake of buying expensive whiskeys to show that he had money to blow.

“Martini drinkers think they’ll get some kind of award for their choice of drink,” he said, “as though choosing a drink that generally tastes like shit is some kind of accomplishment. Unless you’re just taking a shot, a drink should taste good.” He looked you up and down, letting his pretty blues linger on your lips. There were faint crow feet at the corners of his eyes, but they just seemed to make him even more handsome. “And a Manhattan doesn’t need a fancy whiskey. It is steady and sure even with the cheapest five dollar bottle you can get from a gas station. Someone whose drink of choice is a Manhattan is sure of who they are and what they want.”

You hadn’t felt this hot under a man’s gaze in decades. “Really?” Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you took another sip of your drink to buy you a moment.

“Mmm…” He stole one of the two cherries from your drink, biting it off the stem. You were transfixed as he slipped the stem into his mouth, sticking his tongue out about thirty seconds later with a perfect cherry stem knot on display. “Really. I’m James. What’s your name?”

Butterflies filled your stomach as you gave him your name. God, you felt like you were sixteen again and being flirted with for the first time.

His eyes flicked down to your open phone that rested on the bar, the social club’s page still up. “You’re here for the meeting, too?”

“Um… Yes,” you said, ducking your head.

“But, doll…” He leaned towards you, a charming smile on his lips. “You don’t look a day over thirty-five. Are you sure you’re a senior?”

Blinking, your mouth hung open in a soft o. “Are you planning on flirting with every woman in the club like this?”

James looked around dramatically, his gloved hand resting over his heart. “A club?! Is that what you call this place?” He asked, mockingly serious. “Damn, what does that make all those dirty, gross places these young kids go to now? Brothels?”

For some reason, you felt comfortable enough to shove his shoulder, surprised a little at the feeling of metal under his jacket sleeve.

For the first time, he looked a bit… uncomfortable. He had flinched a bit, his bright eyes focused surely on his drink. “Um…”

“You’re the Winter Soldier. James Barnes,” you said curiously, your head tilting to the side as you looked at him. “I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm,” you drawled, taking the cherry left in your drink and biting it off in a way that you hoped was alluring. “Though, I gotta say, it is a bit awkward to meet the man I wrote two papers about in high school.”

Shit, his laugh was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. Like Apollo or something...

James’s head was thrown back in laughter. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes squeezed shut. “Did you actually write two papers about me?” He asked as he tried to catch his breath. At your nod, he smirked, leaning in close again. “What did you write about? How devilishly handsome I am?”

You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “I mean, I can show you the papers and actually let you read them, but they’re at my place.”

Before he could pick his jaw up off the ground, there were other seniors in the group coming up to greet you. Your throat was dry as the Sahara as you turned to face them, plastering on a smile as you tried to ignore the heated gaze on your face and the way he licked his lips.

The meeting was… long. Boring.

Or at least, that’s how it felt when you had James’s dark, sultry eyes on you the entire goddamn time.

Mind fuzzy, you vaguely remembered agreeing to come to the next meeting, and even signing up for a hiking trip they were taking the next weekend.

As you headed outside, you felt Bucky’s hand slip into yours, his long, calloused fingers intertwining with yours. “So… Am I gonna get to come over and… read those papers?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

God, you could practically feel yourself bursting into flames. You weren’t gonna survive.

Thank god your daughter had forced you into a full shower.

But what about how dirty your house was sure to be?

“Um… Y-Yeah,” you said as you turned to look at him. “But, my daughter is gonna be driving me home… I don’t want her to know I’ve got someone coming over. She’s nosey. Real… Real nosey.”

“Of course, darlin,’” he chuckled. “Here, why don’t I give you my phone number, and you shoot me a text with your address when you’re ready for me to come over?”

Your head was swirling as you got into your daughter’s car, your phone burning a hole in your purse.

“How was it?” Josephine asked nervously once you got about halfway home. She couldn’t tell from the look on your face. “Did you like it?”

“Hm? Yeah.” Swallowing, you shot a text to James with your name, telling him you’d text him when it was all clear.

“Are you gonna go again?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She seemed both dissatisfied and pleased by your vague answers. At least you were getting out of the house.

Once you got home and said goodbye, it was a mad dash to ensure that your house was clean as could be. Josie had put in some work while you’d been gone, it seemed. She’d done the dishes and the laundry, as well as dusted.

Thank fuck.

You struggled for a solid twenty minutes to put fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed, lighting two candles and placing them in a manner that you hoped seemed natural.

“Shit,” you cursed as you smelled under your arms.

Okay, quick body shower. It seemed all that flirting had made you a tiny bit sweaty.

You turned the water to scalding and scrubbed your body down, exfoliating and using your best scented body wash.

And to be quite frank, you’d never shaved your lady bits as quick as that.

As you texted him your address and that it was safe to come over, you pulled on your clothing from the bar (though, you did put on nicer, matching lingerie underneath.) By the time he’d gotten there, you’d downed two shots of tequila for a bit of liquid courage and had poured yourself a glass of wine.

“Hey, baby doll,” he said, a crooked grin on his face as you welcomed him inside. His glove had been abandoned, and black metal fingers lined with gold glittered in the light. “Woah… You know, I wasn’t sure how your place was gonna look, but this is very… you.”

“Oh, really?” You asked as you offered him a glass of wine, which he gratefully took. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckled as he swirled the deep red liquid in its glass. “It’s cozy. Sweet.”

Your throat was dry as you watched his adam’s apple bob as he took a drink. “Um… so those papers…”

Bucky whispered your name, moving closer to you as he set the wine glass down on the counter. “Baby girl, I’m not really here for the papers, am I?” He asked as your back hit the island. “If I am… If I am, then just tell me, and I’ll stop this.” His slightly chapped lips ghosted against yours like the tease he was. “Am I here just for the papers?”

“No,” you breathed out, before pressing your lips against his in a firm kiss at last. His breath was minty and cool, with just a touch of the wine you’d been sharing, like he’d brushed his teeth before coming over just like you had.

Could it be possible he was just as nervous as you were?

But he was perfect? Why the hell would he be nervous?

Your thoughts were cut short as he reached down, his hands firmly grabbing your ass as he lifted you up and set you on the counter. “That’s a good girl,” he growled as he kissed down your neck, his hands working at your blouse. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you during that whole stupid fucking meeting. Just wanted to kiss you. Just wanted to… to touch you.” He pulled back, kissing you fiercely as his hands moved from your blouse to hold your face again. “You gonna let me touch you, angel?”

A whine escaped your throat as you nodded, desperately yanking at his shirt. Once it was off, you didn’t hesitate to run your hands over the broad planes of his chest. He wasn’t quite as toned as you remembered from when you were younger, when you used to (occasionally) stalk (lightly) his social media accounts. There’d been so many pictures of him on vacation with the other Avengers… all tanned and toned…

But you liked this better. There was a softness to him now, a gentleness.

You were so distracted by his physique that you didn’t notice he’d gotten your shirt and bra off until the cold air hit your chest. “Fuck,” you mumbled as his lips found your neck, trailing down to your breasts.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been kissed, let alone the last time you’d had such… attention.

Especially when his hands worked your pants off and he stood between your legs, moaning as his fingers tickled your thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” he said as his lips wrapped around one nipple, suckling at it and teasing until it was diamond hard, and he moved on to the other.

Gotta be fair, after all.

“James…”

“Fuck, baby girl… Never been with a woman as beautiful as you,” he growled, kissing down your tummy. “You’re not making it out of here without orgasming at least twice,” he warned jokingly. He was half bent over in front of the island, watching in wonder as he slowly pulled your silk panties down your legs and revealed your aching core to him.

“I-If you’re not comfortable standing like that, w-we can move somewhere else,” you stammered, suddenly growing self conscious. What if he thought your pussy was weird? Granted, you’d overcome thinking that when you were in your early twenties, after learning that each one looked different.

But he was born in the forties.

But that meant he’d probably seen an exponential amount of pussies!

Oh, god, there was no way you’d have anywhere near as much experience as him. The only person you’d ever been with was your ex husband, and he wasn’t exactly the paradigm of lovers.

“Hey.”

You refocused with a shake of your head, your eyes meeting James’s. “Yes?”

“You’re in your head,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly ran his fingers along your sensitive folds. “There’s no need… It’s just you and me, okay? And you’re absolutely perfect.”

Your heart was melting inside your chest as you nodded, stealing a tentative kiss. “Okay… Just you and me.”

James nipped at your lower lip as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Come on. I don’t want our first time to be on a kitchen counter. Though I make no promises I won’t help christen every inch of this house after,” he said with a playful growl.

You whispered directions to your bedroom as he held you tight to his chest, his lips finding purchase on your neck. “And here I thought you said the super soldier serum was wearing off,” you joked.

The man snorted as he pushed you up against the hallway wall. “Trust me, doll, no lack of super soldier serum is gonna stop me from fucking you right,” he said, his voice husky and deep.

Before you could even open your mouth to reply, two thick fingers were slipping inside of you to slowly tease your cunt, his lips ghosting over yours. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed at the whimper that fell from your lips. “Y-Yes. Yes. Please, I need more, James…”

James smiled into the kisses he’d been giving you. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

“That’s a tall order.” You threaded your fingers through his hair, shivering at the way his metal fingers dug into the plumpness of your ass. “You sure you can fill it?”

He doesn’t respond with words, growling as he kisses you fiercely, carrying you to the bedroom. You don’t have time to think before he’s crawling over you and kissing up your tummy to your lips. “I need to be inside you,” He whispered as he stroked his length.

“Please… Don’t wanna wait anymore,” you said. Vaguely, you’re aware of the twinge in your knees from all the physical activity, and you knew you’d be sore as hell in the morning.

Fucking worth it, though.

James didn’t hesitate to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. When he finally pushed in, unison moans fill the air.

“I… I haven’t done this in… so long,” you finally admitted as he slowly pushed in more, taking his time. Eyes locked, your mouth fell open in a soft ‘o’ as he bottomed out, his hips meeting yours. “Oh, fuck…”

“Then I better do a real good job fucking you right.”

You weren’t quite sure how long you two lasted, but you do know he manages to pull three orgasms out of you in the space of just a few hours. There’s snack and water breaks in between rounds, his cool metal hand running up and down your spine to cool you down as you two whisper in the dim light of your desk lamp.

You can’t remember a time that you’d felt so at peace.

A spark had been lit inside your chest as you two laid there in bed, legs intertwined. Both of you were quiet, his fingers moving to caress your cheek.

There were no words that needed to be said.

His sea blue eyes are sparkling in the dim light, and your hand runs over the sharp stubble that lines his jaw. It had certainly marked up your neck.

“I had intended on asking you on a date,” he said quietly as his hand found yours, bringing it to his mouth. Chapped lips kissed each of your knuckles like you were something precious, something to behold. “I didn’t think the five minutes or so before the meeting counted… But I’d still like to take you on that date, if you’ll let me.”

“That sounds nice,” you said, a grin twinging at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, sitting up a bit as his fingers brushed against your forehead.

“Yeah.” A giggle escaped your lips as he playfully tackled you, starting yet another round as his hips rolled down against yours.

The next morning, you woke up alone. The sheets beside you were mussed, though the space James had been occupying was still a bit warm.

Jazz music floated down the hall, through the cracked door, and you could vaguely hear the clinking of pans.

It took you a minute to gather the will to get yourself out of bed and find your robe, but you finally did it. As your feet hit the ground and you pushed yourself to a stand, you winced.

You had been right about feeling it in your knees.

You forced yourself to walk smoothly down the hall, despite how much it hurt. Embarrassing yourself in front of James was the last fucking thing you wanted to do.

He was in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove and humming along with the old jazz song playing on the Bluetooth speaker. He had a pan full of pancake batter in front of him, a whole stack he’d already made on the side.

Standing in the doorway, you couldn’t help but grin as you watched him. He’s so handsome… and he seemed so at home in your kitchen. In your home.

Maybe he’d like to move in…

You shook your head, knowing that it’s already too much.

But the thought was nice.

Him in his pajamas, making coffee… Him in your shower… Him in your bed every night…

Yeah. It’s a really, really nice thought.

“Hi.”

James jumped, his eyes wide as he whirled round to face you. “Hi. I thought I had another thirty minutes before I had to go and wake you up,” he said. “I’m making pancakes. For you. For us.” His cheeks flushed, turning a bright red as he turned back to the pan to quickly flip the pancake. “I hope you don’t mind that I used your flour and shit…”

“Oh, no, I… I almost never cook,” you admitted as you moved over to stand next to him, watching as he made two more pancakes.

As he carried the huge plate to the kitchen island, he teasingly grabbed your ass and squeezed. “Maybe I’ll have to stay the night more often, if only so you get a homemade breakfast.”

It was sweet, and domestic, and somewhat terrifying.

You hadn’t had a man do anything for you like this since you were in your twenties, when your husband was still sweet and loving.

But even so, this was somehow better than anytime your husband made his famous burritos.

Maybe because James’s cooking actually tasted good.

Your first date was to a movie, a drive in. Something that’s designed to be vintage but really just looked cheesy as all hell.

But it’s perfect. Perfect and cheesy and romantic.

Your only complaint was that he didn’t kiss you at the door when he dropped you off. He pressed his lips to your cheek and whispered a goodnight, and that was it.

It took two more dates within the same week for him to kiss you again.

Bright and early on the next Saturday morning, he knocked on your door, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I figured I should make up for you having to be up so early with this,” he said as he came inside, kissing you quick before moving to put the flowers in a vase.

At this point, he knew your house almost as well as you did. It felt good, when you two moved around like you were part of a team.

“Have you gotten your coffee this morning?” You asked, already pouring two travel mugs full of the good stuff.

He came up behind you, kissing your shoulder. “I have, but you know I’ll never say no to more, doll.”

The rest of the group eyed you curiously as you got out of the same car, a few elbow nudges and whispers in the air.

“At least I know no old ass dickheads are gonna come hit on my girlfriend,” James growled in your ear, his calloused flesh hand squeezing your hip.

“Jamie…,” you whined, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. No one had ever claimed you in such a way that made you feel so desired and… and worthy.

James made you feel worthy.

Which is something you’d only ever really gotten from your daughter.

It sent a bolt of arousal through you, and you were tempted to drag him back to the car so you could bring him right back home and do something about it.

Also… Girlfriend? Were you his girlfriend now? Officially?

That just made you wanna find somewhere to fuck him even more.

But alas, you pushed the thought away as the lot of you boarded one of those white airport vans that took you out of the city to the closest state park.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out as you stared out the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass. The morning air was a bit chillier than it had been lately, signaling the coming onslaught of winter.

Maybe Bucky would wanna make hot cocoa together… go sledding… Would him, Josephine, and Danny would all come over for Christmas and New Years and—

Would he even want to meet Josephine?

Would Josie wanna meet him?

She had no idea that you’d found a—A boyfriend?

“Not as beautiful as you,” Bucky murmured against the shell of your ear as his vibranium fingers intertwined with yours and squeezed. His stubble tickled your neck as he rested his head on your shoulder, watching the passing scenery with you. “I’m really glad I met you, doll…”

“Me, too,” you said, grinning as you squeezed his hand back and leaned your head against his.

It was strange, falling so hard for someone so quick after everything you’d been through.

But you had a gut feeling. One that you had never had with your ex husband.

James was a good one. A really, really good one.

That reminded you.

When were you meant to tell him about all the shit you’d been through?

Despite the amount of time you had spent together already, you hadn’t found the courage for it.

Soon, you decided.

But first, you had to get through the damn hike.

Bucky was glued to your side the entire time, even though you were a lot worse at hiking than he was. He would hold your hand, guiding you anytime there was a fallen tree or a creek. His blue eyes were soft as he murmured encouragement, quietly praising your every move.

It was intoxicating.

So when you two fell behind from the group, watching them go around a curve and down a hill, you dragged James behind a large rock formation.

“Baby doll? Darling, what the hell are you doing?” He laughed as you pressed a fierce kiss to his lips.

“Can’t a girl be spontaneous?” You teased as you dropped to your knees, ignoring the way a twig was poking into your left knee. “Need to taste you.”

His eyes locked on you as you worked at his jeans, getting them down and off, his nails scratching at your scalp as he got a good grip on your head. “Fuck… Are you really this needy for me, angel? Fuck, you’re so god damn gorgeous… Look at you.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage as you finally freed his length, a grin on your lips as you wrapped your hand around him and slowly stroked him.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back as your mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. “Fucking shit… Good girl… Suck me off real good, baby.”

The group probably would notice your absence, not that you particularly cared.

Not when you had your man so weak for you. And all you’d had to do was get on your knees.

His metal and flesh hands guided you to take more of him in, going at a slow pace so as not to hurt you. He was so big there was no way you’d get all of him down your throat but what you couldn’t take in your mouth, you pleasured with your hands.

Pleasuring your partner like this was addicting. You’d never felt the desire—no, the incessant need—to please your ex husband. All you could think about was getting Bucky off, making him feel so good that he couldn’t see or walk straight.

You choked around him as you took him as deep as possible, your eyes glassy. When you popped off, you stroked him as you moved down to carefully suck at his balls, fighting a grin as he gasped, his hips stuttering. Before he could orgasm, you took him back in your mouth, wanting to swallow him down.

“Fuck, fuck— Oh, shit… Baby— I’m gonna… I’m gonna—” Bucky broke off with a shout as he came, spilling down your throat. His large hands stroked your cheeks as you swallowed all of it, barring the little bit that had gotten on your lower lip. “You did so good, darling,” he cooed as he helped you stand, pressing you against the rock behind him as he kissed you. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, right?”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, a faint smile on your lips as you helped him put himself back away. “You were perfect, James…”

When you finally caught up to the group, a few of the others shot you knowing looks.

But Bucky just had a satisfied smirk on his lips, his hand tightly intertwined with yours even as you flushed in embarrassment.

“Once we get home, it’s your turn,” he whispered in your ear as you all headed back for the van.

Your relationship with James was… wonderful.

It was easy in a way you’d never had before.

Within just two months, he was living at your house almost full time, to the point where you’d been thinking about asking him to move in.

It was like you two were magnets. Even when you both had work to do, you did it in the same room, slowly gravitating towards each other until you were sitting close, your foot running up his calf.

And he’d gotten you to start writing.

“It’s your dream, doll. You’re never too old to chase your dreams,” he said one night as you two laid in bed. His metal fingers were tracing shapes on your spine, a chill from the cracked window ruffling his sweaty hair. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why did you stop in the first place?”

Ah.

The conversation you’d been avoiding for so long.

Sitting up, you pressed your hands to your face as you tried to find the words to say. “Um… I was married before… I know you know, but, uh…” Your fingers fiddled together nervously. You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “My husband… He wasn’t… He wasn’t nice. At all.”

Bucky immediately sat up behind you, his vibranium hand resting flat on your back to reassure you that he was there, and to give you something to focus on while you spoke. He didn’t need to speak for you to know. He was there and he wasn’t running.

“I married him young… and I had Josephine young… He’d always been so… possessive, but I just considered it protective,” you continued, pulling strength from his touch to keep on going. You needed to tell him this. You needed him to understand. “Then after Josie was born, he started getting violent. He’d always been mean, but he’d never hit me until after I gave birth…”

James was tense behind you, slowly scooting over so he could wrap his arms around you, his legs resting on either side of yours as he held you. He needed you close. Needed to know you were safe in his arms and that man was long gone.

“Put me in the hospital a few times… He at least didn’t do it in front of Josie. That’s the one thing I asked of him that he listened to.” You couldn’t help but snort as you slowly relaxed back against him. “She always thought all the bruises and shit was just a side effect of how clumsy I am… But she came home one day during college, to surprise us… She walked in on him holding a frying pan above his head, about to swing again. She jumped in between us and told him if he ever touched me again, she’d kill him.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as his lips pressed to your bare shoulder. It was soothing, feeling his skin against yours. “She moved me out of that house and into her apartment, helped me get the divorce, get back on my feet…”

“Remind me to tell Josephine thank you,” he said quietly as he squeezed you close. “Thank you for telling me, doll… I… I can’t imagine how hard that was… But he’ll never touch you again. No one will ever touch you again if you don’t want it.”

“I know.”

He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. “I love you. So much…”

A peace settled over you as you rested your head back against his, allowing yourself to truly fall into him, to relax. “And I love you…”

After that night, Bucky slept over at your place five to six nights a week, only going home to get more clothes and do his laundry really, even though you’d told him a million times he could do it at your place.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear one morning, pushing your hair away from your face. “Time to get up… I’ve got breakfast ready for you…”

Groaning, you tried to pull him down for more cuddle time, but he wasn’t having it. He always woke up before you, too many years a soldier coming into play. He’d go for a run and make breakfast before waking you up.

“Come on, doll,” he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips as he got you to sit up, your vision blurry from sleep still. “Medicine,” he said, pressing your pills into your palm and putting a glass of water in your other.

Ever since he’d found out about your prescriptions and how you had a hard time remembering to take them, he’d taken it upon himself to make sure you did, every morning and night without fail.

“What’d you make this morning?” You asked sleepily after swallowing your pills, letting him pull you to your feet. His t-shirt clung to you as you followed him down the hall. Your hand was tucked into his as you rounded the corner to the kitchen.

What neither of you had heard was the sound of the front door opening.

“Mama?! What the hell?!” Josephine demanded, standing in the kitchen with Danny right behind her. “Who the fuck is this?! What is he doing here?!”

Oh.

Yeah.

You’d neglected to tell your daughter, afraid of how she might take it.

“Hello. I’m James. Or Bucky,” your boyfriend said as he held out his hand to you, clearly unashamed and standing his ground even though he was only wearing a pair of pajama pants.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Your daughter repeated angrily, ignoring his hand.

“Josie,” Danny began, trying to soothe her.

But your daughter was nothing but determined when she was in her protective mode.

Before you could open your mouth, Bucky supplied, “I’m her boyfriend.”

You felt a flush coming over you as she stared at the two of you, slack-jawed. “He is,” you said, wrapping both of your arms around his metal one. You were so nervous, you were shaking.

“When did this happen?!” She demanded, beginning to pace back and forth around the kitchen.

“Um… The first meeting at the bar… for the club,” you said. Seeing her so upset made your anxiety spike, and you knew James could feel it, could hear the way your heart rate increased exponentially.

Josephine whirled on you, her eyes—so much like yours—wide with disbelief. No. Betrayal. “You’ve been seeing someone for almost three months and you didn’t tell me?”

“I…” Tears pricked your eyes as you tightened your grip on Bucky’s arm. This was not the way you wanted them meeting to go. “I was scared… of how you’d react…”

At that moment, Bucky turned to meet your eyes, his forehead almost pressing against yours. “Darling, I feel like this is a conversation you two should have alone, yeah? So I’m gonna take—Danny, right? Yeah—Danny to the living room with some coffee so we can get to know each other, okay?”

After a nod, and a squeeze of his hand, he got two mugs of coffee and led your daughter’s girlfriend to the living room. You could see them sitting down from the corner of your eyes, but you were much too focused on Josephine.

“Mama, I—”

“I love him,” you said, before she could say anything more.

Her eyes were shining, locked on you as she waited for you to speak. In her gut, she knew this was something you needed to get out.

“I love him more than I’ve ever loved a man. More than I loved your father,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “And I know… I know you’re as protective as you are because you saw how he treated me. You saw how much I hid that he was hurting you, but Jamie isn’t like that.” Your fingers fiddled as you tried to keep yourself from pacing. “He’s kind and adoring and gentle and… and he loves me. More than I thought anyone could ever love me. And I know you feel like you need to take care of me and I am so grateful. And I still need you. Everyday. But Bucky… I love him. I love him and he loves me and we take care of each other.”

Josephine reached out, slowly taking your hands in hers. “He… He makes you happy? He takes care of you and you’re safe?” She asked, voice trembling as a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Yeah. He takes real good care of me,” you insisted with a weak laugh. “And I’ve never been so happy before, honey. I promise.”

“Okay…,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m still giving him the shovel talk.”

Bucky looked up as Josephine entered the living room, looking much calmer. He wasn’t sure what you’d said, but it had seemed to placate her for the time being.

“Can we talk outside?” She asked him, keeping her chin high.

God, she looked so much like you.

He nodded stiffly, getting to his feet and leaving his mug behind as he followed her to the front door and out onto the porch. The former super soldier watched as she paced back and forth, biting her thumb. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Josie stopped in her tracks, listening quietly.

“Your mama loves you something fierce.” Nervously rubbing his hands on his pajama pants, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous meeting a girl’s family.

Though, he supposed it was a bit different when it was meeting your girlfriend’s daughter.

“And I love her.”

Your daughter, your mini me, stared him directly in the eyes. “I’m sure she’s told you about my father. What he did.”

“She did.”

“So you know that if you put one fucking foot out of line, I’ll filet you?”

“I do.”

She eyed him for a long moment. “What are you in this for? What’s the long term?” She asked. “I’ve heard of elders just… settling for someone because they don’t wanna be alone in their twilight years. Is that what this is?”

Bucky tried really hard not to feel a little bit offended. He wasn’t that old. “I’ve been alive since 1917,” he said slowly. “I have no doubt you know who I am. But I’ve been alive a hundred and something years, and I’ve never met someone who makes me feel the way your mom does.” His heart clenched inside his chest as he thought of you, seeing your shy smile in the mornings, how you clung to him when you went out in public, the sound of your voice as you read an excerpt of your writing to him, so nervous about what he would think. “And I… I can say that everything I’ve been through… Everything I’ve ever been through was worth it, because I got to meet her. And I get to be hers for the years I have left.”

She looked absolutely speechless. “Good,” she said, coughing to clear her throat. “Good. I just… I can’t see her get hurt again. Not after everything.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan to,” he said, his mouth dry. “I… I actually have something to ask you about… Been waiting to meet you to talk to you about it…”

Inside, you paced the kitchen and living room, going back and forth and back and forth, sometimes moving to the window to try to hear what they were saying. But they were keeping it all very hushed.

“It’s gonna be fine, mama,” Danny said, standing up and moving to wrap her arms around you. “Josie’ll see how much you two love each other, and it’ll be fine. She’s just gotta have her protective moment. You know how she is.”

Sniffling, you hugged her tightly. “I shouldn’t have kept it from her for so long… I was just so nervous… They both… They both mean the world to me.” You paused, snorting. “I knew you’d approve of him. I wasn’t so worried about you.”

“Oh, please, the way that man looked at you?” She said, laughing as she kissed your forehead. “Mama, there’s no way in hell that man would ever hurt you. He looks at you like you’re his entire universe.”

Heart warm, you glanced towards the front door, wishing they’d just come inside already. “I’ve never felt something like this… But fuck, if the whole shit show that’s my life wasn’t worth it for him… I wouldn’t change a thing, as long as it means I get to end up with him.”

You broke out of her grasp as the front door opened and they came back inside, looking relaxed and even… happy? “Well? You aren’t gonna kill him?” You asked Josie as you moved to James, heart racing.

“Nah…,” she said, giving him what seemed like a secretive smile. “As far as dads go… He’d be pretty nice to have.”

“What?” You said, brows furrowing as you looked between the two of them.

Bucky chuckled, winking at Josephine as he led you to the stove where breakfast was still waiting, making you waddle as his arms wrapped around you from behind. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, baby doll. It’s all good.”

You still couldn’t help but feel like the two were planning something as he made your plate for you, cutting up your pancakes and filling up your coffee. “Why do I feel like you two are gonna end up ganging up on me?”

“Oh, come on, mama,” Josephine said with a smirk on her face. Her and Danny had made their own plates and joined you and Bucky in the living room. “How could you ever accuse us of such a thing?”

“Yeah,” James said as he fed you a bite of pancake. “How could you ever accuse us of such a thing?” He asked, before leaning in and stealing a kiss. “I love you.”

You’d never felt more relaxed, surrounded by the people you loved the most in the world. What you’d said to Josephine had been true.

“I love you more,” you said, leaning back in for another kiss.

You’d never been so happy.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader

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melohax · 3 years

Text

Who Sweetheart and Captain Spaceboy actually represent:

Warning: Major spoilers ahead.

I keep seeing people say that Capt. Spaceboy and Sweetheart are stand-ins for Sunny and Aubrey respectively but I personally don’t agree with that interpretation at all.

There’s also people who understand why Spaceboy’s arc is like that but still don’t really understand what Sweetheart’s purpose was. I’ve seen comments saying that she only existed to stall Omori’s search for Basil/the truth as much as possible.

So, my thoughts!

Not only are Capt. Spaceboy and Sweetheart actual game/movie characters outside Sunny’s dreamworld but:

1) Sweetheart already has someone who looks and acts just like her in the real world and it’s not Aubrey. It’s tyrannical candyshop owner that yells at her employee for every little mistake. Sweetheart coming from a land literally made of candy (Orange Oasis) also pretty much confirms that Sunny had the candy lady in mind.

2) Aubrey is assertive, stubborn and strong but Sunny doesn’t view her 12 year old self in a way that matches Sweetheart’s story arc. Even with older Aubrey being an asshole at first, I don’t think her real world self fits Sweetheart much either.

3) Spaceboy’s story isn’t the only one that relates to Omori’s and Sunny’s problems. Both Sweetheart and Capt. Spaceboy have story arcs that relate to emotional issues Sunny has trouble with.

4) Spaceboy’s story is about failing to let go of the past, trying to rid himself of emotions while actually being ruled by them and basing his identity on others. Sweetheart’s story is about obsessive self-absorption, denial of reality and a broken relationship with identity and love.

Spaceboy’s parallels with Omori are pretty obvious and most people have caught on to them so I’ll skip him and go straight to Sweetheart.

Sweetheart is self-absorbed and egocentric, something Omori accuses Sunny of during their confrontation at the end of the game.

Sweetheart thinks she understands what is love (baby don’t hurt me) and she’s in complete denial of anything that goes against her beliefs and wishes...

...Kinda like a certain boy who decides “there’s nothing there” in the real world if it’s too painful.

Sweetheart doesn’t even know how to love herself or what that even means.

She feels alone and like there’s no one else for her beside herself. She tries to find “love” in different external versions of herself but she’s unable to love any of them, even the “perfect” one. She says it’s because nothing matches exactly who she is but then can’t even explain what that means or what she’s actually looking for.

Now remember all the things Omori accuses Sunny of being during their confrontation. Remember how Omori says Sunny’s friends don’t actually love him, but the version of him they think he is.

In fact, I’d say Sweetheart’s arc is especially telling of how Sunny feels about love and identity. It’s easy to miss cus of how comedic and ridiculous anything related to Sweetheart gets but she’s surprisingly the Dreamworld character that I think is more of a stand in for Sunny than anyone else, while Spaceboy parallels the Omori side of his psyche more.

Sounds kinda ridiculous, right? Agreed but remember the conversation you can have with the Keeper Of The Castle.

He says he can see Omori has a “split soul” and tells us the story of Sweetheart’s castle:

Sweetheart’s castle is actually a dwelling that takes the shape of a person’s deepest desires and is somewhere for them to call home. Sweetheart’s desires shaped what the castle turned into but the Keeper says she still wants even more.

Kinda like how Sunny created an ideal world in his dreams that represents his desires and a place to always go back “home” to. And it’s still not enough for him either, he still wants more (that he “achieves” in the Hikikomori route).

I also think this is why Sweetheart and Capt. Spaceboy can never last whenever they try to get back together. It’s in the same way Sunny and Omori can never be together without one side crushing the other. Even when they manage to “accept” each other, one of them still fades away.

So knowing this, I think BOTH Spaceboy and Sweetheart, although superficially based off a videogame character and an obnoxious shopkeeper, have stories and problems that are metaphorical stand-ins for Sunny and his “split soul” aka his Omori side.

As a last dumb detail, both of their names start with “S” too lmao. This is obviously probably a coincidence but still something I thought was funny.

TL;DR: Spaceboy and Sweetheart are both different representations of the Sunny/Omori split.

#omori #omori game #omori spoilers #sweetheart omori #omori sweetheart #space boyfriend omori #sunny omori #omori sunny #aubrey omori #omori aubrey #omori (character)#omori (game)#omori meta

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palbabor-writes · 4 years

Note

I know you said you only might accept pregnancy requests depending on what it is so I wanted to try 😅 how about shigaraki and reader break up while she’s unknowingly pregnant with his child and he bumps into said child years later and connects the dots that it’s his? If you don’t like it feel free to ignore this request 😊

I liked this nonnie.

I am terrified that by saying that I’m going to be inundated with pregnancy HC’s, lol. But, this request I really leaned into. Plus, it’s more about a kid than a pregnancy.

So, thank you for asking and letting me slip out of my comfort zone. It’s always good to do that every once in awhile and this ask was a great reminder of that.

It’s a bit melancholic, but I think it fits with Tomura, at least, in my mind.

Now, this is not in canon. This is not like, pre-war arc, or post-war arc. If anything, it’s more of an AU. I’d put Tomura in his late 20s to early 30s.

warnings: none really, just some sweet, sweet interactions and mild angst

Hestia Hestia, in Greek religion, is the goddess of the hearth, a daughter of Cronus and Rhea, and one of the 12 Olympian deities. When the gods Apollo and Poseidon became suitors for her hand, she swore to remain a maiden forever, and Zeus, the king of the gods, bestowed upon her the honor of presiding over all sacrifices.

The shouting noise of children set his teeth on edge.

Toga had insisted that the bus stop by the school was the best place for the information exchange.

They won’t look for you there, she’d assured him. It’s like hiding in plain sight. Yeah, it’s patrolled, but it’s only an old security guard who does the rounds. Besides, he’s retired from the police force, she qualified, and was more like a lazy cat than an attentive scent hound.

It’s the best place, really.

So, Shigaraki had made the long trek across Tokyo.

He kept to the shadows as he weaved his way through back alleys and streets. Although the dominance of the League had waned some over the years, he was still a wanted criminal, responsible for countless death and threats on hero society.

He was still the King of his slice of the underworld.

Besides, he reassured himself as he loitered by the bench under the bus stop, he could trust Toga.

She had improved in leaps and bounds as she came of age; deadlier, sleeker, more attuned to the ebbs and flows of the world around her. She wasn’t that girl who chattered about blood anymore.

Oh, she still held a strange fascination with the fluid. But she had more control over those impulses that drove her. If she said it was the best place, well, who was he to argue? Toga had been with him from the beginning, a vital ally. Hell, at this point she was close to being a friend.

Shigaraki is still musing when the ball taps its way to his feet.

It clatters against the pavement; the rubber shuttling it along the loose rocks and leaves. Unthinkingly, Shigaraki lifts his shoe to balance against its unbound movement, stilling its lulling bounces.

Must be from that schoolyard, he thinks, his red eyes flashing up at the low chain-link fence that separates the school grounds from the busy street.

There’s no child dashing their way to retrieve it, so he lets his gaze slip from the teeming masses of giggling youngsters. It’s a pretty blue. The ball looks new. Hardly a scuffed and battered thing.

He keeps it under his sole, toying with it, rolling it meditatively as he slips back into his thoughts.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

It’s a small voice that calls to him and he turns his head back to the fence, looking for the source.

It’s a girl.

She’s leaning against the metal, her hands clutching into the links, cocking her head inquisitively at him.

Her nose wrinkles at his silence, and she shouts another demand.

“Mister, that’s my ball. Toss it back.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say please?” Shigaraki taunts, his lips lifting in a quick grin. He’s not sure why he’s bothering to engage with this kid, but something about her plucky attitude resonates with him.

She leans away from the fence, that scowl deepening on her soft features.

“Aren’t grown ups not supposed to steal things?”

He laughs at her snark. He can’t help it. Oh, this kid’s fun.

Carefully slipping the ball into his hands, he moves closer to the fence. He can see her a little better now.

She’s still got that deep frown on her face and her dark hair is gleaming in the afternoon sun, some strands catching the light, reflecting a deep, auburn, hue. He’s just about to chuck the ball to her when he catches sight of her eyes.

They’re red.

Not that red eyes are unusual. There are plenty of people milling around Tokyo with them. But hers are different.

No, these eyes are like looking into a mirror for Shigaraki. They flint and glare with the same sheen as his own. It’s a prefect reflection.

His feet suddenly feel heavy, leaden, and he can’t lift his arms. Who is this child? Why does she-

“Ok, ok, mister. Can I please have my ball back? You’re still stealing it if you don’t, so I’m not apologizing for that. I might... if you give it back to me, cuz’ it’s my ball, not yours. And, stealing makes you a thief.”

She’s rolling those uncanny irises at his stiff form, and a huffing sigh escapes her small mouth.

“What’s your name?” Shigaraki asks, hands trembling over the rubber of the ball.

“Not supposed to tell that to strangers, mister.”

He smiles again, bemused. Well, he thinks begrudgingly, she’s a clever little thing. Whoever she is.

A sharp bell echoes across the yard and she turns her head at the sound, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“Here,” Shigaraki relents, gently flipping the ball over the fence, bouncing it to her feet.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, quickly snatching up her prize. Those red eyes of hers meet his own, and he can feel a low shiver echo up his spine. What’s up with this reaction? It almost feels visceral, like some sort of otherworldly pull on him.

“Sorry I called you a thief,” she apologizes, quickly bowing her head, ducking those eerie eyes from view.

He’s not sure what to say, so he continues to watch her. She doesn’t seem perturbed by this, opting to giggle at him as her little head lifts.

“You’re weird,” she assess, a smile finally spreading over her lips, her cheeks rounding and softening.

Tch, she’s rude, but she’s also cute, Shigaraki thinks, snorting at her frankness.

She turns, dashing away from him, her dark hair flowing around her back as she goes.

Shigaraki shakes his head, trying to dislodge those lingering questions that keep floating to the back of his mind.

He’ll never see her again, he reasons, wandering back to the bus stop. Trying to tamp down the urge to look for her again, to pinpoint her from the other giggling and shouting children on the playground.

But he did see her again.

He comes back to the stop a few weeks later.

There’s no information pickup this time. There’s no real reason for him to even be on this side of town.

He just can’t get her out of his mind.

This little kid had shaken something within his psyche. He kept dreaming about her. Well, not her, really. No, there was someone else haunting his dreams.

He hasn’t thought about you in years.

But now? Now, he can’t get you out of his head. He even feels like he can feel you some nights, warm against his side. He sulks in the memories of the familiar touches that the two of you shared, the love that you’d pressed into him, so, so long ago.

He saw the girl in those moments. Resting in your arms as you looked up, your eyes bright against her dark head. The girl would laugh and run to him, those reflective red eyes shining with mirth.

It was fucking strange.

He both hated, and loved, the repetitive nature of these illusions. They made him feel safe and warm, but they also chilled him to his very bones. It was unsettling.

Unsure what else to do, he’d back come to the bus stop.

It’s early afternoon. Close to the time he’d visited it before. He waits on the lonely bench, his hands pressed together and that strange tremble races through his veins.

This is stupid, he thinks, his eyes lowering from the sea of kids, all twisting and turning in a heap as they play. It’s an impossibility, really. The chances of that girl losing her ball again is minuscule. There’s no way he can call to her either. It’s a waste. He shouldn’t even be here.

He’s standing to leave, when that small voice reaches him.

“Oh! You’re back.”

His head whips around, his long white hair glowing against the sunlight.

There she is.

She’s gripping the fence again, and she’s staring right at him.

Shigaraki smiles. It’s a gentle lift and he can feel his heart tapping a rough tattoo against his ribs. He steps toward her, kneeling when he gets close, careful to not overstep his bounds.

He’s not wanting to startle her.

No, he’s wanting to talk with her. Maybe she’ll drop some kinda clue why he’s so drawn to her. Or maybe she’ll morph into any other child again. Plain, uninteresting. Slipping from that odd ghost that she’s become to his subconscious.

He hopes it’s the latter. But part of him also longs for it to be the former.

She’ll hop to the fence around 3:15.

She looks for him now, used to the routine of his presence.

He told her to call him Tomura, and the name falling from her lips made his heart ache.

Tomura stopped by on Fridays. Careful to not stay too long, to not draw too much attention to himself.

At first, he’d sneak her little trinkets.

A little plastic toy of his, one that he had since he was a kid. She’d squealed with delight and clutched it to her. He’d grinned at that, remembering how he’d once held onto the thick plastic himself.

Once, he’d just plucked a nearby flower as he walked to the school, presenting it to her outreached grasp. He’d watched proudly as she tucked it behind her ear, the color glossy beside her hair.

She’s still a sassy little thing. But she’s softened a little, too. Her voice losing that early, untrusting, edge.

He didn’t ask her much. Sometimes they both just sat in silence as she sketched designs into the dirt. Sometimes he would listen to her chatter about her day. Her classmates, her teacher. Once, she’d even pressed something over the fence to him.

It was a drawing.

He’s not sure if it really was all that well done, or if it’s just his heavy bias toward her. But he loves the mix of color and lines. He’d asked who the people were.

One was her friend, Kenji. One was her teacher. One was him.

He’d pinned it to the wall in his room. Displaying it, flaunting the gift. He looked at it every morning, admiring her work.

He’s late one day, and she scolds him, her small arms draping over the fence.

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” she chatters, her red eyes lingering against his, the two colors casting back the same hue.

“Was running behind,” Tomura replies, leaning against the low concrete barrier, resting his back against the fence.

Her little hands reach for his hair, playing with the pearlescent tendrils, weaving some into knots and braids.

He doesn’t mind.

“Hey, Tomura,” she says, working a tiny hairband into her creation, her voice curious.

“Hmm,” he hums, careful to not shift his head, not wanting to disrupt her hard work.

“You didn’t ask my name again. At least… not after that one day.”

“Do you want me to ask?” He queries, his pulse lifting.

He’d wanted to ask her again, but he didn’t want to startle her, to shatter these innocences that they shared.

“It’s Beryl,” she answers. She says it confidently, and he turns to face her.

She grins at him, wiggling one loose tooth playfully at his serious expression, trying to tug a laugh from him.

“Beryl?” he repeats, unable to keep that awed hush from his raspy tones. It’s a pretty name. It suits her, really. But it’s strange. It’s not Japanese.

You hadn’t been Japanese.

“That’s a good name,” he assures her. “But, it’s not… you don’t hear that name very often.”

“Yeah,” Beryl concedes, her vermillion eyes roving over his face. “My mom’s not from here.”

His nostrils flare at that.

He hasn’t asked her about her mother. He’s unsure if it’s a general disinterest on his part, or trepidation. He fears it’s the latter.

Gulping, he tilts his head at her, feeling that soft braid she’s plaited into his hair shifting.

“Who’s your mother?”

“Who is she? She’s my mom, silly.”

“No,” he pauses, ignoring that creeping tremor that’s working its way to the top of his skull, his skin prickling and cooling. “I mean…what’s her name?”

“Oh! Her name is-”

“Beryl! Beryl, it’s time to come inside.” A teacher is calling for her.

Tomura startles away, drifting to his feet and pacing quickly back to the bus stop. He can’t help the snarl that etches its way across his lips. He’d been so close. So fucking close…

He chances a glance back at the fence and catches sight of Beryl. She’s dashing across the playground, her dark hair waving in the sun.

Japan is about to slip into summer. School will come to a close, moving into a long break. He won’t see her again for almost a month.

His heart sinks at that realization and he grits his teeth. Slipping his hands into his dark trench coat, he steps across the street, away from the bus stop, away from the little girl that’s feeling more and more like his own.

Edit: oh hey. so, i couldn’t stfu about this and created a sequel: Materfamilias

hahaha & part iii

#asks #answered asks #on kiddos #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x reader #tenko shimura #drabble #pal muses

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

The Pretty Boy and the Purple Scarf - [Reid x Fem!OC]

masterlist

Summary: Sam is very surprised when she gets hand picked to join the BAU. She’s even more surprised to meet Dr. Spencer Reid. It’s not surprising that she would develop feelings for him...but he can’t feel the same way. Can he?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Original Character

Word Count: 7.9k

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff/Smut

Content Warning: Unprotected sex, Dom!Spencer, light bondage, oral sex (female receiving), language.

A/n: This fic was a commission I did for @imjusthereformggcontent‘s birthday. She told me last night that it was “so good” and it “deserved to see the light of day.” She was being overly kind as usual, but here it is. I wrote this in second person which is a bit ooc for me. I hope y’all like it. 😊

--The Pretty Boy and the Purple Scarf--

Everything about the day you transferred from the 4th floor to the 6th floor was unexpected. You had only heard of Aaron Hotchner by reputation, but you’d never actually seen the man.

Which is why you were very surprised when he came down to the 4th floor and personally requested you be reassigned to the 6th floor; truth be told, that requested sounded more like a demand. You barely had time to gather your things before you were on the elevator upstairs.

You had been greeted by a very bubbly blonde woman in hot pink high heels. She had squealed with joy when the doors slid open and she caught sight of you.

“I knew you were the right choice!” She had chirped, teetering towards you. “Your work record is phenomenal, you passed all the background checks, and you’ve technically already taken the required psych courses to be a profiler.” She was positively shaking with excitement. “And you’re as cute a stinking button and look at your hair!”

Several minutes later the woman introduced herself as Penelope Garcia. Not only was she the technical analyst for the BAU, but she also split the responsible of communications liaison with the unit chief.

She then informed you that these duties would now be split between three people, SSA Hotchner, herself…and you.

Once the initial shock had worn off, you were thrilled. You had taken the psychology courses because you had always been fascinated by the behaviors of others. You had joined the FBI because you wanted to help people.

This was your dream job!

But you’d be lying if you said that those were the only reasons that working with the behavioral analysis unit was your dream job.

When Garcia had introduced you to the team that very first day, you clicked with every member right away. David Rossi always offered you a fatherly smile whenever he saw you, Prentiss and Garcia had invited you out to their girl’s night multiple times. Derek Morgan had taken to calling you “pretty girl” which never failed to make you smile. Even Aaron Hotchner was friendly towards you…well, as friendly as he could be. Occasionally you saw his mouth twitch whenever you made a sarcastic comment; you took that to mean that he probably liked you at least a little bit.

While that was also wonderful…it wasn’t why this was your dream job.

During that very first meeting, Garcia had introduced you to everyone in the conference room. They all smiled warmly at you and offered a handshake.

“And this is our resident genius Dr. Spencer Reid,” Garcia had introduced with a wave of her hand.

Dr. Spencer Reid was easily the most unexpected part of the day. He looked at least a few years older than you, so you were surprised that he had the doctor honorific, but the most startling thing was what he looked like. He was tall, possibly the tallest person in the room, with a slim build and unruly curly brown hair. His straight white teeth were dug into his bottom lip while he fidgeted nervously. And then there were his eyes. You now knew that they were brown with flecks of gold near the center, but in that light, they had actually looked like honey.

You offered him your hand, anticipating that he would greet you the way the others had; but nothing about Spencer Reid was ordinary.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead while he stared at your hand.

“The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering,” he informed you, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room. “It’s actually safer to kiss.”

Out of all the things you could have said in that moment, you decided to tease him. “I mean, you’re cute. I wouldn’t say no if that’s how you wanna introduce yourself.”

A choked laugh exploded out of SSA Morgan at your comment. “Oh shit!” He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Watch out, she’s got your number, Pretty Boy!”

Pretty Boy, you thought. It definitely fits.

The rest of the team had shared in Morgan’s amusement. Even Spencer had seemed amused; amused and thoroughly embarrassed. The apples of his cheeks had turned bright red.

You just shot him a slightly awkward smile because holy fuck he was cute, especially when he was embarrassed.

Later after the rest of the team had left the conference room and returned to the bullpen, you saw Reid standing in front of the coffee station in the kitchenette.

“Hey,” you called, coming up to his side. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in there. I’m Sam.”

He offered a small smile in your direction while he poured an ungodly amount of sugar in his coffee. “Oh, you didn’t. I was 12 years old when I graduated from a Las Vegas public high school. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Dr. Reid is tougher than he looks,” you joked, crossing your arms over your chest. “Got it. I can’t promise I won’t tease you again.”

He just laughed. “If you’re going to tease me then you can just call me Spencer.”

Things had started to change about 3 weeks after that. You had finally gotten more comfortable around the team, Spencer included. True to his word, he didn’t seem to mind that you had teased him a few times over the weeks. It was all harmless stuff, of course.

“Cute tie, pretty boy” or “sweater vests are an odd choice, but I’m into it.”

Derek was thoroughly amused, telling you more than once that your remarks to Spencer were the highlight of his day and that he wished you had joined the team sooner.

Throughout all those comments, Spencer never teased you back. He’d duck his head, trying to hide the blush on his face, or he’d just smile at you.

That all changed one morning while you were standing at the coffee station. Garcia had joked that she never drank coffee before working here, but it was like the machine had some sort of hold over everyone. After almost a month here, you were starting to believe it.

You liked coffee, sure, but only if it didn’t taste too much like coffee. You were honestly concerned about people like Hotch who drank black coffee; it just seemed like they must have been through something.

“And you tease me for how much sugar I put in my coffee,” a voice said from beside you, barely able to conceal a chuckle that followed their words. “Jesus Christ, Samantha.”

You turned to smile up at him, your green eyes meeting his warm brown ones. “Nice try, pretty boy. I’m putting a perfectly reasonable amount of sugar in my coffee. I don’t use nearly as much sugar as you do.”

“Probably not,” he conceded, propping his hip up against the counter. “You’re sweet enough anyway.”

Your eyes went impossibly wide at his words, you were stunned. So stunned that you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of your throat.

Dr. Spencer Reid looked just as surprised at his words as you did, two bright pink spots appearing on the apples of his cheeks. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that,” he squeaked out, his voice laced with embarrassment.

“You’re never going to hear me complain about you flirting with me, Dr. Reid.”

“You can call me Spencer, Samantha,” he reminded.

His words were so soft you were afraid you’d misheard him. Based on the slightly awkward look on his face, you could tell you didn’t. “Okay Spencer,” you breathed out, testing how his name felt in your mouth.

He started to turn to walk away before you found your voice again. “Oh, and you can just call me Sam. Everybody else does.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile. “I know, but if it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to keep calling you Samantha.”

The tension in the air seemed to thicken at his words. How did Spencer just saying your name have this sort of effect on you? Trying to keep your composure, you just nodded. “S-sure, Spencer. You can call me Samantha if you want.”

His nervous demeanor melted away. “Good.” He had turned back around and crossed the room before you even realized what had happened.

After that day, a sort of odd friendship had started between you and Spencer Reid. What had begun as awkward flirting attempts every once in a while from him were becoming more and more frequent, and a little bit bolder in nature. You loved that he was getting more comfortable with you.

But you couldn’t ignore how things had started to shift inside you over the past few months.

Talking to Spencer was the highlight of your day. Every time he called you Samantha when the rest of the world called you Sam, you felt butterflies in your stomach. Your mood always lifted whenever you listened to him talk about something he was passionate about.

One of your favorite things was how his cheeks would turn just a bit red whenever he stopped by your desk on one of his many trips to the coffee pot.

“Hey, can I get you a cup?” He’d offer, tapping his fingers against the desk.

You’d always smirk at him. “This is a weird flirting strategy, Pretty Boy,” you’d say, your voice teasing. “Not that I mind watching you walk away.”

The first time you had made that joke it took Spencer a second to get your meaning; the moment he did he flushed beet red.

Even though he acted embarrassed by your comments, he still stopped by your desk multiple times a day. Whenever he did bring you back a cup of coffee it was always made perfectly, just the way you liked it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when you realized what these shifting feelings had meant. You all were working a difficult case in South Dakota that was really getting to you. During a coffee run, Spencer brought you back a white chocolate mocha. When you’d looked up at him, your brows drawn together in confusion, he’d just smiled at you before he shuffled away.

Spencer Reid was becoming one of your best friends…and you were not so slowly falling for him.

The day after you got back to Quantico from Sioux Falls, you were back in the kitchenette, only this time you were getting your lunch. You normally ate lunch with either Spencer or Penelope, but you hadn’t seen the Pretty Boy since this morning.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts you didn’t even realize the very person you were thinking about had snuck up on you.

“What’s that?” His voice asked from beside you, causing you to jump slightly.

“Jesus, Spence,” you mumbled, embarrassed for your reaction. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

He just smiled at you, causing your heart to beat a bit faster. “You’ve never called me Spence before,” he said softly, his eyes searching your face. “Plus, I like scaring you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

It was hard to remember anything when he smiled like that. “Oh,” you said, shaking your head slightly in an attempt to clear it. “What’s what?”

He took a step closer to you. “You have something on your wrist.”

You were taken aback at first, because how the fuck did he see that? Nobody had ever seen that tattoo unless they knew it was there. It’s impossible, Garcia must have told him about it, you had reassured yourself.

His warm hands touched your arm, pulling it closer to him while his thumb traced over the almost invisible ink on your wrist.

“Is this a tattoo?” he asked softly, bending his head down to inspect it further. “I knew about the one on the back of your neck, but I didn’t know you had this one.”

You felt your stomach flutter. He had noticed the one on the nape of your neck too?

“Y-yeah,” you managed to get out. “It’s an anchor.”

Spencer made a noise of acknowledgment, his thumb still softly rubbing over the skin of your wrist. "It's interesting. You know, originally the anchor was a symbol of safety. It wasn't until years later that it got a newer meaning."

It was so hard for you to focus when he was near you, but now he was touching you too?

"Now it's a symbol of hope," he mumbled, his head lifting, his warm brown eyes locking on to your own. "It suits you, Samantha." With that, he dropped your arm and turned to get a mug for his coffee.

Now that he wasn’t invading your senses with his presence, you could gather your thoughts slightly. “How did you know about my tattoo, Spencer?”

He didn’t look up from his caffeine driven task. “A good magician never reveals his secrets,” he said cryptically.

You scoffed, earning a chuckle from him. Spencer turned; his amber-colored eyes were swirling with mischief, but also something a bit deeper. It didn't just feel like he was looking at you; it felt like he was looking into you. It felt like he really wanted to see you in the way that all people crave to be seen. He wanted to understand you.

He took a small step closer, his hand reaching up to brush over one of the green pieces in your long brown hair. “Maybe I just pay more attention to you than you think,” he whispered before he pulled away, leaving you stunned.

He was already back at his desk before you collected your thoughts.

Spencer Reid…couldn’t feel that way about you, could he?

Your feelings about Spencer were starting to seep into the front of your mind, no matter what you did to try and keep them at bay. What made matters worse is that you worked with profilers, the best profilers. How were you supposed to keep your feelings hidden from them?

You decided the best thing to do was try to put some distance between yourself and Spencer. It was extremely hard to do, considering all you wanted to do was be near him; but he just kept making these teasing little comments.

Of course, like most things in life, your plan didn’t go work out. You had been avoiding Spencer for exactly 3 and a half hours before he made his move.

You were coming out of Garcia’s lair when you felt a hand clap around your forearm, jerking you to a stop.

Now, you were normally not an overly clumsy person, but when your momentum gets shifted so quickly, it’s only natural to stumble a bit. You turned and tripped over your feet, causing you to tumble into a very warm person.

One of his large hands caught your shoulder, steading you. Your eyes traveled up, up, up, to meet the beautiful eyes of the one and only, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Why do you insist on scaring the shit out of me?” you scolded, swatting at his chest with the back of your hand.

He looked completely unbothered. “I wouldn’t have had to scare you if you weren’t avoiding me.”

Your mouth popped open in surprise. “I’m not avoiding you!” you protested.

Spencer’s eyebrows pulled together. “Then why haven’t I seen you in the last three hours, thirty-five minutes and seventeen seconds?”

You couldn’t control your snort at his comment. “You’re so weird, do you know that?”

Something happened to Spencer's face just then; his whole expression seemed to soften somehow. "You don't mind that I'm weird though, do you, Samantha?"

Those pesky butterflies erupted in your stomach again, reminding you of your complicated feelings. You took a step back, plastering a friendly smile on your face…at least you hoped.

“You’re a weirdo, but you’re my weirdo, Spence.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s weirdo,” he quipped, shifting closer to you. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes.

“Good, because you’re stuck with me.”

His face turned thoughtfully before he spoke again. “You know,” Spencer said quietly, taking a step closer to you. “Your eyes have some yellow in them around the center. It’s almost like they’re sunflowers.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. “Spence…you-you can’t…you can’t just say shit like that to me.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Because it makes me feel…It just makes me feel.”

“Is that bad?”

I don’t know. “No,” you decided. “I don’t guess it is.”

Those warm brown eyes continued to scan over your face. “No more avoiding me,” he ordered, pointing his index finger at you.

“I wasn’t avoiding you!”

He stepped away then, but not before he reached out and tugged on one of the green strands in your hair. “You’re a terrible liar, Samantha,” he informed you, before walking down the hall towards the bullpen.

“I really hope I’m not,” you muttered under your breath. You had to be a good liar right now…because what if how you were feeling made you lose your best friend?

“I need the BAU team in the conference room,” Hotch’s voice boomed out across the bullpen. “Now.”

You wrinkled your nose slightly; no cases had come in today…So why are we meeting in the conference room?

“Come on, Pretty Girl,” Morgan said when he walked by your desk. “You better hustle or else I’m gonna be the one that sits beside your Pretty Boy.”

“No, you’re not,” Spencer called out. He was already walking into the conference room, his eyes fixed on your face until the moment he entered the room.

“Uh-oooohhh,” Morgan teased, his mouth in a wide smile. “Pretty Boy is getting a little territorial, miss thing. It won’t be long now.”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “Won’t be long until what?” you asked but he was already running into the conference room. “Morgan!”

No matter how much you told yourself otherwise, you couldn’t help but feel like things were slightly different with Spencer. He had never been overly affectionate with people, but you were his friend, it wasn’t all that uncommon for him to hug you or brush up against you.

It was just that he seemed to be doing it so much more often. He was always sitting beside you on the jet, at the round table, he was even coming by your desk more than usual.

What’s more, he seemed to have a bit more confidence than normal.

You were almost positive you weren’t imagining it or letting your feelings influence your judgment.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer asked, his leg extending so he could poke your shin with the tip of his converse. You had decided to sit in one of the seats at the back of the plane; you were thinking of it as an experiment to test your theory. There was no seat directly beside of you, making the closest one the seat in front of you that was faced in your direction. In all the time you had known him, Spencer had never sat back here if other seats were available.

When he boarded the jet an hour ago his eyes had sought you out immediately, making his way to that set before flopping down into it.

Well, you had thought. I’m not totally crazy.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” you insisted, your eyes never lifting from your kindle. Spencer detested that you used an e-reader, but unlike him, you didn’t exactly feel like stuffing your go bag with heavy ass books.

He huffed. “One day I’m going to punish you for lying to me, Samantha.”

Your head flew up. “What!?” you hissed out in a loud whisper.

Spencer just lowered his eyes back to his book. “You heard me.”

The case had been a quick one to solve, thankfully. You hadn’t even been in town for 2 full days and the Tulsa police had already processed the unsub’s arrest, leaving your team free to go.

You probably could have gone home tonight if it wasn’t for the storm. There wasn’t actually a storm here that was the problem, it was the one that is Quantico. No matter how homesick anyone felt, it seemed like a unanimous decision to stay here one more night.

The team had arrived back at the hotel about 15 minutes ago, meaning you had only been in your room for 5 minutes when there was a knock on the door.

You had a sinking feeling in your gut that when you opened that door, you'd be met by a pair of warm brown eyes and wild light brown curly hair. It's not that you didn't want to see Spencer; the problem was how much you did want to see Spencer. No matter how many times you told yourself that the flirting was harmless, and he didn't feel the way you did, it didn't seem like your heart had gotten the message.

Maybe it’s not him, you thought. Maybe…maybe it’s a murderer.

No such luck was to be had, of course. You opened up the door to see the smiling, painfully handsome face of Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Spencer,” you laughed out. “We’ve only been here for like 10 minutes.”

The man just nodded, stepping around you and striding into your hotel room like he had a right to be there. "Can't I come to see my best friend?"

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at him calling you his best friend. “You just saw me.”

“No,” he argued. “I last saw you 8 minutes and 13 seconds before you opened your door.”

Heaving out a loud sigh, you just shook your head and continued pulling things out of your go-bag.

“You don’t mind that I’m here, do you?”

That gave you pause. He didn’t sound like the confident Spencer you’d been seeing the past few weeks. He seemed like the awkward Dr. Spencer Reid who had blushed to the roots of his hair when you made a joke about kissing him.

You shot him a soft smile. “Of course I don’t mind, Spencer. You know I just like to tease you.” He seemed relieved at your answer as he went to sit on the edge of your bed. “And you seem to like teasing me too.”

“Who said I’m teasing?”

You rolled your eyes. “If you’re gonna be in here, make yourself useful.” You handed him your phone charger. “Put that in my go bag.”

“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, not trying to hide his smile at your bossy tone. “Why am I putting this…what’s this?”

You turned your head to see the purple fabric in his hands. “A scarf? Have you never seen a scarf before?” you teased. “Some genius you are.”

His face pulled a sour look at your words that made you smile harder. “I just haven’t seen it before. I like it.” Spencer started wrapping the scarf around his neck.

“Wow, Dr. Reid,” you called out, your eyes running over his form. “Very sexy. You’re gonna drive the girls wild.”

"There's only one person I'm interested in driving wild," he said softly before he snapped back into his teasing tone. "Purple is my favorite color, you know."

You weren’t even thinking when you said, “I know, that’s why I picked it.” Spencer’s head swung in your direction, clearly surprised by your words. “Anyway,” you hurried out. “Maybe you should keep it; you look adorable Spencie.”

He hated it when anyone called him Spencie and you knew that. You had made the comment to hopefully throw him off from your confession that you picked out that scarf because it reminded you of him.

“What happened to sexy?!” he demanded. “I do not look adorable.” His beautiful face was marred by a scowl.

You put your hands on your hips, giving him an exaggerated once over. “I don’t know, you look pretty adorable to me, Spencie.”

Spencer’s eyes had taken on a different look than you weren’t used to seeing directed at you. It was the same look he always had when he was trying to solve a problem. “You really think I’m just adorable, don’t you?”

Now it was your turn to look at him oddly. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” He took a step closer to you as soon as the words left your mouth, causing you to take a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Proving I’m not adorable,” he said, his words quiet but harsh.

"How-" You never got to finish your question; before you could even realize that he was moving his right hand wrapped around your throat, using his momentum to push you back one final step until you were pressed between the wall and his body.

You blinked up at him, trying to ignore how all of this made you feel. Even in this situation, you still couldn’t believe that Spencer was actually attracted to you the way you were to him. This is probably just like his Eastwood impression, you thought.

His head was bent down, bringing his face much closer to yours than you were used to. You could see the perpetual shadows he had under his remarkable eyes, the small crease in his skin between his eyebrows.

"Is this how you prove you're not adorable?" You had tried to make your tone sound light like your heart wasn't about to beat out of your chest, but it hadn't worked. Your voice sounded breathy and curious even in your own ears.

He looked over your face one final time, looking for some sort of emotion that he must have found because the next instant his grip on your throat got slightly tighter. His face moving so much closer to yours that your noses almost brushed.

“No,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “This is.”

Before you could process his words, his lips finally brushed against yours. He was hesitant at first, but he grew bolder when you gasped against his mouth.

How many times had you imagined this moment? Yearned for it? And somehow the feeling of his body against yours was more than you had ever imagined. He was more than you ever imagined.

He took advantage of the gasp you let out, his kiss growing more hungry, more frantic. His body pushed into yours, his thigh coming forward to wedge between both of yours. You were vaguely aware of his hand leaving your throat, but all thought left your head when you felt both of his hands cradled your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek while he tilted your head where he wanted it.

Spencer Reid was in complete control of this kiss, and you were getting swept away.

His tongue brushed over your bottom lip, seeking entrance to the heat of your mouth. He groaned low in his throat when you immediately opened for him, the movements of your tongue just as bold as his. When your hands came up to grip his sides, one of his hands slid to the back of your head, his long fingers tangling in your hair.

There wasn't a moment of unsureness in this kiss; Spencer kissed you like he had done it a thousand times before. Eventually, the need for air became too great, causing you to break apart. You whimpered slightly when his teeth caught your bottom lips, tugging at it while he pulled his mouth away.

“I’m not adorable,” he panted out against your mouth.

You couldn’t do anything but stare at him in wonder. “I got that.”

His thumb moved over to run against your bottom lip. “No,” he whispered, his eyes scanning yours. “I don’t think you do.”

Those words seemed to hold a greater meaning that you couldn't quite put your finger on. How was anyone's mind supposed to work correctly when this man was standing so close?

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

"Yes." Because of course, you did.

For that moment he looked unsure like he was battling with something he wanted so desperately but was too afraid to reach out and grab. "If you tell me to stop, I will."

You didn’t get to ask him what he meant before he was on you again. This kiss was filled with the same passion as the last, but his hands had begun to roam around your body. Down to your throat, over your shoulders, brushing against the sides of your breast, and the sides of your waist, until they came to the bottom of your shirt.

He pressed his thigh more firmly against the part of you that ached for this man. When you groaned into his mouth, he broke away, his mouth trailing kisses across your cheek, then down to your neck.

Spencer gripped the bottom of your shirt, his thumbs ghosting against your skin before he started pushing it up your body.

Through the fog of lust in your brain, you realized what he was doing, causing you to tense slightly. He must have felt the shift in your body because he pulled his head up from its place against your skin, his eyes searching your face.

“We don’t have to do this, Samantha,” he whispered.

“No!” Your voice came out in a rush. “No, Spence I want to. I really want to.” He smirked at your words, one of his hands coming up to brush over the green streaks in your hair, his eyes still filled with fire, but somehow so incredibly soft.

“Spence, it’s just…I don’t know…I’m not…and you’re so…you’re so hot!”

He huffed out a laugh at your words, bringing the hand that had been touching your hair over to cradle the left side of your face. “You have to know that I think you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

But how could you have known that?

“Samantha, you have no idea how I feel every fucking time I look at you.” He brought his mouth down again, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to both of your cheeks. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

You felt your breath catch. “Do it then.”

Spencer looked unsure for just a moment before he looked into your eyes again. "They really do look like sunflowers," he muttered to himself. "If you want me to stop, just tell me to stop."

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “I don’t think that’s likely.”

He just smirked down at you before his entire demeanor changed. “We’ll see. Take off your shirt, Samantha.”

You were shocked at the sudden amount of authority in his tone.

“I won’t ask again, Pretty Girl.”

You were still slightly nervous, but the pull inside of you to obey his words was so much stronger than any sort of insecurity you felt. It was if your hands moved automatically, gripping the bottom of your shirt before tugging it over your head.

Spencer’s eyes ran over your newly exposed skin, lingering over your breasts. He reached his hand out towards you, his fingers brushing from your collarbones down to the tops of your breasts. Once they reached the edge of your bra, he paused, looking at you again.

“Your skin is soft, it’s like you were made to be touched,” he mused, unwinding the scarf from his neck. “Take this off. I’ve waited long enough to see your tits.”

Shocked at his words, you once again complied immediately. When your upper body was completely bared to him, he released another groan. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You felt yourself almost blush at his words.

“Hold your hands out.” Both of your arms extended in front of you. Your eyes went impossibly wide when he brought both off your wrists together before winding your scarf around them, binding you.

“I’d prefer to tie you to the bed, but this will have to do for now.” The scarf was secured now, but you knew you could break out of it if you needed to. “I want you to lay on the bed, raise your arms over your head.”

Once you had reached the position he had instructed, you turned to watch him. He had taken his tie off before he came to your room, leaving him in just a button-down shirt and his slacks. The placement of your arms brought your breasts higher; a sight Spencer must have enjoyed based on how long his gaze stayed there.

Before you were ready, he started removing his shirt. He looked so slim in his clothes; you hadn’t expected his body to look so well defined. Spencer Reid without a shirt was quite a sight to behold.

He joined you on the bed, his face hovering over your own. “I left my pants on because if I don’t have anything to stop me, I’m not going to be able to hold back. I’ll fuck you until you scream.”

You whimpered at his words. “Don’t worry my pretty girl, we’ll get there. But I want to savor you first. Keep your hands where they are, if you move them, I will punish you. Do you understand?”

You were struggling to think, his hands were moving over your skin again, those long fingers finally touching your breast, moving closer to your nipple.

“I asked you a question, Samantha.”

“Yes,” you responded, licking your lips.

Suddenly his fingers reached your nipple, he ghosted his thumb against the bud before he gave it a sharp pinch. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He groaned at the sound of his honorific leaving your lips before he gave you a smile that was almost predatory. Spencer shoved your thighs apart, bringing his body to settle against you. You could feel how hard he was against you, even though all of your clothes.

He only gave you a brief, soft kiss before he started moving down your body. He wasted no time now. His lips closed over the tip of one breast while his hand cupped the other.

“Oh my god,” you moaned out, already trying to rock your body against his. That feeling got more frantic when you felt his teeth graze against you before he started to suck you into his mouth hard. His hand left your breast, moving down your stomach until he found the fastenings of your pants.

With a pop, the button sprang free; the sound of the zipper lowering was so loud in the otherwise silent room. The shifting of your hips got more and more desperate when you felt his fingertips run across the elastic band of your panties.

With one final nip of his teeth, he lifted his head, staring down at you. “Such a needy girl.” He pushed his body off of yours, coming to rest on his knees between your thighs.

His hand both moved to your sides, just above your pants. He raked his fingers down the skin until he caught the waistbands of your pants and panties. Spencer revealed you to his gaze slowly; so slowly you were afraid you would spontaneously combust.

Once he had you completely naked on the bed, he ran his hands over your legs, admiring you.

“I was right to leave my pants on,” he chuckled. “It’s taking everything I have not to wrap your thighs around me and finally fuck you.”

“Please,” you whimpered out when his hand ghosted over the skin of on the inside of your knee.

“Soon, pretty girl. But first, I’d rather find out how those thighs feel wrapped around my head.”

You forgot how to breathe at his words. He leaned down, shifting farthing down the bed. Spencer's mouth moved over the skin of your inner thighs with a trail of wet, open mouth kisses.

When he finally reached his destination, he turned his head to the side pressing one finally kiss against your thigh before his teeth caught the skin. The sensation caused you to buck your hips.

“Hold still, Samantha,” he breathed against you. “I want you to hold still while I make you cum with my mouth. Can you do that?”

You weren’t sure if you could, but you bit your lip and nodded anyway.

“That’s my good girl.” That was the last thing he said before he pressed a kiss to your pussy.

His tongue ran against the entirety of your slit once before he parted you with his thumbs. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re so wet, pretty girl. You’re absolutely soaked for me.”

Even if you had wanted to respond to his words, you couldn’t have, because right after he finished speaking his tongue tapped against your clit. Using all the willpower you had, you tried to keep your hips still while his tongue made slow circles around your clit before moving down to your entrance.

He ran his tongue around it before he speared it inside of you, his thumb coming up to rub your clit while he fucked you with his tongue.

“You taste so good,” he moaned against you. The sensation making your legs shake.

“Please, please Doctor.” Your voice was a whine. Seeing Spencer Reid’s head between your thighs was the sexiest thing on the planet.

You could feel his mouth turn up in a smirk. His thumb kept its tortuously slow pace. “Please what, Samantha?”

“Please make me cum, please.”

You felt his other hand move over to your opening, two fingers entering you without warning, causing you to arch your back.

He withdrew them immediately at your movement, raising his upper body to look at you. You were not expecting it when his hand came down against your pussy in a sharp slap.

“Fuck!”

“I told you to hold still, Samantha.”

Your thighs were shaking in your efforts. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m trying.”

He smiled, running his tongue over his lips. “I know, Pretty Girl.”

His fingers pushed back inside of you, curling up. He shifted his hand slightly until he brushed again the spot inside of you that caused you to moan out a broken plea.

Your eyes had closed in both pleasure and as a show of self-control. If you saw what Spencer was doing to your body right now there was no way you’d be able to stop yourself from moving.

When you felt his mouth close around your clit, you were unable to keep your eyes shut. You had to look at him. His eyes were closed in bliss, his arm moving at a faster past.

His eyes snapped open and his mouth lifted when you moaned out his name. “Are you gonna cum, Pretty Girl?” he teased. “I can feel your tight little pussy squeezing my fingers. Fuck. I’m so fucking hard just thinking about what it will feel like when you cum all over my cock.”

“Spencer, please. I’m so close Please.”

He moved his mouth back down to the seam of your body. “You’ve been such a good girl, Samantha. You can move now, but your arms stay where they are. I want you to fuck this pretty pussy on my face. Can you do that?”

You nodded, your hips already moving to grind against him, seeking out your own pleasure. When his lips took your clit into his mouth, sucking softly, while his fingers curled into you, you were unable to control the loud moan that came out of your mouth as your orgasm washed over you.

Spencer’s fingers still moved inside of you, bringing you through your orgasm. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh as he removed his fingers when you finally started to come down from your orgasm, he then put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before he spoke. “I’ve thought about how you’d look after you came for me so many times,” he said quietly, moving up your body. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “This is better than I imagined.”

You tried to deepen the kiss, but you knew you couldn’t move your arms yet.

“You’re not done, are you baby?” He laughed when you frantically shook your head “no.” You didn’t think you’d ever be done with this man.

His hand shot up to wrap around your throat; he applied pressure to the sides to restrict the blood flow. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, Samantha."

You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of his hand against you.

“Still such a needy girl,” he teased. “Now, you’re not done, are you?”

“No Doctor,” you rasped out.

Spencer smiled before he brought his mouth to yours again. He didn’t remove his hand from your throat while his tongue slicked into your mouth. It twirled against your own until he sucked the tip of your tongue into his mouth.

He pulled away with a groan. “I can’t fucking stand this anymore.” His hands moved to his pants, undoing them in a flash. You caught sight of him inside of his underwear. He palmed himself, his eyes on your face before he finally peeled those down too.

Spencer was well above average in everything else, it wasn’t surprising that he was here too. His hand wrapped around his cock, giving a few pumps while his eyes ran over your body.

“Turn over.”

You moved onto your stomach; Spencer pulling you up on to your knees. You felt both of his hands run over your ass until his right one lifted.

He gripped his cock in his hand, bringing it to your dripping center. Even that powerful orgasm hadn’t satisfied your desire for this man.

You felt the head of his cock slip into you, causing you both to groan. “Fucking Christ,” he moaned. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He started to slowly fuck himself into you, going deeper with every thrust. Your upper body was propped up on your elbows, your head hanging between them. You had never felt so overwhelmed by a man like this before.

With one final thrust, his hips slapped against your ass as he filled you completely.

Your face dropped into the pillow when he started to move; you were unable to control how loud you were moaning.

Those long fingers tangled in your hair again, pulling your head up. “No,” he growled, his rhythm never faltering. “I’ve thought about fucking you for too long. I want to hear you, do you understand.”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip while your hips pushed back against him. "Yes, Doctor."

“Good girl,” was all he said but he didn’t release your hair.

This was a torture of the sweetest kind. Your hands were bound, both of his hands were holding you in place while he fucked you in an almost primal way, but you need to touch your clit so badly you could cry. You were already so close again.

Spencer must have realized it then too. He pulled out of your body, causing a whine to slip from your throat, your hips pushing back to seek him out again.

“On your back, Pretty Girl.” He helped you roll, settling himself between your thighs again. His fingers ran over the bindings on your wrists before he brushed his mouth against yours.

He gripped his cock again, lining it up with your entrance before he slowly started to sink into you. He pulled your legs up higher around his waist, pulling him deeper. You both groaned at the sensation.

Spencer started rocking against you, his pelvis grinding against your clit. He kissed you again, both of his lips covering your top lip.

You let out another whimper when his pace quickened.

“I should be so mad at you, Samantha,” he rasped against your lips. “You’ve kept this perfect pussy away from me for too long.”

His words caused you to clench around him. He lifted his upper body again, only this time one hand when to your throat, the other moving between your bodies.

You felt his thumb circle your clit while his fingers choked you again. “Come on, Samantha. I want you to cum for me, pretty girl.” Your head was thrashing against his hold, your body moving against his desperately. “I can feel it; cum on my cock baby.”

You might have screamed when the orgasm broke inside of you but you lost all sense of time and space when you came for him. Spencer's pace never slowed, his hands lifting from you to grab onto the headboard. His thrusts were brutal and seemed to extend your own orgasm.

With one final thrust, he groaned out “Samantha”, a look that you would remember for the rest of his life on his face while he found his release inside of you.

He quickly reached up and undid the bindings around your wrist with one movement. You brought your arms down, wincing at the pins and needles feeling.

“Sore?” he asked, his thumbs rubbing over your wrists.

“It was worth it,” you teased.

He smirked up at you. “So, am I still adorable?”

“I don’t know,” you pretended to consider him. “There isn’t enough data to reach a conclusion. You’re a man of science, you should know that.”

“Only you would make a science joke at a time like this.”

“It’s why you like me.”

His gaze softened, his hand cradling your face again. “It’s one of the reasons.”

You hadn’t gotten a chance to really talk to Spencer since that night in Oklahoma. He had slept in your room, causing both of you to rush around frantically the following morning so you wouldn’t miss the plane.

Then you had a full day of paperwork before Penelope insisted that everyone needed to unwind and have fun. So, against everyone’s will, she had dragged us to a bar nearby.

Now it was the next day and you had a nervous sort of excitement fluttering in your stomach.

“It’s a bit warm for a scarf, Pretty Boy,” Morgan called out, startling you.

You had noticed your purple scarf was missing from your go bag but you just assumed you left it in the hotel room.

That was evidently not the case as Dr. Spencer Reid walked into the BAU bullpen with it wrapped around his neck.

“My neck gets cold,” he defended. “I’m not used to short hair yet.”

That seemed to satisfy everyone else, but you didn’t miss the smirk he sent your way, or how he placed the scarf on his desk where you could see it.

It wasn’t until after 10 am that you could finally get a chance to speak to him alone. He didn’t look at all surprised when you started walking towards his desk, he just turned his chair to face you, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Are you going to give me my scarf back?” you questioned, your tone both amused and expectant.

Spencer just smiled at you, his cockiness seeming to have vanished. He looked almost nervous when he asked, “Are you going to go on a date with me?”

Despite all you had done, you couldn’t control the rush of surprise at his request. “Yes,” you informed him with a huge smile on your face.

His smile was just as earnest. “Finally,” he muttered, turning his chair back towards his desk. “And since you said ‘yes’, I think I’ll hang on to the scarf for a bit longer.”

-- The end.

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#Spencer Reid imagine #Spencer Reid x OC #Spencer Reid x Fem!OC #Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fan fiction #Spencer Reid fan fic #Criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds smut #dr. Spencer reid #dr. reid smut #mgg #Matthew gray gubler #reid smut

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ninjakasuga · 3 years

Text

Sonally Week Year 3 Day One

Another year, another of @gojira007 and their blog @boundforfreedomsonsal hosting another week of one of the best OTP’s of fiction. Here’s my entry for Day One: Dawn.

Foreward: Another year; another Sonally Week! Here’s my entry for Day One, and hope ya’all enjoy. This one is a sequel of sorts to my “Surprise” Day entry last year, where after some heckling over certain aspects of his romance with Sally; Sonic gets the news he’s gonna be a big brother! Instead of a literally dawn I decided to do a more thematic ‘dawn of a new part of life’ aspect than the actual time of day.

“Sonic.”

The blue furred Hedgehog in question continued to pace the floor, seeming to either not hear, or simply not regard the call of his name. He stopped, but not to reply, and began to tap his foot repeatedly as he often did in a show of impatience. Soon he was pacing yet again, causing the one trying to get his attention to sigh in exasperation, again.

“Sonic!” Raising her voice, just-oh-so-slightly, Sally again, attempted to get the attention of her fiancé’ this time reaching out and managing to grasp his tail and give it a small yank. Probably not the best thing for Sonic’s pride as he let out the cutest squeak in response, but Sally didn’t mind. Smiling coyly yet with a hint of apology in her eyes as he turned to face her, she reached for his arm, softly rubbing it. “Calm down a bit hun, you’re going to wear the floor out.” Rubbing his slightly sore posterior, Sonic gave his beloved a mild glare that softened almost as soon as it appeared; agitation giving way to the concern plaguing him. “Sorry Sal, it’s just, well it’s been over an hour since the expected due date. What’s the hold up?”

A voice quips from a chair along the opposite side of the waiting room from Sonic and Sally. “Well that’s how labor sometimes goes Sonny-boy. I mean you didn’t exactly pop out as soon as your Ma’s water broke. Slow-going was the name of the game.” Chuckled Charles Hedgehog, finding much amusement in his nephew’s impatience. An impatience he very much empathized with, but knew better than to get too riled up at this point. “So an hour past when the doctor expects the babies to come is small change, especially compared to how you made everyone wait a whole ten hours and ninety-one minutes before you finally graced us with your presence.”

Sitting besides Charles, Rosie Woodchuck let out her own dainty but hearty giggle as she reached to give the silver-furred Hedgehog a gentle squeeze of his hand. “Oh the language coming out of that room. We both feared for your brother’s manlihood if not his existence.”

“I wasn’t that hard on Mom was I?” Inquired Sonic with genuine curiosity mixed with a mild hint of indignity. His gaze only half-way went to his Uncle and Rosie; mainly because he still found it weird they were dating. Correction had been dating on the down-low since, well, a long time with the two only having a ‘break’ when he’d been roboticized all those years. He was genuinely happy for them, but it was still just plain weird to him.

“I think pregnancy is hard for any woman the first time around, or so I read and was told.” Mused Sally as she gently pulled Sonic to sit beside her, rubbing his quills to both straighten them out, and to soothe his nerves. Not unlike Sonic she was still processing the semi-recent revelation that her beloved former Nanny and Sir Charles had been dating under everyone’s noses for so long. Then again should she be surprised? Both were rather private people about their personal lives outside of whatever they did with friends and family. Not to mention the true reason they kept it quiet back in the day had more to do with concerns their positions in the Royal Court would cause unrest for some if their more intimate relationship came to light.

Looking toward Rosie, Sally was now curious about her own birth given the topic. “Were Elias or I rough on Mother?”

Rosie shook her head, “Not really, Elias took some time, but your dear Mother thankfully did not have too rough a time of it. Her calm demeanor kept up even dealing with labor pains, and the end result more than made up for it. You were much easier, as she knew what to navigate and you only took so many hours after the labor contractions began to grace us with your presence.” She smiled fondly, thinking about the two occasions, then giggled. “That said she wasn’t above occasionally reminding your Father it was his fault she was in that state, and well, that’s her story to tell more than mine.”

Snickering, Sally looked at Sonic with a very straight face, barely keeping a grin from forming. “I promise if we have kids, not to threaten your masculinity. That said, I will probably get my vengeance some other way.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Sonic elbowed his girlfriend-now-fiance’ gently in the arm. “Oh reeeeeeeally? Well you gotta catch me first Sal.”

“I already did.” She murmured, leaning in to kiss his cheek as she laced her fingers with his.

“Got me there,” Relenting, Sonic returned the smile, as well as the kiss, planting it on her fluffy cheek before leaning back in his seat. His concern for his Mother and his impending siblings, slightly alleviated for the time being.

The elder couple shared a look, one they had often shared when they were witness to the dear love and devotion between Sally and Sonic. From children to adults, the two always seemed to be a pair they fit so well, it was clear as day even when they were in diapers or arguing up a storm as toddlers, to their teen years. The small things in life that made all the gloom and doom of the past decade and some odd-change worth living for. Soon everyone’s heard turns as the double-door leading to the maternity ward opened and Doctor Quack limped out, leaning on his cane carefully, but with a confident stride; showcasing he’d come to master the walking tool quite well.

“Well-?!”

Holding up his free hand, both to interrupt as well as allow Quack to pull down his mask, his bill forming into a smile. “Your newborn sister and brother are here, healthy and loud, and your Mother is doing very well herself.”

The four cheer as they stand up, mindful this was still a hospital and kept it down, but their jubilation was completely understood.

“Can we see them?” Asked Sonic, already antsy and looking ready to speed down the corridor.

“Yes, we’ve already handled all the post-birth clean up, and checked their vitals as well as Bernie’s, who herself wishes to see you all as well. So I see no issue with allowing visitation right away, but do keep it brief, they do need their rest.” Advised the water-foul doctor as he kept himself straight, if just to fight off his own fatigue which was now creeping up after the long labor. “Just NO running Sonic, got it?”

At the mild admonishment, the Hedgehog simply grinned. “Me? Run through a hospital? Would I do thaaaaaaaaaaaat?”

“Yes, you would.” Everyone else remarked with amazing timing and matching deadpan. To which Sonic rolled his eyes.

“Sheesh, talk about a crowd! Anyway let’s go, let’s go!” Sonic urged, already half-dragging Sally along, forcing his beloved to keep in rapid pace close to him as they held hands still. Sally simply went with it, laughing softly at Sonic’s outright adorable impulsive need to see his new siblings. Chuck and Rosie merely followed at their pace, but there was certainly a spring in their step as well.

Eventually the group, along with Doctor Quack, reach the room designated for Bernie and her newborns. Managing to keep Sonic at bay enough, Quack pushed the door open for them and cleared his throat. “Jules, Bernie, your guests have arrived.”

Like an impatient puppy, Sonic squeezed past Quack, Sally trailing hand-in-hand still from behind. His emerald-green eyes, zeroing-in on the target, even as his breath hitched softly as a wave of emotion floored Sonic as he finally gazed upon his Mother and new siblings. As tired as Bernie Hedgehog looked, nothing could dull the intense love and adoration in her eyes and face as she held two swaddled bundles in her arms. Her husband Jules’ own expression was a mirror of his wife’s, only tinged with the pride only a Father can know. Each look up their expressions beaming more at the sight of their eldest child, with Jules instantly waving him over.

“Hey there son, come say hi to your baby brother and sister!”

Noticing that Sally seemed a bit frozen, Sally found back a ‘snerk’ that wanted to come out, and simply pulled him along. Upon seeing the two infants, mewling and cooing, her own eyes mist. “Awww, they’re adorable!”

“Y-yeah they are…” Sonic managed a dry chuckle, why did his throat feel so dry? He’d been psyched for this ever since his Mom laid the bombshell she was pregnant nine months ago! Of all the times for Sonic the Hedgehog to choke and lose his cool, it’s this? He didn’t lose his cool this much, asking Sally to marry him for Almighty’s sake! Leaning over he got a much better look at the two.

One of the two clearly favored their Mother’s more light-purple coat, another had the milder-blue of his Father. Both were cute as a button, and just, the sounds they made! Sonic usually wasn’t one to obsess over cute things, but he was entranced. “So we got names for these two? Or do I call em’ Li’ Sib one, and two?”

“We were thinking of Sonia, for this little angel.” Explained Bernie as she gently pet the back of her daughter’s head. The newborn curled against the warm hand that carried the scent of her Mother. “As for this handsome young man, I was thinking of something with M, like Manwell or Manny.”

“If he’s anything like Sonny-boy he’ll be one manic child.” Chuckled Charles as he and Rosie moved closer taking the end of the bed so as to not crowd anyone.

Something about that line struck a chord with Jules, who instantly adopted a thoughtful look as he rubbed his chin. “Manic, manic, why not Manic?” He grinned even as his wife looked at him rather funny. “Face it hun, if Sonic’s any indication, these two are going to be spirited, and it kind of goes well don’t you think?”

After a moment, Bernie tired rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she however smiled, “Manic it is. However if that name causes him woe, I’ll be sure he knows he has you to blame.”

“Anybody gives him or Sonia woe I’mma deck em’.” Sonic proclaimed, pounding his fists together.

“Nor alone,” Agreed Sally as she leaned against him. They weren’t her siblings biologically, but already she had decided she would help protect them at all cost.

“Triple, and quadruple so.” Added Rosie, who nodded along with Charles. The family was united on this front.

“Fantastic.” Giggling, Bernie kissed the heads of her newborns. “Hear that, your family is ready to murder for you.”

“You all can plot future murder later, as much as I hate to spoil the moment, Mother and both newborns need rest.” Spoke up Quack as he stood at the door, keeping silent until now.

Yawning, Bernie nodded in agreement, she was drained. Her gaze lifted to her husband. “You get some rest too, you’ve been up with me through all this.”

“I didn’t do even a fraction of the work; but, rest sounds good.” He yawned, quickly covering his mouth. “Mind if I just crash here Doc?”

“I’ve already asked an orderly to bring a rollaway for you. I know better.” Smiled the duck-doctor in a knowing fashion. “Now come now everyone, time to go.”

Looking at his parents, Sonic instantly stated. “We’ll visit tomorrow, promise.”

“Looking forward to it son, looking forward to it.”

Giving his siblings one last look, Sonic smiled and winked at the two infants. “Welcome to the world you two, hopefully by the time you can talk and explore the world there’ll be one last fat-man to worry about. That’s a big-bro promise!”

#boundingintofreedomsonsal #Sonic the Hedgehog #Princess Sally Acorn #Bernie Hedgehog #Jules Hedgehog #Chuck Hedgehog #Rosie Woodchuck #Manic Hedgehog #Sonia Hedgehog #Archie-Sonic

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cherrypieships · 3 years

Text

the amusement park: chapter two

A/N: whew omg it’s been a while since I posted! Anyway I’m back and better than ever with part two, the finale of the amusement park!! This chapter includes a trigger warning for fake blood and cult mentions. It's a haunted house, so it isn't a real cult, but I'd rather be safe than sorry <3

Ship: davey jacobs x pepper simmons (s/i), featuring my best friend V and my gf Khourey and their respective f/os, race higgins and jack kelly!

Summary: When the sun sets on Canobie Lake park, the amusement park turns into a Halloween extravaganza, where Pepper and Davey find themselves paired up once more.

Once the sun had dipped onto the horizon, the last dregs of color fading from the sky as the stars came out, the group found themselves heading towards the sides of the park, where the haunted houses were set up. Mickey looped their arm through Pepper’s, pulling her close and pointing out the performers walking past; a clown with a chainsaw, a long-haired girl in a tattered hospital gown, a man wearing a pig’s head as a mask.

“So they basically walk around the park and try to scare people.” She explained, and nudged V so they could listen in as well. “But little kids sometimes wear these little glow-y ball necklaces, see? And the performers can’t scare them.” She pointed out a pair of kids walking past, both of their t-shirts illuminated by spiked plastic spheres attached to long black cords. Sure enough, the actors walked right past them.

Vi pushed their bottom lip out, turning towards Mickey. “That’s so fucking cute.” They cried.

Pepper smiled. It was pretty cute, and a good idea on the park’s part. “Do they wear them into the houses?” She asked curiously.

“I fuckin’ hope not.” Jack scoffed. “I wanna get scared, I’m not here to miss a good haunted house cause of some kid.” He smiled when Mickey swatted him. “What? It’s true!”

Mickey’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, but don’t be a dick about it.” They chastised, going to swat him again, and as their hand made contact, Jack snatched it and brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

Averting her gaze, Pepper felt something cold swirl in the pit of her stomach at the casual intimacy. She focused on the gum wrapper on the ground beside her shoe instead of whatever that feeling was.

V’s knuckles rapped against Pepper’s forearm, a gentle knock for her attention. “Hey, I gotta hit the bathroom, you wanna be my buddy?” They asked, though the raise of their eyebrows gave the impression that the question was simply a formality; there was no option.

Making the journey to the restrooms a short one, Vi didn’t even pretend they had to pee, instead moving to stand in front of the mirror and check their eyeliner. “So are you gonna make a move tonight?” They asked, voice quieter than usual.

Pepper sighed, of course this was the reason she was in here. “Dude, I don’t fuckin’ know.” She said, exasperation travelling across her features at even the thought of confessing her feelings. She’d talked a big game about it before, about how she loved Davey, about how she’d confess her feelings for him the second she got the idea he liked her back, but truthfully she was… well, she was scared.

Vi barely looked up from the mirror, but their expression softened. “Obviously you don’t have to,” they reassured. “But I bet that if you don’t at least ask how he feels he’ll never tell.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “That’s because there’s-“

The door to the bathroom flew open and Mickey blustered inside, annoyance clear on their face. “Okay, how dare you two leave me alone with those idiots.”

V grimaced. “Oh shit, sorry. I just wanted a minute to see what was up with Pepper and Davey.”

Mickey’s lips pursed, eyebrows raising onto her forehead. “Oh shit okay what’s the deal?” They asked, moving closer.

Against her better judgement, Pepper leaned her head against the bathroom wall. “There’s nothing to tell! I don’t have any plans to tell him, and there’s no way someone who talks as much as Davey would have a crush on someone and not say something.” She looked pointedly at her best friends.

“That… is an excellent point.” Mickey acquiesced.

Vi lifted a finger. “Or! Maybe that’s the way you can tell that he does like you.” They moved toward the sink to wash the eyeliner remnants from under their fingernails.

“What?”

Mickey nodded. “Oh, no, I totally get it.”

“Get what? What are you talking about?”

V smiled, turning to put their damp hands on Pepper’s shoulders. “You just said Davey never shuts up.” Pepper nodded slowly. “He’ll talk to you about anything, right?” Another nod.

“But he never talks about what’s up between the two of you.” Mickey finished. “Literally, even if Jack asks, he brushes him off.”

Brow furrowed, Pepper turned back to Vi, who was grinning. “If you don’t ask, he’ll never tell.” They clarified, an echo of their earlier statement. “Don’t fucking focus on what he says, bitch, you have to ask about what he’s not saying.”

Terrifyingly, that made it click. Something welled up hot and thick in Pepper’s throat, hope or fear she couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, she wasn’t budging at her friends’ optimism. “You two are reading too far into this.” She countered weakly.

Mickey grabbed her hand, squeezed it a few times. “Listen, we’re not pressuring you.” They explained, and Violet hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to ask him anything or tell him anything, if you just wanna vibe tonight, that’s totally cool.”

Just like that, the tension melted from Pepper’s body, her psyche apparently pleased at being left alone for the moment. She looked between her friends, Vi’s warm smile and Mickey’s kind eyes, took a deep breath, and went back out into the park.

Back where the boys were waiting, the curtain to the first haunted house had lifted, and the line began to move. Jack waved them down with a smile, and they gapped into the line. He pulled the park pamphlet from his back pocket and flipped to the back, where the haunted house attractions were listed. “Okay so we started next to the big spinn-y thing. Which is… the cult one, The Culling.” He announced.

“Yeah, Jack.” Race deadpanned. “It’s on the sign.” He pointed above the line, which, sure enough, boasted the name of the site.

Jack swatted his friend with the pamphlet before tucking it into his back pocket. “I knew that.” He grinned, throwing an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and pulling them closer.

Davey nudged Pepper’s side. “Partners?” He smiled, offering his elbow as their group stepped up to the banister blocking off the entryway.

She ignored the wink that Vi threw at her, and looped her arm through Davey’s with a blush and a simper. “Hope we don’t die in there.” She mused.

He patted the hand she’d placed on his bicep, warm in contrast to her poorly-circulated own ones. “If we do, we’ll die doing what we loved.”

Her head tilted. “What’s that?”

“Kicking and screaming.”

Pepper crumpled into a fit of laughs as the employee lifted the bannister. “Have fun.” The woman at the entryway smiled, her eyebrows raising mischievously.

Race and V went first, obviously, Race throwing his arm across their shoulders and pulling them close. Mickey and Jack went next, Jack’s hand curled protectively into the back of her shirt as they ducked through the curtain. A billow of dry-ice smoke kicked out at her and Davey as she gripped his arm tighter, moving through the curtain and into a room flooded with red light.

There was a man in the corner, a pair of bloodied goat horns protruding from his head, who growled lowly at them as they walked past. Davey cast a look in his direction, following in the footsteps of his friends, and they heard Race scream further up ahead. Pepper laughed a little at that, the adrenaline beginning to swirl hot in her veins.

The next room was full of actors, at least a dozen kneeling frozen in mock prayer, and the woman to Pepper’s right let out a broken wail, making her jump. Davey’s hand came to grab hers again, this time his fingers tangling with hers. He was laughing gently at her fright, something that might have pissed her off if it had been anyone else.

They passed through a hallway full of strobelights and white walls painted with bloody handprints, the thrum of electricity the only noise for a moment, and Pepper opened her mouth to ask when the Cult Stuff would start, when a man wearing a decaying goat’s skull for a mask barrelled around the corner, making both her and Davey scream.

She curled into his side, awkwardly stepping on his shoe as she did, and watched the man with enormous eyes as he tilted his mask curiously at them. Davey laughed a little, and whether he was trying to laugh off his fright or genuinely enjoying himself, Pepper couldn’t tell.

They rounded the corner, careful of the actor who’d popped out at them, and turned into a room seemingly devoid of anyone, except for Mickey and Jack, who were giggling as they shuffled into the next room. The walls were tall and painted white, a hidden projector playing a black and white video reminiscent of those old war propaganda commercials. It was too loud for Pepper to hear anything properly, but she could catch snippets of the voiceover, “Join us in… the great and powerful… be afraid…” as the video flicked between church services, goats on farms, hypnotic black and white spirals.

Davey tilted his head at the screen. “Christians, am I right?”

Swallowing a laugh, she jutted her elbow into his side. “This is not the time, David.” She snorted, coyly tugging him closer by the anchor his hands provided. Fuck it, why not get close to him while she had the chance?

The end was in sight, she could see the cool blue light of the outdoors pouring in from the other side of the final room; one that was lined with pews, with a goat-headed preacher at the front, holding a black leather-bound book and screaming about the end of days. The church (cult?) -goers were in various stages of worship, some with their arms in the air, some reading their scripture, some sobbing towards the sky. A shudder ran through Davey, one so intense that she felt it in her own skin, and she wondered, briefly, what was so freaky about this particular scene that he-

SLAM

The actor in the pew she’d just passed closed his book with a deafening bang. She jumped, screamed so loud it felt like the sound had been ripped from her teeth, and didn’t realize she was shaking until Davey’s arm encircled her, speeding past the latter half of the room and out of the first haunted house.

Pepper swallowed a mouthful of fresh air, held it for a few seconds, and released it with a pleased laugh. She turned her face up to Davey’s, ready to ask him if his heart was racing the way hers was, when he cut her off, gripping her shoulders like she’d disappear. “Are you okay?” He demanded.

Her eyebrows pinched together, her smile melting at the way his eyes were blown wide. “Yeah? I-I’m fine?” She said, reaching up to grip his wrists. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

Every hint of expression faded from his face. The fire left his eyes, his hold on her softening, his jaw and browline going slack at the realization. “Yeah, I… I thought he-”

Race’s hands landed on either one of their shoulders. “Hey, Jack wants to know if you guys wanna do the hotel one or the factory one next, we’re at a tie.”

Pepper turned to him, blinking back the heat in her cheeks. “Oh fuck, okay, we’ll be right there.”

There were four more haunted houses, each of them with a bit of walking distance between them. Davey didn’t release her hand until they’d cleared the last attraction.

---

Still reeling from the adrenaline rush of the haunted houses, the group made their way toward the back of the park where the Ferris Wheel resided. Violet and Race were skipping down the lanes, their laughter fluttering in the cool autumn wind. Mickey and Jack were walking in front of them, their pinkies linked as they recounted their haunted house experiences.

Pepper tried to ignore that Davey was still so close to her.

His voice broke her out of her thoughts.

“Which one was your favorite?” He asked, the back of his hand brushing against Pepper’s as they walked. He was looking down at her, nose all rosy and cheeks flushed. He wore autumn so well.

She pursed her lips as she thought. “The cult one.” She settled after a moment.

Davey grinned. “Mine too. Or the hotel was really good.” He turned to her once they reached the line for the ferris wheel. “Y’know, when that guy back there slammed his bible closed I thought he hit you.” His fingers twitched, like he was waiting to reach for something.

There it was. The reason for his earlier freakout.

Laughing lightly, Pepper shook her head, curls falling in her face as she tried to dispel any of his remaining worry. “Oh God, no. Isn’t that illegal, anyway?” She focused on the ferris wheel ahead of them, the eighty feet of blinking lights and rocky baskets that they’d be shoved into; anything besides the bewildering look that was back on Davey’s face. Ahead of them, their friends were being ushered into passenger cars. Jack planted a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head and whispered something into their ear that made them grin.

Pepper tried not to be jealous, and failed.

Beside her, Davey was rambling again. She tuned in right in the middle of his spiel. “It’s some kinda torture house, basically. They just wail on you for like ten hours, and they film it, too. You have to sign a waiver and everything, and it’s like, forty pages or something. I watched a video of this one girl who went there and she said-”

“You two all set?” The ride operator asked, her smile bright as she cut into Davey’s rambling.

He blinked, like he hadn’t realized how close they were. “Oh, um. Yeah, I guess we are.” He resolved.

They clambered into the rocky car and belted themselves in, waited for the attendant to lock their door, and began their ascent.

Immediately, Pepper felt the wind chill. “Holy fuck, it’s freezing up here.” She barked. Davey’s cardigan was warm, sure, but the cold air cut through it like a knife.

Davey turned to her and readjusted the way he was sitting, opening up his arms. “I know, c’mere.” He wiggled his fingers and everything and, well, how was he supposed to say no to that?

She scooted closer until her leg was pressed right up against his, and her upper body curled into him. They’d done this before, a million times, when watching movies or at parties when it got crowded, or when she asked him to read to her, and Davey, ever the wonderful companion, never complained-

Oh.

Oh, no.

That was what her friends meant.

Davey’s arms wrapped around her tight. Without thinking, her arm did the same. “Better?” He asked, pulling back to look down at her.

Pepper smiled with her heart in her throat. “Always.” She said, and looked up at him.

And there he was. The same Davey as always, with his pale skin and round hazel eyes, now grinning down at her like she had hung all the stars in the sky just for him. Here he was, and he was so close that their noses were almost touching. Not correcting strangers who thought they were dating. Holding her hand and giving her his clothes and sharing drinks with her. Here he was- and she was confused.

His mouth twitched, the way it always did when he was worried. “You okay, Pep?” He asked, quieter now.

A slow nod. “Yeah… just, um, thinking.” She responded. He opened his mouth, eager to ask more, but she cut him off. “About us.” She said, feeling bold now.

Davey’s eyebrows just about skyrocketed off his face. “Us.”

“Yeah.” Pepper’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t think she could stand another minute of this. All of her affections bottled up like a powder keg while he played with them so nonchalantly. “Davey, what are we?” She hoped the question didn’t come out as raw as it felt, but she could almost taste the blood on her tongue.

“Oh.” His shoulders dropped, and he looked away. His arms didn’t move from around her, but his eyes were flicking back and forth. “We’re… you’re… m-my best friend and...” He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath. “You’re my best friend and... I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

Pepper sat up as the Ferris wheel stopped. They were at the top now.

“I know that’s a lot to throw at you, I’m sorry, but all day I’ve just been thinking about you and about how much it feels like you’re this missing piece of me, you know? Like every time I need someone you’re there, and every time I talk about you to anyone I get this big grin on my face. And then earlier when that lady said what she said, it just felt so right.” He’d been gesturing wildly with his hands until she grabbed them.

She pulled his hands into her lap, encasing them with her own cold ones. “Davey.”

He sighed with a wry smile. “You can tell me no, Pep, it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Davey.” She tried again.

“And it’s not gonna ruin anything, I promise. I love you but that’s not gonna make me turn into an asshole, I still care about you as a friend.”

“David.” She grabbed the sides of his face in her cold hands. His jaw was tense. “I love you.” She said, plainly, the way you would state any other fact. The sky was blue, the Earth was round, and Pepper Simmons loved Davey Jacobs.

And for once, Davey- sweet, lovely Davey- didn’t start talking about love, or about basic heteronormativity, or fucking haunted houses. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Any great novelist, or even just your average writer, always compared a great kiss to fireworks. But this, Pepper thought, was better than any fireworks she’d ever seen. It was coming home after a long night. It was sitting by a fire on a cold winter day. It was years of sharing beds and writing texts in secret languages, of sitting at each other’s family dinners, of shared secrets and pinkie promises, playful teasing and pathetic yearning, all wrapped up in a soft press of lip to lip. It was Davey. Of course it was. In retrospect, nobody else had ever stood a chance.

Pepper was giggling when she pulled away from his lips. “I love you.” She repeated.

The lights of the amusement park were glittering in his eyes. “And I love you.” He was beaming, their foreheads tipped together. Then he started laughing, soft and slow and bubbly, as though he were savoring it. “Oy, we’re so ridiculous.” He said as the ferris wheel began to turn again.

She could’ve stayed there for days, looking at each of the freckles on his face like little star clusters in her vision. If there were ever a photo she could keep framed on the walls of her memory, it would be this; his smile, the ivory skin around his eyes crinkled as he laughed. She was laughing too. “Yeah, we are.” Her head leaned against his shoulder, a sigh escaping before she could stop it. “How long?”

There was a beat, and she knew Davey was thinking. “Um, four years maybe? It was the summer before junior year of high school, I know that much.” The thumb of his right hand, still around her, began rubbing at her shoulder.

Pepper sat upright, aghast. “Oh my God, you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” He grinned.

“Holy fuck.” She snorted. “We could’ve been doing this for years!”

Davey poked her side, making her laugh in turn. “How about you?” There was the look in his eyes again, and this time she recognized it. Dreamy, warm, a little vulnerable.

“Senior Prom. Remember we slow danced together?”

The ferris wheel stopped again, this time with them at the back. “Yeah, holy shit. I was so nervous that night.” Pepper laughed, head tossed back. “I’m serious! I was so sweaty, I’m surprised you didn’t comment on it.”

“Your hands were like holding clams.” Another poke, this one less playful. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We’re here now.”

A kiss landed on her cheek, warm in stark contrast to the biting cold. “I can’t believe this.” He was laughing. “I can’t believe you liked me back.” He said.

Pepper nuzzled her nose into his neck. “I know. I can’t either.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, looked up at him and sighed.

He turned back to her. “You know they’re not gonna leave us alone, right?” He asked, tilting his chin towards the baskets below them that held their friends.

“I’m aware,” she mumbled. “I mean, they did call it.”

His lips curled up into a wry smile. “I know they did.” His fingers found the long strands of her hair, wrapped themselves in them. “Race and V haven’t left me alone about you for like, two years straight.” He shrugged. “And oh my God, if I have to hear Sarah and Les talk about it one more time I’m gonna explode.”

Pepper’s jaw dropped. “Sarah and Les were teasing you?”

He scoffed gently. “Are you kidding? They tell me to shut up every time I talk about how pretty you are.” And yeah, maybe she should have expected that, if he truly had been in love with her since junior year of high school, but Pepper’s body reacted quicker than she could recognize, her cheeks going hot and nose scrunching as a smile broke across her features.

“Well,” She said as the ferris wheel began to turn again. “Lucky for us, we probably have some time to kill before we have to face them again.” She bit at her lower lip, glancing up at him and hoping he would catch onto her proposition.

And, since Davey had always been smart, he did. “You’re right.” He breathed, and then leaned down to catch her in another kiss, one that went on, well… a little longer than the first.

Later, they had to face their friends, red-faced and smiling as they admitted what had happened. They had to endure a good hour’s worth of teasing, V and Mickey taking the opportunity to deliver a few well-intended pokes to Pepper’s sides, and Race and Jack offering high-fives to her- well, she supposed he was her boyfriend now.

The two of them climbed into the backseat of Race’s mom’s minivan again, this time hand-in-hand and sharing warm laughter. Davey stole another kiss from her, giggly and content, and promptly leaned his head on her shoulder to get some rest.

She supposed everything else could wait.

#drop a like/rb if you read!!#thank you so so so much to everyone who read this i'm actualy really proud of it #shout out to V and Khourey #davey #olive talks #my fic #the amusement park

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cloveroctobers · 3 years

Text

• ROHAN WASTI•

IG info/bio: @/niceguyroasti | 175k followers | Just here for a bit of fun 🤹🏽‍♂️! They don’t call me the brown handstand king for nuthin, mate 🎪🤸🏽‍♂️

(23) 25 (26) years old

From Wolverhampton, England

Before you ask...no he’s never met Liam Payne but Rohan’s sure he’s a great lad. (He was asked this question in one of his lives, he secretly thinks it was talia from one of her secret burner stan accounts lol) He’s got a nice tune with a boogie w da hoodie that he likes??

Anyways...he’s of Pakistani heritage

His mother used to work for a printing press company until she along with 15 other employees were laid off back in Sargodha

She was out of work for months becoming a stay at home mom (which his father initially wanted)

While his father continued in ironwork

They uprooted their family to the uk two years later after Rohan’s father also got laid off

Rohan was about 7 years old when they moved to Wolverhampton

he picked up on the English language faster than his parents

Always a quick learner

He has two younger brothers

Who are really his cousins/friends of the family that his parents brought home from Pakistan after their parents passed in a tragic accident

he was eleven years old when he met them at the airport and was super excited to have sibs! & even encouraged his mom to let him buy them something they would like sort of like a ice breaker which they seemed to appreciate 😭

His parents wanted him to major in software engineering or any form of engineering really but that quickly became a “hell no” vs “hell yeah” after those courses started to rot his brain?

So what does he do? He decides he’s gonna major in psychology instead!

That seems more of his speed? Kinda? As long as he’s not dealing with that hardware shit then that’s cool with him tbh

Psych held more of his interest since he doesn’t have a issue with the whole science aspect tied into it but it’s deff lengthy and can be draining sometimes too

He doesn’t psychoanalyze everything like our girl marisol does

marisol will be like “hmm...you’re distributing narcissistic behavior based on your superego more than your ego ya know?”

but Rohan will either think it or think nothing of it and just continue to go with the flow lol. He’s that kinda guy

Why was he majoring in this in the first place? Just to say he had the degree in something maybe?

He’s 50/50 thinking he’ll just get the degree he’s halfway there but he really wants to be part of the circus

And now has circus themed tatts that he’s proud of thank u

Always had the obsession with all that comes with the circus, he had his paternal grandfather to thank for that

His grandfather used to juggle along with other forms of entertainment but mostly juggling on the street back in Pakistan to earn $ since there were a lack of jobs

The atmosphere there also was what got him into doing handstands cause why tf not

You can absolutely guess that the acrobats, trapeze acts, and tightrope entertainers are his favorites to watch

His parents just assumed it was a hobby of his and never took him serious even tho he openly said growing up that’s something he would like to do in life

He now understands the purpose of “freak shows” even tho he can honestly say those parts of the circus used to terrify him until he learned that not everyone is the same and there should be no shame in that

He will train on the side until he finishes his degree to make his parents happy but he knows he truly belongs in the circus and that’s where he will be someday whether his parents approve or not— after all this is his life

Lives on campus and is currently looking for a flat off campus to share with a roommate or two (he thought about asking jake & Tim but decided against it FOR NOW)

Mostly had temporary and odd jobs to get by each semester, has not had a steady job due to fully being a full-time student

He’s tried to be a full time student and full time employee (working as a package delivery man) just to burn himself out and never attempted to be a part time employee. It was not something he could handle sorry

His mother spoils him...he’s a bit of a mama’s boy

When it comes to relationships, it never seems to be what he thinks it is? One moment things are going great then the next he’s in the friend zone so he’s never quite sure where he stands with his significant others?

Which is why he thinks it’s safe to always start off in the friend zone or unintentionally puts those who have interest in him in the friend zone because that’s what’s comfortable to him

however if he’s really into you & you’re showing that you’re into him but it’s causal dating or whatever u want to call it? & you up and decide to pick the other over him catching him off guard he’s gonna be in his feelings about it 100% ex.) how he picked erikah over mc the 2nd time around and felt some type of way when erikah hopped on reeses dck

he wants communication even if it’s hard

and he wants someone to love unconditionally and for them to love him back

Definitely likes to sweep his loves off their feet

Especially when he’s kissing! The whole dipping you while you kiss, hand on the small of your back, or hands gripping your waist while he’s pressed up against you. Probably likes to bend you over things or have you pressed up against objects as well—Sign me tf up

I feel like he’s always warm and his hands are surprisingly soft with how many handstands he does in a damn day

He purchases hand moisturizing gloves

can always hold his own weight

enjoys core exercises

Will carry you on his back or his shoulders if you need to see better at festivals/concerts

He’s sexually fluid

It’s canon/hinted that something went on between him & jake when mc walked in that we missed by a few seconds or even a minute but I do think he’s attracted/was to jake and it’s canon that jake is bi bby

Plus he got excited when mc suggested that he’d date jake if jake doesn’t find someone in the villa so BOOM 🤗

Always active as a kid trying to do flips and shit likes he’s doing parkour much like Bobby ending up with bruises, scrapes, and surprisingly no broken bones? Well maybe scratch that last bit out...He did crack his head open a little bit once giving his mother a heart attack but his mother doesn’t dare speak of it — haram!

Loves his sleeveless shirts and silver thick chains

Keeps a five o’clock shadow + might grow a little stubble here and there, feels like it’s part of his signature look

Won’t grow a full beard due to the racism/prejudice he witnessed his father, grandfather, uncles, and cousins go thru!

Will spend coin on some aftershave, none of that cheap shit when it comes to that! Sorry he takes pride in his facial area

probably went thru a mild case of cystic acne when puberty hit & had some insecure moments when it comes to his appearance & still has moments where it’ll hit even tho he beat it thanks to some remedies but tries his best not to let it get to him

He knows how to manage his $ but can splurge every now and then but will never showcase what he has — that’s v corny to him to be overly flashy. He’s looking at y’all @/leggy @/jasper/@/miles

Doesn’t take high quality photos of himself, it’s always zoomed in or extra zoomed in photos—yup he’s got that type of feed

Regrets putting mc in the friend zone & wishes he put more effort in making things work with erikah

But slowly learned to be happy that she’s with Reese even if he wasn’t at first. He really thought there could have been something for him & erikah

he secretly thinks their “relationship” is superficial & based off of shallowness and lust. What else do they have? Nothing that he could have given her but what’s the point in being bitter over this?

Reese is a shit stirrer that thinks he can get anything he wants because of the way he looks & if he knows outside info that he can use again you, he WILL

& erikah? He doesn’t know where her head is at majority of the time. She likes to throw rocks then acts like she didn’t mean to do it but why do it in the first place if you didn’t mean to? + she seems to lose interest fast if they don’t fit her standards besides their physical appearance...yeah Rohan caught all of that

So did she even genuinely like him or want to besides what he brought to the table physically? Who knows

He just thinks people deserve their chance at happiness and he possibly could have had it if he wasn’t standing in his own way...and he absolutely won’t stand in anyone else’s way if they don’t see potential happiness with him

He’s cool with cherry but deep down he knew there wouldn’t be anything long term between him & her after some time. She’s a beautiful/hot girl but she wasn’t his type + he didn’t like how she portrayed herself in the villa even tho she claims there was more than what meets the eye when it comes to her

she proved that to him which she didn’t HAVE to!!! outside of the house and they actually remained friends unlike the now growing distance he has with erikah

I cannoned that him and Hannah give it a go. I think they’d be cute together? She told him from the moment they met at a festival that they were now dating after they ended up holding hands but he didn’t take her seriously since she was a little drunk?

She messaged him two days later asking him when they were going on their date and that was enough for him to give it a go

They only lasted for a couple of months since they outgrew each other slowly but surely. ‘Not all things are temporary,’ he had to remind himself

It was no bad blood thankfully and they continued to be friends with him wishing her well on her new relationship with Carl. He was genuinely happy for her as he always was for his friends

Cannot cook for shit but makes the best coffee with cinnamon & cardamom

once tried to make Aloo Chaat but with a twist! With the use of Potato Skins instead! for a family dinner party and his mum almost sent him home due to the insults his father spewed at rohan trying to fool them all that it was his wife who prepared such a thing

It is evident that his father only enjoys his wife’s cooking

he still makes it for himself when he’s starving despite what his father thinks

Is fluent in Urdu, English came second

Never ashamed of his culture although his father thinks he is...

His fav shows are misfits + the IT crowd and he is currently watching & enjoying truth seekers + mr. selfridge since Tim recommended it to him ofc

his fav American show is the challenge

when asked what his fav American movie is, he got dragged since ppl assumed it would be the greatest showman but he can’t take all the singing...musicals aren’t his thing sorry

But he’ll bust out a rap only if Tim & jake are around, he rarely does it alone

Even looked into producing music for fun but never took THAT seriously

closest with jake & Tim, doesn’t have much of a relationship with the other lads 🤷🏽‍♀️ but there’s no real beef with anyone he knows how to let shit go

But you’ll never catch him having a chat with Reese or following him back on ig. What they had to say to each other was already said and done so?

If erikah agrees to get engaged to Reese, he’s happy for her but cordial to him

if she doesn’t end up with Reese, he’ll be her shoulder to lean on if she needs it

his love language is physical touch with a splash of acts of service

Commonly sleeps curled up, his mum says he was like that in the womb as well—(same dude)

He’s probably a good 5’9 - 5’7 on bad days

Is he a Pisces? Idk

His signature cologne is probably Antaeus by Chanel which is described to have notes of: lemon, lime, coriander and sage w. A blend of thyme, basil and rose

Loves black pepper, specifically garlic, onion, black pepper, and sea salt all mixed together

has a vitiligo spot on the right side of his lower spine that is commonly covered with the waistband of whatever bottoms he has on

has a pogo stick

Wants to go skydiving next, has gone bungee jumping—which was such a adrenaline rush!!!

probably knows a few tips on how to survive in the wild or if the apocalypse hits...you can never be too sure

If he ever gets a pet he might get something like: Satanic Leaf tailed Gecko, Kinkajou, or a Pac-Man frog. He likes being different okay

he actually enjoyed season 3 despite the negative remarks made about it. It was “different” basically drama free which was a shocker knowing how production likes to take things take a shot every time ro explains his decisions/opinions as such lol

BUT he won’t go as far to say he liked it better than his season yet he did enjoy keeping up with it. He def has a crush on iona, aj, vieve, Camilo & tai

Yasmin actually joined one of his lives, which he doesn’t do too often but he couldn’t sleep one night and thought he’d give it a go. She’s quite nice & quiet but he ultimately felt calm around her + they bonded over bohemian lifestyle & his love for the circus + a little about their cultures

Long term goals? He doesn’t have a set timeline of when he wants everything to happen because pressure is not fun

but he wants to be in love and loved back, wants to be married, wants to have kids, wants to try out the circus for awhile and if that doesn’t work out he can always fall back on his psych degree—he just wants to be happy and share that with someone, that’s one of the biggest adventures he can possibly have

His anthem = Blxst, “No Love Lost”

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Belamour - Chapter One (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, death mention

wc; 4.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The horrid sound of wailing is enough to wake you up from the dead of sleep. Sweat runs down your back in tiny droplets, tickling certain nerves, making you shiver even though it’s nowhere near cold. As you instinctively search the room, expecting an intruder to be waiting in the doorway--you’re met with nothing.

The room is dark, and quiet besides the muffled sobs that sound from the corner of the room. When your eyes land on the crib, you’re able to see your sister, desperate to get out and get the day started already. That or she’s tired of the silence, and she’s hungry.

“Please.” she asks politely, hands outstretched for you to help her.

You run a hand through your hair, getting it to stop sticking against your forehead. As you slip out of the small bed, you stretch your arms above your head, yawning loudly to try and get the grogginess to leave. It’s no use this early.

“Good morning.” you scoop her up gently, going to set her on her feet. The second she realizes this, she grabs a hold of your shirt tightly, clearly in no mindset to let it go anytime soon. So, instead you let her lay her head against your shoulder like she did when she was a baby, and go to leave your bedroom.

The second you step out, you realize that the house is empty. And a clear indicator is the fact that the curtain’s aren’t open to allow sunshine in. They’re still drawn shut tightly to make sure that no peeping neighbors get the pleasure of seeing what it looks like in the morning.

Although, with the severity of today’s date, you’re sure no one would bother to do something like that. Maybe some other day, or month. But things are already pretty low at the moment, why make it worse?

As you tuck your sister, Alyssum, into her booster seat, you wonder what there is for breakfast besides oatmeal. If you even think to bring it up, she’ll undoubtedly throw a fit over it. So, you take a peek into the old, paint-chipped cupboards to try something that won’t cause a fight.

You find nothing.

You pull down the oatmeal, and then for good measure, grab the sugar. Right when you turn to give her a speech about breakfast options being limited today, the lock on the front door rattles. You close your mouth and lean against the counter, watching as the handle turns and then opens to reveal your two older brothers.

The first and oldest to come through the door is Reed. He’s got an old backpack over his shoulders, and in each hand is a jug of water. Alyssum pushes herself up in her seat to look over the back of the chair and see who’s joined you. When Reed realizes he’s got an audience, he smiles.

“You look rough.”

“You look rough.” you mock, he laughs at the tone, setting the jugs onto the end of the kitchen counter, and turns to face your second oldest brother, Mox.

In his hands is a blue cooler that seems to be weighing him down. He’s hunched over, teeth clearly clenched and looking disgraceful. He blows a single strand of his long hair out of his face repeatedly, likely irritated that he’s been stuck with the heaviest object of them all.

“Need help?” Reed asks.

And in the same exact way you mocked Reed moments earlier, Mox says; “Need help?” in a high-pitched voice, “Shut up.”

Reed snorts, delighted with himself. He slips off the backpack and sets it onto the counter. When he unzips it, he starts unloading everything he must’ve got while he was out with Mox. It starts with bathroom items first; shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, a brand new package of toothbrushes. And then immediately after is what you were hoping for, food other than oatmeal.

“I’m hungry.” Alyssum whines, Reed slides the fresh loaf of bread your way. This is from the local Bakery, this isn’t from The Square.

“How much was this?” you ask, looking at Reed.

When he doesn’t answer, you look to Mox instead. The two of you have a long staring contest, which is made up of you mostly waiting for him to cave. And he does, with a sigh, he looks back to the cooler and pushes it into a small space between the wall and the counter just big enough to fit it sideways.

“We didn’t have much of a choice.” Mox says, pushing on the lid to make sure it’s shut tight, “The Square was out, they were busier than usual today. If you’d gone, you’d understand.”

“So you couldn’t have gotten something else?” your attention is turned to Reed, now.

Reed shrugs, “We had a little extra change to spare. And really, it wasn’t all that much. In fact, we were practically begged to buy it because it would go to waste. He lowered the price considerably for us.”

“Enough to make a profit but now enough to gorge us.” Mox agrees, “It’s fresh too.”

You nod, hoping that they aren’t making up some blatant lie just because they wanted a fresh loaf of bread from once. You know that the bread from The Square can be daunting at times, but if they didn’t dance around the food for so long, then they wouldn’t psyche themselves out.

Plus, it’s not like anyone along that alley would willingly give anyone diseases or sicknesses. Especially not your family, with how long you’ve been going to get food from them. For you all to leave now would mean to risk going out of business, losing regular customers like that.

You pull the bread knife out of the silverware drawer, turning it over to make sure that it’s been cleaned thoroughly since Mox has a habit of not double-checking when it comes to putting away anything supposedly clean and dry from the rack. When you’re sure it’s fine, you sink the blade into the top, and find yourself satisfied when you don’t have to fight for the bread to give.

You plate a slide and a half of the semi-warm bread, and set it in front of Alyssum. She reaches over immediately, tearing apart the crust from the soft middle, and goes straight to eating. Mox gets her a small drinking cup, halfway filled with water and sets it beside the plate.

“I’m gonna go pick out our outfits.” you push the cutting board and knife away from the edge of the counter. You scoop up the toiletries to drop off on your way to the back of the house, “Feel free to start dumping water in the tub.”

“Sure.” Reed says.

You set up everything neatly and in their respective places inside of the bathroom. Above the glass tub is a tiny window with tiny curtains. You open them enough to allow light in the room, hoping to save gas in the lanterns for nights you actually need them. On the way out, you pass Reed, who’s got the first bucket of many that will fill the tub.

You start with the easy outfit first. This one will cause little to no thought when it comes to it. Alyssum is still relatively small. She’s grown since last year of course, but she’ll still fit into the dress you wore when you were her age. So, you pull it out of the bottom of the dresser by her crib--that seriously needs to be upgraded into a small bed, instead--and lay it on top.

A dress, a clean change of underwear, socks, her tiny Jane’s. You place a small cardigan on the occasion she gets cold in this summer heat while she waits. Then, you move onto the more challenging task. You find yourself standing in front of your parent’s bedroom, unable to open the door and go inside.

Every year, it’s the same struggle. The same argument inside of your head. Why bother going inside when you can wear last year’s dress? And then you remind yourself that last year’s dress doesn’t fit anymore, and therefore you need a bigger one. None of you have the money to spare for a new one, so you have no choice but to try and fit into what used to be your mother’s dresses.

You know that the second the door opens, the old smells will be overwhelming. It’ll be enough to bring tears to your eyes and freeze you in the middle of the room. If it’s too strong, you’ll probably collapse to the floor like you did two years ago, and you ended up succumbing to the onslaught of tears that year.

You don’t want that to happen again.

You should be able to just ask one of your brother’s to do this task for you, then. If it’s so unbearable painful to go through. But it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for you. Reed doesn’t show it anymore, but you know that he doesn’t like to be put into situations where he’s compared to your father. And if anyone even mentions the fact that Mox looks like your mother, tears will well in his eyes and he has to excuse himself from the conversation, never staying long after her mention.

It’s been a couple of years, but the wounds are still very fresh in your minds.

Knowing that the tub water is getting cold now, you tilt your head and grab the cold doorknob, turning it slowly like you’re afraid you’ll stir up memories. You avoid the squeaky floorboard strategically, and take your last breath of air to ensure that the smell of the room won’t be a distraction.

The first sight you’re greeted with, is the mirror that’s directly across the room from where you stand. You’re able to see that your hair is messy, and you’ve got a tired look in your eyes. To be fair, you haven’t really had a chance to fix either of those things just yet, and you’re hoping the bath will.

Wasting no time, you move over to the wardrobe. Inside on hangers are old suit jackets that belonged to your father, and dresses that you never really saw your mother wear except on formal occasions, which were rare. You pick through the dresses, looking for one that’ll fit you. Over the years you’ve grown out of even her wardrobe, proving just how much of a small woman she was.

You go ahead and settle on mustard yellow one way off to the left. You tried it on once, way in the distant past. Back then it was much too big for you, so you had to give up the surprisingly pretty color. Now, you’re fearing that it’s too small for you. Oh, how the tables seemed to have turned.

You shut the creaky wooden door as you situate the dress over your arm, making sure that the doors don’t slam back onto the frame. Your lungs are already burning, upset at your slow pace in the room. And the exact moment you go to hurry up, you manage to stir up a puff of dust that makes home inside of your nose.

Oh shit.

You sneeze, turning your head away from the dress to make sure that no matter what, it stays clean. It’s not just once, or twice. After the third sneeze has left you, Reed rounds the corner to check up on you. At first, his face is grim at the sight of you in your parent’s bedroom, but then he’s amused.

“It’s dusty in there, huh?”

“Shut up.” you sniff, and then instantly regret it because it’s obvious that there’s still stuff up your nose. You quickly shut the door behind you to make sure that after round two, there won’t be a three.

Once your body seems to get a hold of itself, your eyes are watering and you feel a little miserable. You’re just glad that you don’t have allergies like this all year round. In your room again, you fold the dress in half neatly, placing it on top of the dark oak desk. Then, your underwear, socks right on top. Off to the side, your own black flats.

You poke your head out into the doorway to the front of the house to see that Mox and Reed are at the table, eating their breakfast. Alyssum seems to be about halfway done, her pace slowing considerably. It looks like she’s done, and you’ll unfortunately have to finish off whatever soggy bread she didn’t touch.

In the bathroom, you shut the door and set out a towel. The water is probably luke-warm, mostly on the side of cold. And the second you dip your toe in, you’re so right. You scrub your skin with the sickeningly sweet soap that they had bought. As if the first smell isn’t nauseating enough, the shampoo doesn’t help much at all, either.

At least it’ll be able to temporarily wash away the smell of salt on your skin. Even if you haven’t been on the dock, in a boat or into the water in a week or so, the smell never seems to go away. It’s only a matter of time before you naturally begin to go back to the original scent that plagues the district.

And it’s not even close to the smell of sweat. In fact, the salt smell compared to the sweat, makes the salt smell sweet. Not as much as the soaps from The Square, but it’s a hell of a lot more pleasant than sweat and body odor.

When you get out of the bath, you dress in a second set of clothes that you had laid out in preparation of giving Alyssum a bath. To keep the dress dry, you’ll wear an old nightgown. Luckily for you, Alyssum doesn’t get fussy during bathtime, and she finds herself enjoying it.

And with how old she is now, you don’t really have to do anything other than monitor her. So, while she uses the soap and swoons at the brand new scent, you brush your hair free of tangles and dread the moment where you have to make it look nice for this afternoon. At the end of the bath, you still have to wash Alyssum’s hair, but right after you’re able to leave the humid room, taking the hair brush with you.

“Bathroom is free!” You shout, heading towards your room.

You shut the door behind you, setting Alyssum onto the edge of your bed. She complies patiently as you take your time getting her dressed. You skip over the shoes for now, since they’re a little tight on her feet now. Might as well let her be comfortable for as long as possible.

She manages to find a toy to entertain herself while you move to getting dressed. You make sure that your skin is dry entirely, afraid of the dress sticking to you while getting it on. While you pull it on slowly, you come to realize that the dress is loose. It’s not as nearly as tight as you thought it would be.

You dry your hair when the damp towel you used earlier, squeezing the most out. Alyssum mimics you in the motion, and manages to get the corner of your bed wet in the process. Hopefully by tonight, it’ll be dry and disgustingly wet against your feet.

You go ahead and do Alyssum’s hair, assuming that your brothers are still busy in the bathroom. You sit behind her on the bed, gently bringing the brush through her hair because you can’t feel the pain like she can. Alyssum let’s you know when it hurts, and you work your way around it. You bring half of it back, use a tiny band to secure it, and mostly leave it loose for taking it out later.

As you start your hair, you can hear the bathroom door open. With Reed being done, it’s only Mox left to go inside. You manage to get your hair to stay in place, allowing full movement of your head in any direction. It’s a relief, really. To not have to worry about that this entire afternoon.

On your way out of the bedroom, you slip on your flats and wait for Aly to slide off the bed. She lands on her feet, let’s out a nice giggle, and then rushes out of the room and towards the right. Going straight to Reed, probably.

You hang the towels up on the hooks outside the bathroom in the hallway. The bathroom is too small to have so many things clustered around at once. If and when guests come over, you’ll take the towels and whatever else might be out here, and tuck them away in the cupboards or singular shelf to resume the idea that the house is nice.

In the kitchen, you grab yourself a slice of bread and enjoy it while you wait on your brothers. Eventually, Mox comes out and wanders the hall to the shared bedroom with Reed in nothing but a towel. And not even a second later, Reed comes around fully dressed with Alyssum on his arm.

“I’ve got to do my hair now, pumpkin.” Reed says, setting her on the couch, “After that we’re gonna go.”

She huffs, but doesn’t say anything. You grab a glass of water, being careful with the jug. Once you’re done, you set everything that had been used into one neat stack on the left side of the sink to indicate that it’s all dirty. When you come back later, you’ll probably be the one to take care of it, since Reed and Mox will likely go out fishing as soon as possible.

Mox is ready before you know it, joining you, Reed and Alyssum in the kitchen. Upon agreeing that you’ve got everything you need—Reed had put Alyssum’s shoes on—and you’re not forgetting anything, you all head out, dragging your feet on it.

The second you step foot out of the house, you’re welcomed with the sight of Caspian’s family doing the same. Caspian is an old friend of both Reed and Mox. You’ve tolerated him since middle school, but recently stopped paying attention to him because he has a bad habit of getting on your nerves. Whether that be purposeful or not, you don’t pride yourself on surrounding yourself with people you don’t like.

Although, it’s not really like you have a choice. He’s a friend of Reed and Mox’s, and they’re not gonna leave him behind just because you say so. Your brothers love you dearly, but not that dearly.

“Hey!” You hear Caspian call, “Long time no see.”

“Haha.” Reed says, heading over after locking the door.

You tune the banter between them out, because you’ve got bigger fish to fry. Today is reaping day, and today your name is in the bowl four times. And compared to the people that have to take tesserae, it’s nothing. The four little slips of paper with your name on them, mean absolutely nothing. Especially with the population of District Four.

However, it’s still four. And next year the number will be five. And the year after that the number will be six. The more it grows, the more your odds increase. The thought alone is enough to make your heart stutter and struggle to resume it’s regular beat.

To say that you’re afraid is an understatement.

But you’re one little person in a sea of thousands. There’s no way you’ll get chosen. And since the odds are supposed to favor those in need of help, your name should be skipped right over. Two valuable people in your family’s life have died already, and you don’t want to be the third.

Reed and Mox are barely above the reaping age. There’s only a year’s gap between the two of them. So, Reed is twenty and Mox is nineteen. If the two of them scraped on by without being chosen, then you should be just fine too. Plus, they were taking tesserae for a good two years while you guys got back on your feet.

The walk to the stage on your part is relatively quiet. You have nothing to hold onto since Mox is carrying your younger sister, so you pull on your fingers to ease your nerves.

After a certain point, you decide to hum to fill the silence. The more you walk, the bigger the crowd gets. Until you’ve come upon the line of where you need to get signed in at. Without any instruction, you go ahead and get into line, still pulling on the finger that they’ll inevitably sting.

By the time you reach the front of the line, you feel sick. A part of you wants to believe that it’s just simple intuition, but you know better than that. This happens every year, and this year isn’t any different. Your finger is stung, and then you’re ushered towards where the eligible teens for the reaping stand in sections.

Your brothers catch you just before you go inside. Mox assured you that none of your hair is out of place, and Reed gives you a small pep talk on how it’s unlikely, but never be caught off guard.

You bid them goodbye, heading into the fifteen section on the left with the girls. They let you in freely, and you stand and try not to sway in the hot sun. It’s exactly overhead, maybe even a little behind. As long as it’s not directly shining into your eyes, you don’t really care where it is, exactly.

You take a quick look behind you to check up on your brothers. Unfortunately, since the back rows are the older kids, they also get taller. You can’t exactly see your brothers, but if you strain on your toes hard enough, you can barely make out the top of Alyssum’s head. Clearly, she’s on Reed’s shoulders.

When you turn back to the stage, you’re greeted with the sight of the mayor helping Mags onto the stage. Mags is the only female victor of District Four, therefore she’s the only mentor that the female tributes can get. Which is a bummer, considering her age. She might mentor every year, but that doesn’t mean she’s too knowledgeable about the technologies inside of the arena now.

She was the winner of the eleventh games, which were fifty-four years ago. Talk about there being a time difference between when she was in, and when people go in now. Back then you’re pretty sure that they only fought in one arena every single year.

Following Mags is a small parade of male victors. The first one seems to be just as old as Mags, maybe a little younger. You think his name is Luther, but you’re not entirely sure. Behind Luther is Scotch, a lot younger than Luther. Scotch is completely bald, and seems to have a scowl on his face.

The final person to walk out is Anchor. He’s the most recent victor of Four, and he won—ironically—four years ago. Despite this, seeing him on the stage is still very new to a lot of you. Especially because of the age gap between Anchor and Scotch, which is a good ten to fifteen years, at least.

You’re sure that District Four would have more victors if it weren’t for the careers and how they prepare for the games. It’s no secret that they’re doing something with their tributes. The number of victors they have is unnatural. And one very good example of this is the latest female and male victors of District One.

Typically, you wouldn’t remember their names, but it’s the fact that they’re siblings and back to back wins that makes it stick in your mind. And they won so recently too. First, Gloss won the sixty-third games, and then his sister, Cashmere, won the sixty-fourth.

Both from District One. They’re siblings. They’re back to back wins. That’s never heard of. It’s just not normal, and the Capitol has to know this. They just let it slide because they’re a favorite, which is so unfathomably unfair.

You manually unclench your teeth and settle for pulling on your non-injured finger while you wait. It doesn’t take too long, soon the victors have sat down, the sections are full and the anthem is playing over the stage. You watch as your mayor shuffles up to the microphone, clears his throat, and then begins the wretched speech that you have memorized by now.

It’s just a background history on why the Hunger Games had been created. It’s been nearly a century, and the Capitol is still hung up over something that happened sixty years ago. And it’s even funnier to think that they’re punishing the descendants of their beloved ‘criminals’. Simply being alive in the districts nowadays is offensive to the Capitol.

The speech finally ends, the mayor closing it up promptly to keep on time with the program. He introduces your Capitol Representative, and then takes his respective seat on the right side of the doors, opposite of where the victors currently sit.

Elysia Petalsong—honestly, their names are so ridiculous. As if their body modifications weren’t heinous enough, now they’ve got last names of fairytale characters. Anyway, she’s looking a lot more humble this year. Her outfit isn’t as outrageous as the last, which was mostly so she could get a good year's worth of spotlight. Now she’s just as lame as she was before.

She wears a blonde wig, and you can tell because there was one year her hair was brown, and her hairline wasn’t shifting every time she moved her head. She wears a yellow outfit that strangely resembles the sun. If the fabric had been a little more metallic, there’s no doubt that she’d be reflecting the sun right into all of your eyes.

There’s a huge smile on her face as she leans into the microphone. Even from this distance, you can see her unnaturally white teeth. She stands tall, “Good afternoon, citizens of District Four,” unlike other Capitol Representatives you’ve heard, her accent doesn’t stand out nearly as much, “Happy Hunger Games.”

Before you know it, you’re involuntarily rolling your eyes. They land on the ground before you, and you can see that some dirt and dust has been kicked up and onto your black flats. Luckily, there’s no actual imprints of someone stepping on them.

The Capitol finds joy in the games, while the districts writhe in agony. You’re not sure how a bunch of people can find fun in watching twenty-three teenagers fight to the death. But then again, who’s to say that the Capitol citizens are even human? They don’t act like it. They don’t think like it.

“We’ll start with the ladies.” Elysia chirps, making your heart skip in your chest. All at once, the nerves seem to resurface. And even with your greatest attempts to repress and ignore, it’s impossible.

You wish it were possible to turn around and see your brothers. You know for a fact that would bring comfort. But there’s tall girls behind you, and your eyes seemed glued to Elysia, monitoring her every movement.

She moves smoothly to her left, gazing into the bowl as if the white paper slips inside are mesmerizing. You can’t help but to wonder if she gets a power trip each time she pulls one out. Knowing that her fingers could have selected the next victor.

She reaches in, the rings on her fingers clinking against the rim of the bowl. She hovers for a moment, like she can’t decide which one will give the best outcome. The tension that had started in your stomach has risen past your chest and straight into your throat.

You hold your breath, it’s not like you have much of a choice anyway.

She picks out a paper slip, and you can audibly hear the other girls around you hold their breaths too. All of you share the same amount of anxiety as to who will be chosen this year. Eyes wide, and some praying that it won’t be them.

Elysia moves back to her microphone, taking her time with unfolding the paper so that it doesn’t accidentally rip. She reads it to herself, it seems and then that smile spreads back over her face. She looks out to you girls.

“District Four’s girl tribute is (Y/n) Gallows.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair lacuna #lacuna

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

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find your way (back to me) - chapter fifteen

Finally, here we are! I’m so sorry that I left y’all on a cliffhanger for such a long time but I needed to be in the proper mood to capture the tone of the last scene in this chapter. All we have left after this is the epilogue!! Hope y’all enjoy!

Malcolm doesn’t remember the last time a gunshot was so loud. It takes away all of the sound in the room like a vacuum had opened up in the center stealing one of his most vital senses. Only his own screaming remained, raw and bloody from the pieces of his heart still left in his chest. He can taste the copper through the cloth where the blood had sprayed his face.

He can’t bring himself to open his eyes. Not when he knows what he will see. His mother will be lying on the cement, too still. All of the color he has in his life fading with her skin tone. Bright and lively eyes will stare blankly up at the sheets of metal, denied the last opportunity to see the sky that she loves so dearly. The one person who refused to leave his side even when he was ungrateful ripped away violently. All she ever wanted was for them to be happy, she pushed herself to make sure they were.

Oh god, how will he tell Ainsley.

His shoulders wrack with sobs and he rocks back and forth trying to gather the little control he has left to open his eyes and face reality.

Someone grabs him by the shoulders roughly and every ounce of anger explodes out of him. He thrashes around using every part of his body that isn’t tethered to the chair to knock the person off their balance. It works and he hears the person crash but they’re immediately replaced by another.

This one wraps their arms around him, a hand holding the back of his neck with manicured nails digging into his skin. The grip forces his head into a shoulder where his face is buried into a smooth silk blouse. But it’s the smell that makes him stop moving, bourbon and vanilla permeates his senses and dissipates his anger.

He pulls back, eyes wide and searching for answers.

Blue eyes stare back at him, red rimmed but smiling. A relieved laugh escapes her lips while she pulls the fabric from his mouth.

“Mom?” He whispers, his voice breaking.

He takes in the scene fully, Dr. Garcia is still slumped in her chair but she’s stirring clearly still alive but not entirely aware yet. The person he knocked to the ground was Dani, a pocket knife in hand looking a little winded after being headbutted in the stomach. The killer is on the ground, a hole in the middle of his forehead likely dead before he even hit the ground.

He has so many questions. Where did Dani come from? How did she know the perfect time? Did they plan this? Where is everyone else?

Those questions matter so little once his arms and legs are free.

He crashes into his mom, arms wrapping around her stomach so he can bury his face in her hair. Every image that flashed through his mind haunts him as he tightens his grip on her. He almost pulls away when she groans in pain, remembering it had not nearly been long enough into her recovery for him to be holding her so tight.

However, her arms wrap around him too, keeping him just as close to her chest. Her fingers brush through his hair, her voice a comforting whisper in his ear as he breaks down in sobs.

For all he knows she could be a figment of his broken psyche. The last piece of straw that breaks the camel’s back taking what’s left of his sanity with her. He breathes the scent in, his own hands gripping the back of her shirt. If he lets go she will disappear, just another body in a morgue. Just another life taken by a killer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The scene Gil walks in on is heartbreaking.

His gun was still drawn as he followed the screams. When they stopped he feared the worst. He rounds the corner on the scene that stops him in his tracks.

Malcolm clings to Jessica, both of them standing grasping the other as if they are the last connection to this world. They don’t even notice the new presence in the room. Too busy assuring themselves that they are, in fact, still alive.

It’s Dani who sees him first, checking in on Dr. Garcia who was slowly coming to before coming over to him. Her face gives away everything, her panic that had been building since she got off the phone with him to the relief that she got him in time. She opens her mouth, ready to deliver the report of what happened to him in detail.

He doesn’t let her.

Gil grabs her wrapping Dani in a hug around her shoulders and letting out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding for the entire drive. If it weren’t for her, god he doesn’t even want to begin to think what would have happened to his family. If Jess had died, it would have destroyed them all. Malcolm, already fractured by his father, would be gone. Ainsley just starting to put her life back together again, stuck wandering from room to room searching for someone who isn’t there. He would lose her all over again with no chance of repair this time.

“Thank you.” He whispers to her. “Thank you for saving my family.” She swallows with a short, glassy eyed nod.

Jess must have heard him because he meets her eyes next. The moment is oddly familiar, one where they passed a look over Malcolm who was so much smaller back then. The memory feels so far as he stares at them. He’d wanted to go to them, all that time ago. Wrap the both of them tightly and protect them from every danger. Ainsley had been so small, she hardly knew the weight the two of them carried on their shoulders.

He doesn’t wait for her extended hand this time. Not when he could have lost them both in one fell swoop. He wraps his arms around them both, Malcolm startling for a second at the new presence before he settles again. Only Ainsley is missing from the embrace, no doubt once the scene is secure or once they’re all safely away she will join.

Jessica’s hand comes to rest on his own over Malcolm’s back and he presses a kiss to her hair. Thankful that the nightmare is finally over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Standing over a grave has always been a wretched experience for Jessica. When she lost her parents in the wreck shortly after Malcolm was born, after the 23 women were killed, after Eve. Her hatred of death loomed in her very presence.

Still she attended every funeral. She funded every single one without a single moment of hesitation. Tommy Moore and Andrew Rankin’s were on the same day. She nearly wept with relief when she met the little boy named Michael. The parents informed her that Michael had been found playing on the swings by a police officer and picked up by his mother shortly after. Adolpho’s funeral was a private affair. Only his family and her own in attendance but it was nice. It felt fitting for him.

Freddy’s was the worst, she thinks as she stares at his headstone. She had been blocked in on either side by Malcolm and Ainsley, their hands holding tightly onto her own. Dr. Garcia’s eulogy for her son was short. Broken up with sobs and moments to gather herself. She wishes, painfully, about how it should’ve been her but Gil’s hand on her shoulder stops those thoughts.

“It’s not your fault.” She startles at the voice she hadn’t heard approaching. The woman who had been plaguing her thoughts is standing on her right. The doctor’s eyes are red rimmed, tears have been shed by nearly everyone in attendance that day but especially them. “Your son told me what you did trying to save Freddy.”

“Malcolm tends to exaggerate to protect others.” She laments.

“I don’t think so.” The entire time her eyes remain ahead, never looking at Jessica. “I read about you, you know. After the surgeon got arrested. How many of those families did you take care of?” She doesn’t know how to answer that question. “And your daughter told me that you already plan on setting up a school fund for the grandson of the second victim.” Jessica shakes her head, of course her children did that. They’re both such meddlers. “You didn’t do this to him.”

“I left him behind.”

“You went to get help.” Dr. Garcia argues and Jessica’s jaw snaps shut. “Any longer in there and your infection would have spread. You can’t argue with that, I was your doctor.” She sighs in defeat at that claim. “You tried to save my son. You’re a hero.”

“Your son was the hero. He cut up his shirt to tend to my injuries. He would’ve been a great doctor. You should be proud.”

The woman’s eyes get glassy at that. Her gaze casts over to another figure staring at them. “That’s his girlfriend. I’m sorry if she says anything angry to you. Freddy was all she had.”

“That’s not true.” Jessica swallows, grabbing the other woman’s hand. “She has you.”

“I don’t know if she’ll let me take her in.”

“Give her time.” Jessica looks to her own children talking with Gil. “They come around.” Dr. Garcia smiles, a sad one that is too reminiscent of a goodbye. Her heart aches for the woman that had to outlive her child. She would do anything to make sure that Malcolm and Ainsley would live long and happy lives.

“His father will take care of him. At least until I can see them again.” Jessica’s eyes fall on the grave beside Freddy’s. Her throat closes again with the familiar panic. “Please, don’t let this man tear you apart more than he already has. That monster can’t hurt them now. He can’t hurt you now.”

Tears slide unwillingly down her cheeks as she nods.

Jessica hopes she’s right.

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winteranc156 · 3 years

Text

Let The Soft Animal Of Your Body Love What It Loves

Summary: A collection of vignettes about falling in love.

(Also on AO3)

Nothing extraordinary marks the moment.

Kara is trying to stifle laughter, mouth half full, blue eyes shining with happiness.

Lena’s answering smile is automatic and genuine. Her heart is warm and full.

Their eyes lock and Lena’s mind stalls. She has seen Kara’s blue gaze hundreds of times, but on the precipice of realization her mind insists it’s the gaze of someone other than Kara.

Lena’s world narrows.

And then the world slams back into place. Hard, clear, but somehow all wrong. Lena finally sees her. Really sees Kara. It’s in the slant on her smile and the depth of the blue, blue eyes.

Oh.

The smile slips from Lena’s face.

Silence stretches between them.

“Lena,” Kara says softly, “are you okay?” Her brow is creased and she’s worrying her bottom lip. But, she hasn’t stood, hasn’t moved at all. Lena can see her shoulders are hunched and that she is trying to shrink her presence as much as possible.

Lena doesn’t have words for the feeling that spreads through her at the question and the body language. It’s intense and visceral and wholly engulfing; something she hasn’t felt for anyone is a very long time.

But Lena’s heart feels heavy in her chest with the new knowledge of who Kara is. Sudden pressure beats viciously at her temples.

Lena takes a deep breath before opening her eyes to look at Kara again. “Supergirl…”

Kara seems to shrink further into the chair. Her eyes are screwed shut and she’s biting her lip hard enough to risk drawing blood.

“I have to get back to work,” she says, flatly, for lack of anything else to say. Her face is blank, her eyes hard.

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

This is all they are.

All they’ve ever been.

Kara: the last. Standing alone in the vast universe. Facing the future of solitude with head turned and eyes wide open looking at the past. Broken so thoroughly on the inside that love pours out of her like blood out of an open wound.

She tries to talk to Lena for days. She tries as Kara and is rebuffed by meetings and conflicts of schedule. She tries as Supergirl and Lena shuts her balcony doors and draws the shades. She retreats out of respect for Lena and her own dignity. But, the loss punctures her already broken heart and she bleeds love and anguish into her loneliness.

Lena: the orphan. Unbowed but her eyes closed and face covered. Forever repenting over a sin she did not commit. Broken so thoroughly throughout that guilt and shame crawl into every crevice of her being like water entering the lungs of a drowning man.

She hides in her fortress and behind her name. She has been made to look and feel a fool. She rejects Kara both the woman and the hero to lick her deep wounds in solitude. But, the loss punctures her already broken heart and betrayal and suspicion flood into her loneliness.

This is all they are.

All they’ll ever be.

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

“Lena,” Kara is breathless, “plea—”

Lena’s lips stop any further conversation. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to feel.

They’ve fallen into this quite by accident. But at least she has some part of Kara back. She doesn’t want the messy conversation and the messier emotions that will come with talking.

This thing they’ve turned into isn’t good but it feels good in the moment.

They never undress. Their clandestine meetings are always done against a convenient surface with pants haphazardly open and skirts bunched up against thighs and waist, with urgent, searching, hungry hands hidden beneath the flowing folds of fabric.

There is no warmth or affection in their touches. Only desperation and urgency. And rabid hunger.

The heat and passion burns and consumes them until they are only incandescent desire.

Afterwards, they can’t look each other in the eyes. Kara stumbles over her words in a rush to find anything to say besides the obvious; Lena retreats into herself and says nothing. They go days without seeing each other, actively avoiding one another. Because they hate what they do to each other. They hate the hunger and thirst. They hate the release and satisfaction.

Though neither will ever admit it, it’s those secret, stolen moments when there is a possibility of more that they are both truly alive.

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

With tears in her eyes, Kara stops them.

“I can’t, Lena.” She pulls Lena’s hand gently out of her pants. “This,” she motions between them, “is killing us. We can’t anymore.”

Lena recoils, her heart throbbing with pain she doesn’t understand. She turns to leave but a soft hand clasps hers.

“Can we try and be friends again?” It’s a plea.

Lena’s heart pounds in her chest and her eyes burn with unshed tears. “How can I trust you?” She doesn’t turn back, but Lena holds on to Kara’s hand tightly.

“Let me earn it back,” Kara’s voice cracks. “Let me prove myself to you.”

It shouldn’t be so easy. Lena shouldn’t let it be so easy. But, she’s tired of the guilt and the shame and the pain. She relents and for the first time in as long as she can remember, she allows hope to seep into the crevices of her broken heart.

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

How did it get this far? Lena thinks absently.

It is different than before. Lena feels different than before. She’s not angry or hurting. She’s feeling a lot but none of it negative.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

Kara hums but doesn’t say anything coherent.

It had started with innocent touches. A gentle brush of fingers across a heated forehead. A tight hug as a reminder of solidity. A fleeting kiss for comfort.

Innocuous.

Innocent.

The rekindling of their friendship, nothing more.

But somewhere from there to here, something had stopped being so harmless about the touches. Fingers sparked electricity that set skin on fire. Hugs brought an awareness of how bodies fit together. Kisses were explorations with a ravenous hunger fueling their intent.

And, here she is now, willingly pressed against soft cushions. Kara’s weight a solid anchor above her. Kara’s mouth hot against her own. Kara’s hands undressing her, for the first time. Kara’s fingers burning a trail up her thigh.

Here she is pressing against her, opening her mouth, her knees, her being to Kara’s exploration. Here she is writhing under a wet heat that is all consuming, clenching her teeth to keep from moaning the name tattooed on her heart.

It wasn’t supposed to go this far.

But, it is too good to stop. She is too close to something…

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

It’s an obsession.

Lena knows it.

Kara knows it.

But, they can’t help themselves. They are possessed of something that controls their motivation, and in turn their actions. Every opportune moment becomes heated, passionate, thrilling with the press of skin against skin.

They are ravenous and insatiable, each meeting driving the obsession deeper. But, they continue. Because, obsession can be exhausted, overcome, spent when the object of obsession no longer holds the desired quality. And, that’s what they want: to exhaust this hunger one for the other.

Or so, they force themselves to think.

They only acknowledge the obsession. It’s not an addiction.

And, it can’t possibly be love.

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

Lena rubs her chest to chase away the pressure building under her sternum. It isn’t painful…just…uncomfortable. Overwhelming. A bit like holding her breath too long and her lungs needing to expand to their fullest to take in sufficient air. It makes her lightheaded and it makes her heart stumble over itself.

It’s an odd sensation, though not unfamiliar. Kara seems to elicit it from her as easily as the sun rises in the east. As constant, too.

Warm hands press a square box into Lena’s hands. “Open it.” The command is light. And, the kiss that flutters against her cheek is incentive enough to do Kara’s bidding immediately. But, the second, firmer kiss stuns her into inaction.

And the feeling jammed between her lungs and her heart intensifies. It hurts in the best possible way, like seeing light after a dark night, like tasting water after a long drought, like feeling warmth after a cold winter.

Breath caught between the tightness and warmth of her chest, Lena succumbs to the unsettling—but not entirely unwelcome—sensation.

Happiness.

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

Lena closes her book and looks down. Of course Kara is asleep. It’s a warm autumn day, the picnic they brought with them is all eaten, the colorful plumage of leaves quiet the world beyond the copse of trees where they’re secluded. Kara is comfortable around her. Lena smiles and reaches down to play absently with the blonde hair.

This closeness. This intimacy. It’s effortless with Kara. She can’t remember why she ever thought it would be otherwise. Kara’s warmth and caring would ensure nothing else.

Lena’s heart flutters dangerously with an emotion she’s not sure how to categorize. It’s love, certainly. But a love that aches with longing she doesn’t understand…it’s like a hunger, a thirst, for something she can’t name.

The ambiguity of the emotion should worry her, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

She loves Kara; it makes very little difference if she’s falling in love with her.

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

Kara’s eyes are almost completely closed and her chest is still heaving from exertion.

Lena’s fingertips glide along the thin sheen of perspiration coating soft skin stopping above Kara’s heart. The smell of heat and sex assaults Lena’s senses. It makes her dizzy in a way she can’t quite describe.

Guilt lingers at the edges of her psyche. For not seeing sooner what was being offered her. For hurting them. She can feel the press of it against the pleasure of this moment. But, for the first time since she was a child, she pushes thought of consequences out of her mind. Kara captivates all of her attention because she is the person Lena loves most. And, Lena is famished for her. More is all she can think. It crowds everything else out.

It’s a hunger she can’t sate: the need to touch and be touched. She’s been so starved for it that the realization of the desire leaves her yearning and needy for more. But, she’s not practiced at asking. So, she hopes her need is transmitted across the pads of her fingers and the hitch of her breath and the dilation of her eyes.

“Again.” Kara whispers, hearing what Lena can’t say with words.

And, they possess and are possessed of the other.

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

Kara leans back into Lena.

Lena wraps her arms around her and wonders at the easiness of their intimacy.

Kara smiles her gaze warm and contented and relaxed.

Lena kisses her unexpectedly because she wants to and she can. Kara momentarily freezes, but the smile against her lips encourages her to return the kiss.

The intimacy—the comfort of touch—didn’t come immediately or with ease for them. At times, it still doesn’t.

But, moments like this, where Lena is exuberant and shining from the feeling of her own happiness, are all the more precious for it. The touches and the comfort and the intimacy are effortless in the confines of Lena’s joy.

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

Theirs is an easy intimacy, filled with small touches and warm smiles. It is an odd thing to witness for people who knew them as children. They were both so solitary and disliked being touched when they were young. Kara for fear of hurting anyone; and Lena for fear of anyone hurting her.

But with each other, there is no barrier restricting access. They are wholly together; one flows into the other. So much so that a smile from one is reflected on the other’s face; and a touch is felt against the other’s soft skin.

They are so close that when one closes her eyes the other dreams.

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

It happens at an innocuous moment.

A moment they’ve repeated countless times. A shared lunch in Lena’s office: Lena between meetings, and Kara between interviews.

Nothing extraordinary marks the moment.

Kara is trying to stifle laughter, mouth half full, blue eyes shining with happiness.

Lena’s answering smile is automatic and genuine. She watches as Kara swallows the mouthful of food and washes it down with a gulp of water.

“You’re a bottomless pit,” Lena is equally amused and impressed by Kara’s appetite.

Kara smiles and shrugs. “I skipped breakfast and I’m starving.” She lets out a small laugh, hands fluttering and smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on her pants, before she looks back up.

Their eyes lock and Lena’s mind stalls. She has seen Kara’s blue gaze hundreds of times, but on the precipice of realization her heart stops.

Oh.

“Lena,” Kara says softly, “are you okay?”

Lena sees Kara’s brows crease in worry at what she knows must be the pronounced changes in her heartbeat. Lena recalls every step of their journey to this moment. She remembers every touch and every word and every feeling. And every declaration of love Kara has been making with her words, her affection, and her touches.

Oh.

She walks around her desk and sits in Kara’s lap. Lena knows her smile is wide and happy, she can see it reflected on Kara’s face. She kisses her with all the awe of being in love and knowing it.

“I love you.”

#supercorp #fanfic #kara x lena #i haven't ever written for these two but i have loved them for a long time

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 19

Do Dead People Have Therapists?

By the time Ichigo was standing over Hiyori, her throat caught between two blades, there’s a thin sheet of sweat across his brow and his sleeves are long ripped off by her weapon. It’s a serrated butcher's blade, which fits Hiyori perfectly.

She was stronger than Ichigo expected, and he can feel blood drying along his arms from where it's been stopped from flowing out of him, now white instead of black. He mentally thanks Tensa.

Ichigo’s knee is on her stomach, keeping her pinned in place as if his blades weren’t enough for it. Her sword sticks out of the ground a few yards away. The rest of the Visord are watching from the sidelines, tense and ready to intervene save Shinji. Ichigo’s servants are much the same on the other side. They’re too protective of him.

Not that they don’t have their reasons.

The first time they’d seen the mask that is slowly dissolving from his face he’d wrought destruction and nearly died right after. He knows they don’t like it, but it’s his power and he won’t give Nieve up for anything.

It’s still disconcerting when he pulls it on. The shift of the world snapping into intense focus and the feeling of perfect balance and power coursing through him. There’s a pressure in his head that’s not painful but present, when Nieve is at the forefront.

As the last flicker of bone falls from his face Ichigo falls against the ground away from Hiyori, his energy drained away. This was going to take some getting used to. But this time he’d lasted a full two minutes by his own estimate. It’s better than it was before.

Even if it was only by thirty seconds.

“Now can we be done with this bullshit?” Ichigo asks, casting an irritated scowl out at the other Visored.

None of them seem inclined to challenge him further. There’s a man he hadn’t seen before, with pale pink hair, who is staring at his entourage with a little too much attention.

A throat clears in front of him and Ichigo looks up to see Hirako standing over him. His smile is half quirked, not the strange, toothy grin he’d had before. He looks more genuine like this, and less like he’s trying to involve Ichigo in something seriously shady.

His hand is extended down towards him while the other girl, Lisa, helps up Hiyori.

Ichigo huffs and slides Tensa back into his sleeve before he takes Hirakos hand and uses him to pull himself up. His body protests and he’d like nothing more than a nap, but by the way everyone is starting to gather around him it’s looking like that’s going to be out of the question this time.

Great.

Ichigo doesn’t know when it happened but at some point he became the king of ‘making doctors sleep’.

It’s a crown he’d rath chuck in the ocean, but it’s one he wears all the same.

In Chaldeas he’s the one who always bullies Romani into sleeping even when it means dragging him into Ichigo’s own bedroom. He’s made other medical staff leave their stations, and forced Da Vinci to take breaks when they were together, heroic spirit or not. (nevermind that she’s not a doctor. Close enough)

Now, it seems, his luck runs true because he finds Jeckyll passed out over a stack of papers that look like chemistry formulas and equations.

Ichigo hadn’t gotten that far into school when he’d gone to Chaldeas, and he’s learning more mage craft than science now, so he couldn’t tell you what anything meant if you pointed a gun to his head.

Still, he knows a sleeping scientist when he sees one.

He shakes him gently by the shoulder. “Hey. C’mon, you can’t sleep here,” he chides.

There’s not response besides and grumble and Jeckyll reaching to turn his gas lamp down and almost knocking it off the desk entirely.

Ichigo manages to save them from a fiery death just barely, but it’s clean that Jeckyll doesn’t want to get up and move.

Damn it.

The things I do for my friends.

Ichigo pulled the chair out and picked Jekyll up easily. He barely weighed a thing already, compared to Ichigo who had been fighting for well over a year now on top of most of his life.

Ichigo takes him to his room, out of the study and up the hall before he deposits him in the sheets.

It’s when he’s pulling back to stand that he feels cool steel against his upper thigh, right over an artery.

He looks down to see bright red eyes. Hyde.

* *

Medusa and Achilles did not want to let Ichigo be alone with these people. Not even remotely. Ichigo insisted, after Hiyori finally calmed down and got something for the inevitable bruises that would form from Medusa’s attack.

Ichigo was, naturally, completely ignored.

Cu might have let him alone and trusted him enough to mind himself now that he could fight, but when the other two ganged up on Ichigo he threw his lot in with them.

The filthy traitor.

Ichigo sits on the couch in their living room area with Achilles to his left, medusa to his right, and Cu sits at his knee. It’s a wonderful show of force, except now no one is talking about anything, even though there’s clearly a lot to talk about.

“So,” Ichigo says at last, “Why did you want me here so badly again?”

It’s not the best ice breaker, but he can’t think of anything else. Shinji looks off put from where he’s sat beside Hiyori on the opposite couch from Ichigo. Two of the other Vizord took up residence in chair to left, a pretty boy with blond hair and the long fingers of a pianist and a gruff looking man with his hair shaped vaguely like a star.

The pair on the couch was joined by a serious woman reading porn. A love seat on the other side of it had been moved to hold a gruff man who reminded Ichigo far to much of EMIYA and a green haired girl who looked ready to bounce away into the sky.

“Your mask,” Hiyori snapped at him, “You told Shinji something stupid about your mask.”

“I told him the truth about my mask,” Ichigo corrected instantly. “What’s so weird about it? Didn’t you guys have to do the same thing?”

“No,” Kensei said bluntly. “We didn’t just ‘talk’. We fought.”

“...I mean, I did that too, but we were just playing.”

“Playing?!” Hiyori sputters at him. “Playing! A hollow inside your brain and you played with it!”

“Well shit, what did you do?” Ichigo finally demands, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her. “He’s just me, right? A part of me. Like an arm or a leg or something more profound I don’t wanna think about right now.”

“They are a part of ya,” Hirako admits reluctantly. “But inner hollows chew away at yer sanity piece by piece, just waitin ta devour you. They want out, they wanna kill, they wanna fight they want to take possession of everything ya have. They’re the darkest parts of ourselves, and if ya don’t beat them down and lock them away-”

“Huh?!” Ichigo stares at him. Beat them down and lock them away?!

“-They’ll come back and keep tryin’ shred your psyche. Ya make one wrong more, one slip up, let that box open even a crack and it’s over.”

Ichigo and Hirako stared at each other for a long time. Ichigo leans forwards, steepling his fingers together.

“Okay,” he says slowly, picking apart what the fuck was just said to him. “You are telling me that you have taken the darkest parts of you, the parts that you don’t like -anger, pain, desperation, every vicious killer instinct inside your body- You’ve taken the personification of them, and you’ve stuffed them into a box where you don’t have to deal with them anymore.”

Ichigo looked straight at him.

“Do dead people have therapists? Because you should really see one.”

Hirako gaped at him. Ichigo had to duck one of Hiyori’s sandals.

“Would you stop that! Damn, violent women,” Ichigo grumbled. “That’s like the worst coping mechanism ever. You don’t take all you trash, shove it in a closet, and think it’s just magically gone. Eventually it’s all gonna come back out, and now it’s hella rotten. What the hell.”

‘Did you just call me trash?!’

‘I will say it again. Watch me.’

‘I’m still you, idiot!’

‘This is very strange,’ medusa cuts in.

“There’s not other way to do it,” Rose, the pretty boy, says mournfully.

Ichigo shoots him a look. “There clearly is. Since I didn’t lock Nieve anywhere and we’re just fine where we are… Ya ever read that book, Jekyll and Hyde?”

Rose, Hirako, Lisa, and Hachi nod at him.

“Yeah. Trying to rid yourself of parts you don’t like doesn’t usually end well.”

He had the scar on the leg to prove it.

“How did you do it then?” Kensei finally demands, looming over Ichigo. “You can’t really expect us to believe that you just talked.”

“It’s not my problem if you believe me or not,” Ichigo is seriously starting to lose his temper here. “I told you what happened. He’s me, he’s always been me. He’s my fear, he’s my desperation, he’s my deepest instincts.”

“I’ve always trusted my instincts, even if I don’t listen to them all the time. It’s the same concept.”

They’re staring at Ichigo like he’s just disproved gravity or something.

Ichigo sighs heavily.

“Can I leave now? I have other things to do, you know.”

Before he gets the chance though the world tilts with a brand new pressure. A void and a violent rage slam into Ichigo’s senses.

“...Are you fucking with me?” Ichigo demands, his temper coming closer and closer to snapping.

* * *

Ichigo can feel blood slowly leaking out of the shallow cut on his thigh. It’s barely an inch away from killing him and Hyde is staring up at him, his red eyes wild.

Ichigo slowly pulls his hands away from him.

“Sorry,” he says blandly, “Did I scare you?”

“No!” Hyde snaps, digging the knife a little further. For a berserker he is remarkably accurate. Is it Jekyll’s knowledge seeping in? Ichigo’s not sure how they work entirely. How much does Jekyll remember? How much down Hyde?

“Good,” Ichigo goes with it. He doesn’t show fear. Hyde might get off on that. Or be more temped to stab him. Ichigo’s not sure which one. “Wanna put the knife away?”

“Fuck you,” Hyde snaps. Ichigo throws him off balance. Others flinch in warranted fear. Ichigo treats him like he does Medusa.

Something else catches Ichigo’s attention.

He reaches out, and Hyde doesn’t stab him deeper when he runs his fingers through his wild hair.

“How does that work?” Ichigo asks abruptly. “I get that you change. You’re broader than Jekyll and stronger too. Your eyes are different. But how does your hair change that much without even touching it? What all changes?”

The knife slowly eases out of his leg and a new light enters Hyde’s bright red eyes.

He starts to grin, predatory. “Do you really want to find out? I love breaking in Jekyll’s things before he gets the chance to.” Ichigo can’t tell if he’s being flirted with or threatened. Maybe both. Probably both.

Ichigo’s fingers twist in Hydes hair and he yanks his head back until Hyde hisses. “Don’t call me a thing,” he chides.

Hyde grabs him by his shoulders and throws him sideways onto the bed.

Ichigo realizes he’s going to have to get a little rougher if he wants Hyde to behave himself.

Fine then. He can do rough.

* * * *

By the time Ichigo reaches the clearing in the park Chad is unconscious on the ground and Orihime is standing defensively in front of him, her fairies floating around her in four points. Chad is laid out, his arm slowly piecing itself together again under Orihime’s healing dome while her three pronged shield barely holds to another attack.

Ichigo doesn’t waste time. He’s come in from behind and he uses it to his advantage. The big one doesn’t notice him, but the smaller of the pair glances over his shoulder in time to watch Ichigo vault himself up and over the big ones head so he can use gravity when he swings down and drops with every intention of cleaving him in two.

Zangetsu sings in his hands, Neive shrieking his delight inside his soul. The blade cuts deep, but it’s like cutting through stone instead of flesh.

Ichigo bounced back, his eyes locked on the pair, and lands next to Orihime.

“Hey,” he nods to her, “Good job.”

Orihime flushes pink at the praise and looks away from him, but not away from their opponents. She’s too smart for that.

“Not really. I tried to attack before, but he’s really strong. Tsubaki got hurt…”

“Sometimes that’s how it goes,” Ichigo says solemnly. “Watch my back?”

She nods.

The giant is screaming at Ichigo, curses that spit with no harm. What does he care what these people think of him? Ichigo eyes him speculatively. He’s not that worried about this one though. The smaller one is stronger, power packed into his body. Ichigo eyes them. Broken hollow masks and a zanpakutou. They’re some kind of hollow. A hybrid, too. The opposite of a Visord? Drosiv?

“Ulquiorra,” the giant finally stops screaming to look at his companion. “Is this the one? The one with the orange hair and the sword as long as he is?”

The smaller one, Ulquiorra, eyes Ichigo with disinterest. “Yes. That’s the one.”

“Who sent you?” Ichigo asks, ignoring Neive snarling for release. He wants blood, and Ichigo is inclined to give it to him. Orihime is strong, she’s stood her ground but her hands are still shaking and Chad-

His arm is in bad shape. If it were anyone other than Orihime treating him Ichigo might think he’s going to lose it.

“I’ll kill you!” the giant snarled instead of answering.

Ichigo swings upwards. A sharply concentrated Getsuga Tenshou tears through his arm entirely, finishing what Orihime had started. Vengeance for his fallen friend. Barely a minute into the fight and his opponent is down an arm, cut nearly in two, and bleeding profusely.

“Damn you!” he snarled.

Ulquiorra eyed his companion coldly. “You’re struggling. Shall I step in, Yammy?”

“Shut up!” Yammy snapped at him. He grabbed his sword and clicked it out of its sheath.

‘Cu, is the Bounded Field in place?’

‘It’s all ready for you. No one outside the park will notice anything amiss, even if you blow something up. A couple of yer friends are comin, though.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“I wish you’d let us fight with you,” Medusa grumbled.

“I know. But I want to do this on my own for now. If it looks like I’ll die,save me okay?”

She huffed, but he knew he’d already won that fight.

Ichigo tilted the point of Zangetsu up and shifted his footing.

“Now that I’ve taken your arm,” he said suddenly. “Let’s make a deal.” Before his friends showed up.

“Fuck you.” But Ichigo wasn’t talking to Yammy.

He was looking at Ulquiorra. While Yammy felt like fury, all rage stuffed into a body that was still somehow too small to hold it all in, Ulquiorra felt like a night itself. Cool and vast, he was several dozen times stronger than Yammy. Ichigo could stand toe to toe with him, but a victory would be hard fought if it came.

Ulquiorra met his gaze squarely. “And just what would that be?” he asked, his voice smooth and flat.

“You work for Aizen, right?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. It was obvious. Someone had sent them to find him, and Aizen had disappeared into a mob of hollows, the drama queen. “If I win I want you to take me to him.”

Ulquiorra looked briefly between the pair of them before he closed his eyes.

“So be it.”

Ichigo lunged.

* * * * *

Deep in a desert of snow white sand sat a legend amongst the hollow.

It was a myth that sunk into their bones, a knowledge that was granted to them when their hearts tore themselves asunder and they were consumed by their own loss.

The legend was powerful when it first began. The eldest hollow will tell it as fact while the youngest remember it as a bedtime story and little else.

Decades and centuries ate away and the truth sunk deep in the depths of darkness.

It was in that darkness that she waited. The immortal are patient creatures, and her wait was finally coming to an end.

* * * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #ulquiorra cifer #hirako shinji #bleach/fate grand order #jeckyll and hyde

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nctzendreamz · 4 years

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Psycho — Bae Joohyun

Irene really, really loves you. Too much, you begin to realize.

Warnings: Psychotic!Au, mentions of abuse, murder, language, and in general dark themes.

Word Count: 7k

January 16, 2020 — 9:45PM

She might as well have been a celebrity, as she was the key reason that this coffee shop got visitors. Her silky smooth skin, complimented by her sparkling eyes and perfect build was everything the masses needed to get up early in the mornings before work.

She couldn’t count all the numbers she had recieved in just the couple of months she had been employed at Velvets; the coffee shop that rested in the center of the city. It’s red and pink decor, followed by the hand crafted decorations from so many visitors in the past, was exactly where Bae Joohyun, more frequently referred to as Irene belonged.

She always had the same greeting. It was in the protocol, after all.

“Hello! Welcome to Velvet’s. How are you doing today?”

And today is no different. She always tries her best to look right at the customer as soon as she hears the familiar bell, indicating the door had opened, but her nail was chipping, and it was driving her nuts. She says her line, still fiddling before she realizes that it can’t be fixed until later.

“I’m so sorry! It’s been a long—“

And then she stops. She has seen a million people come and go to her place of work. Most of them found her beauty to be enchanting, but even the finest of them could barely make her blink. No matter how hard they tried to merge the conversation onto dinner, or what she was doing after her shift, her facial expression stayed the same—dull and unimpressed.

But you. You’re standing here in all of your glory, hair perfectly sculpted to your face. She loves this look on you. It’s the perfect color to compliment your perfect skin, and daring eyes as they swallow her whole. Usually, she did this to others, yet here you were, snatching her soul—seemingly without even trying.

“A long day.” She finally breaths out. Her heart is racing at a dangerous pace, and she knows she looks like a creep right now. Her dark eyes are trying to break you down, and bring you to your knees, but it’s not working.

“I understand that.” You giggle. You seem tired. The bags under your eyes are slight, but still drooped enough to which she can tell you’re either a student, or you work a nine to five. Regardless, you’re not always free. Your clothing is simple. Sweats, a hoodie, and some ugg boots to shield you from the cold weather. “Your nails are so cute, by the way.” You smile, and it’s calming. It’s not a full on cheese session, but that makes it even better. It’s simple, just as you seem to be.

“Don’t flatter me.” She begins, showing them to you in full form over the marble counter. “It’s chipped.”

“And still cute.” You assure, smoothly moving a sole finger across the nail. “Is it gel polish?” You question with an adorable head tilt. Absolutely priceless. You’re probably very good at getting what you want. You know exactly how to move, and lighten your voice to make people feel what you want them to feel.

“It is. You know—

“It stays on longer.” You finish for her.

“Exactly.” She can’t hold in her smile. Was her heart...warming? If so, that meant her cheeks were turning pink, which also meant that you could see clearly that you were doing it right. If you were flirting with her, you were doing it so well, and so respectfully.

“I’ll just take a hazelnut.” You breathe out. Your hands are in your pockets, and you’re shifting the weight from your toes to your heels repeatedly. You must be cold. When you’re cold, you get jittery it seems. That’s why you’re in here in the nick of time. You’re definitely in school. You probably just got out of class, and have a shit-ton of homework to finish. That’s why you need the coffee and that’s why you seem so exhausted; although you’re trying to hide it from her.

“Hazelnut!” She shouts, turning around and giving the ticket to the real worker in here. She doesn’t even look at him as reaches out to snatch it from her. “Is that your favorite?”

“The only coffee I will drink.” You admit, covering your face with your hands. You’re embarrassed. You probably feel somewhat uncultured, and childish for even saying that out loud.

“Have you ever tried another?” She says in a light tone, tilting her head just as you did a few minutes ago. Still, you’re unfazed. You actually close your eyes for a moment before snapping them back open.

“I have. I think it was roasted chestnut? Whatever it was it was not good at all.” And now you’re laughing. Your laugh—it’s beautiful. It’s not a subtle, shy chuckle that would indicate you don’t laugh often. You laugh all the time. She can’t tell if it’s a boyfriend that always has you geeked like this, or maybe your friends. Maybe, even your girlfriend, but that would break her heart too much.

“Well, coffee isn’t the only good thing here. We’re not Starbucks, but our frapachinos are pretty good.” Irene mentions, eyes flicking to the frap menu to the left of her. She lets the red sweater she spotted slip off her shoulder ever so slightly, and you’re looking at it. It was for a mere second, but she saw it.

“Here you go.” Josh—the chef of this shift interrupted, handing you your coffee quickly.

“That’s the fastest you’ve ever done that.” Irene seethes, shooting an annoyed look to her co-worker.

“Trying to close. No offense.” Josh nods to you, already starting the trials and tribulations that closing involved. He’s wetting a rag in preparation of wiping all of the counters down.

“Oh, none taken. I hate to be that customer that comes in late like this. I just have all this work to catch up on and I figured buying aderall from the guy who sits beside me in Psych wasn’t the best idea.”

Irene breaks into a fit of laughter. Truthfully, she wasn’t faking it. You were so funny. But she was also right. She hit the nail right on the head, actually. Josh couldn’t believe his ears as he had barely seen her smile a genuine cheese. Of course he stayed silent. “You’re funny!” She coughs out through her fit.

“Don’t flatter me.” You smile brightly. Your smile is so pretty, just like you. God, she was running through too many scenarios on how she could make you stay. “Thanks for this pleasing experience. Today sucked and I needed it so badly. Do you guys have like a manager or something? Or like a survey?”

She had never been asked this before. No one had ever cared to commend them on their excellent service and caffeine recovery program they had in place for the addicts. “Um...no. But what you can do is come back. To repay us.” She whispers the last part.

She needs your name. She just knows someone like you has the most goregeous name.

And the heavens answers her request. She already saw that you had a necklace hiding under your hoodie, but you’re pulling it out now. It’s a name; she just needs to know who it is.

“That necklace, I love it.” She leans over the counter, squinting to see the name. “Y/N.” She mumbles. “Is that your name?”

“It is.” You respond. “People say it’s stupid to wear your own name, but it’s comforting to me. Plus, I don’t have someone else’s name to wear so.”

So, you were single.

“Don’t get too discouraged. Someone could come and change that. Very soon, actually.” She purrs, and she finally does it. She’s getting in your head. You’re seeing her.

You leave, your walk mezmorizing her in ways that makes her tingle. She barely follows the procedures of cleaning, as all she wants to do is go home. She needs to know everything about you.

“Y/N L/N. Twenty four years old. Younger than me.”

It wasn’t that hard to find your all your social media. All public, minus your Facebook account. Your Twitter consists of retweets of memes that probably made you scream, and your own little comedy that your select friends liked as they felt obligated.

She can’t lie; she was expecting to see a tweet about her. Something about a beautiful girl in the coffee shop. But there was nothing. Not a peep. Then again, maybe this was a good sign. Maybe you liked to keep your loves private. She’s searching through your pictures, embellishing in the sight of you until something stops her scrolling.

It’s a picture of you, and another guy. His hair is black, but his features are far from plain. He’s not impressive to her, but she knows to you, he’s everything. He seems to be just your type.

It’s been two years, and yet, it feels like a thousand.

The caption is so short, yet so sweet and gentle. It’s telling a million stories with one sentence, and even she can tell there’s real love in the photo. On your side, at least. She feels sick now. He’s tagged on the photo.

Lee Taeyong. That’s his name. The first place she searches is his likes, where she knows she’ll find proof of him being a scumbag. The way you addressed your necklace; it’s almost as if it was a mere replacement for a previous. It was a somber, silent story.

A lot of his likes are filled with hip-hop. Viral dances, artist appreciation, funny memes just as you enjoyed. You two probably found love through a similar interest. She continues to scroll though, where she finds something that truly twists her stomach. A quote.

Do you ever wish you could turn back time? Fix a mistake? Go back to when everything was perfect? When you could hold her and she was yours? Because same.

He hurt you. She didn’t know what he did, but she knows he hurt you. Her first guess was cheating, and she was going to stick to it. Maybe your chill nature was because your walls were up so high. Maybe your intense laughter wasn’t because you laughed all the time, but instead because you hadn’t laughed in a while. And it was all his fault—fuck Lee Taeyong.

He works at a video game store. No—he owns an arcade to be exact. She was going to see him. She needed to observe him in person. See his vibe. In the mean time, she can follow you on Instagram. That’s not too weird, right?

January 17, 2020 — 7:30PM

“Welcome to T’s.” A dull voice speaks.

Although the lighting in the arcade is practically blinding—all the neon creating a cool atmosphere, their customer service is awful. Probably a telling to his personality if that’s the kind of people he hired.

She waited for a moment, waiting for more. How can they just assume she knows what she’s doing? What kind of place was this? It’s a Saturday afternoon, and it shows because people are everywhere. Kids are running around, and adults are talking trash to eachother as they bet money on who will win the car game. “Men.” She sighs. But with her sighs brings the man she’s looking for. He’s almost blending in with his all black clothing, but she knows it’s him. He’s hard to miss, but not because of his features. It’s because she hates him.

Her current outfit; a tight red dress and dangerous heels aren’t really arcade attire, but she doesn’t care. She clacks her way over to Taeyong, who is surrounded by many people. He must be popular. He definitely cheated on you. The girls around him were ridiculous. So much for missing you.

She knows approaching so quickly would be foolish. It wouldn’t make sense. She decides instead to creep around, wanting to know who these people are. As she gets closer, she can recognize almost all of them. Chungha—your seemingly bestfriend was here, some guy with his arm around her shoulder. The Johnny she had seen pop up on your feed a few times, the Ten, and lastly, the Momo. Momo also seems to have some unspoken feelings about you.

She could feel it in the way she comments under your pictures. You couldn’t notice her flirtatious nature, but it was there.

The most beautiful human in the world.

My favorite.

Can I be you?

More like—can I be with you?

“Excuse me.” Irene finally speaks, interupting their laughter. She was hoping they’d give her a dirty look, so she could have even more of a reason to turn you against them, but they don’t. They look at her in synch, smiles still on their faces.

“What’s up?” Johnny says, a dashing grin on his face. Another who thinks she’s too beautiful. Exactly how she felt about you. “Are you new around here?”

Chungha punches him in the shoulder promptly, clearly not a fan of his approach. Irene can see why she was your chosen best-friend. Then again, was she really your friend? I mean, all of these people were hanging around your ex boyfriend and the only person who wasn’t here is you?

“Sorry about that.” She apologizes. “Us pretty girls are hard to come by, and they get extremely thirsty.”

She’s funny, but not as funny as you.

“Oh it’s fine. I’m Irene.” She introduces, placing her frail hand out. It connects with Chungha’s, and it’s genuine. “He’s right. I am new here. I’m a tad overdressed, I see.”

“I’m not complaining.” Johnny adds, receiving a punch from Taeyong this time.

So, he’s somewhat of a woman supporter too. I mean, he didn’t have to stop him from his words, but he did.

“I’m Taeyong.” He sighs, but he doesn’t place his hand out. That’s odd. The glow of games is making all of them look nothing less of models, but that doesn’t mean she’s impressed. No one was better than you.

“You know, you’re allowed to touch a girl other than your family and Y/N.” Johnny jokes.

The mention of your name makes everything in Irene’s body spike. They were acknowledging you, even though you weren’t here, which means maybe you didn’t mind them being here without you. Or maybe you and Taeyong weren’t exactly broken up. Something complicated instead.

He doesn’t say anything, just squints at his friend in an evil manner.

“Y/N.” Irene interrupts, putting a hand on her chin. “I met someone with that name last night.” She says. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “I work at Velvets, and this girl came in. She was wearing a necklace with that name.”

She watches for Taeyong’s reaction, and she gets what she wants. The mention of the cafe makes him almost flinch. Velvets must have been a place you two frequently visited together when you were dating. But then again, why did you seem so clueless about the menu? No, you weren’t. You mentioned you tried other coffee. It must have been with him. The way you laughed, it all makes sense now. You were thinking about him. A memory popped up.

She wants to ask if you were his ex, but that would be crossing the line. She had only known them for two minutes. It would seem too odd.

“Was she wearing sweat pants and a hoodie?” Momo questions now. Her hands are crossed over her chest, and Irene can’t read her. She doesn’t like that. Momo somewhat has her guard up.

“Yeah. I think she was.”

“That was definitely her. She’s been dressing like a complete bum lately.” Momo giggles now. If she didn’t already know this was her competition, she knows now. Momo is giggling just from thinking about you. You must make her laugh a lot. Irene doesn’t like her judgemental nature. You would be perfect in every state if she was a real one, but she’s not. So maybe she isn’t going to be a problem after all.

“You described her perfectly.” Irene seethes, quickly switching back to her normal state. The bright smile, and pink lip.

“How was she?” Taeyong questions. He still cares. She can see in in his eyes, but even if she was blind, it wouldn’t matter. His voice was so frail when talking about you.

“Oh brother.” Ten sighs

“I have a right to know.” Taeyong argues. He’s frustrated. He’s hot headed; at least when it comes to you.

“She seemed perfect to me. Laughing a lot, making jokes and stuff. I apologize if I’m out of place for this, but what’s going on? Is she okay?”

All of their faces seem to freeze for a mere second. They’re not uncomfortable with her question, but it seems like they’re wondering do they have permission to tell your buisness like that. They’re looking at Taeyong, presumably because it’s technically his buisness too.

Chungha is the first to speak. “She’s fine. These two,” she points to Taeyong, and then seemingly to thin air, “they broke up.”

Momo is oddly silent. She’s seemingly fuming, but no one is paying attention to her. That means none of these people know about her feelings for you. She’s been keeping it bottled up this entire time.

“Oh...sorry for asking.” Irene quickly scrambles, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I should’ve put that together by myself—

“It’s okay, beautiful.” Johnny places a hand on her shoulder, and she wants to slap the stupid grin off of his face, but he was going to be useful. He was stupid, and naive. One pull down of her panties, and he would tell her everything she needed to know. She moves into his touch, giggling just a tad.

The vibration of her phone distracts her, and she quickly searches for it in her Louis purse. You followed her back. One by one, you’re liking her pictures, and she can feel her heart beating hard through her little chest. Was her fairytale going to happen? Was she finally going to be able to fall in love again? God, she loved you already. Your sexy demeanor, your perfection. She needed you, and she would do anything to get it.

The bell of the shop dings, indicating that more people are walking in. From the way that they all freeze once again, she knows exactly who it is. She turns around and there you are. Her knees so badly want to get weak, but she controls herself. Today, you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt. She can’t tell if you have shorts on under, but she hopes you doesn’t. The shirt is from some band you listen to, and you have white converse on your feet. High top.

Momo is the first to greet you. She practically jumps into your arms, and Irene notices the way you don’t seem to mind. Her brain is starting to shock her, jolting her anger to all the wrong places. She could fucking kill Momo right now. The two of you are spinning around, Momo’s legs around your waist and you inhaling her scent. Everyone else is looking at the scene with a soft smile—they’re so stupid. How can they not see?

Momo finally returns back to the floor, and now you’re looking at her. She quickly fixes herself up, so quick, that you don’t even notice.

“Irene?”

The way you say her name is causing her to pool. She wants to hear you say it for the rest of the night. She takes a deep breath, not hiding it this time before she strides to you, hugging you. She knows this won’t make you uncomfortable. You seem to be willing to catch some affection for people you like. When she feels your hands on her middle back, she inhales you. You smell like spring, even in the winter, and that’s so beautiful. You’re so beautiful. She allows her cheek to graze against yours ever so slightly, and your noses to touch before she backs away. She sees the way you bite your lip. No one can see you but her, and she likes the thrill. It’s dangerous.

“Johnny.” You sigh, walking past him without a look. You don’t like Johnny—that’s obvious. Was he possible the reason for you and Taeyong’s break-up? “My Tenny!” You screech, putting his face in your hands like a baby and kissing his cheek softly. You have a soft side. “Chungha~” You sing, embracing her tightly. Now it was the big reveal. Would you speak to Taeyong? Or would you two do the awkward stare.

He still loves you. It’s obvious in the way that the love practically pours out of his eyes, and his hands shake. “Y/N.” He whispers. It’s like no one else is in the room. You must have not seen any of them in a while, based on the way they stare at you admiringly.

“Hey.” You whisper back, slowly moving to hug him. He closes his eyes for a mere second, and it’s all over. Now you’re back beside Irene, who’s very pleased.

“Irene was just telling us that the two of you know eachother.” Johnny speaks. He’s trying to get back into your good graces. It’s so obvious it’s painful.

“Yeah.” You smile, but not at him. “I was at Velvets getting my usual, and then we met. Surprised to see you here though.” You’re looking at her now.

“What? Just because I’m in a dress means I can’t be a gamer?” She jokes, and everyone around laughs. Everyone but Momo.

“No. Momo wears dresses.” You say, slapping her thigh gently. Why do you keep touching her? She’s standing right here, looking good for you, and you’re flirting with Momo? “There’s just a lot of assholes in a place like this. You don’t seem to be interested in that.”

“Well, how about I prove you wrong? Loser has to buy the other coffee.” She prompts.

She hopes everyone else looks jealous. Especially Momo. Knowing you, even if you wanted to say no, you weren’t going to deny her.

“Any coffee?” You question with a raised eyebrow.

“Anything you want—that is, if you win.”

“I say we have a tournament.” Momo adds in. “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve all been together lile this.”

Shut up, slut. God, Irene just wants to wrap her hands around her neck. She had to get you away from her as soon as possible.

“Sounds good to me.” You agree. “Is that cool with you?” You look back at her. You’re already hooked enough to have to ask permission when you had only known her for 24 hours.

“Does it matter if she is?” Johnny mentions.

“Johnny!” Chungha screeches. “Why are you being such a dick!”

“Don’t answer that.” Ten prompts, taking his friend by the hand and leading him outside.

“Anyways, that sounds like a great idea to me. Let’s roll!” Chungha yells in sorority fashion, and now all of you are going to where the fun is. There’s a million games to choose from, but it seems like you guys have a section you’re leading her to.

“As you can see, the games only get harder and harder from here.” You explain to her, placing a hand on her lower back.

“So like, kids shouldn’t be going this far.” She giggles.

“Exactly. Consider yourself privileged.” You wink.

“Just because I’m short and cute does not mean I’m a child.”

“You’re going to have to prove that to me.”

You’re definitely flirting with her now. And to make it even better, more fiesty than she had expected it to be.

“What are you doing after this?” She flirts back, placing her hand on your back now.

“You’re taking me to get coffee.”

“Velvets will be closed.” She pouts.

“I didn’t say you had to take me to Velvets. They sell hazelnut coffee everywhere.”

“You really think you can beat me, can’t you?”

“No. I know I can.”

And you did. You beat the clean breaks off of her in every single thing. The whole tournament went to hell as you and Irene were completely in your own world. You ran from game to game like children.

You weren’t rude enough to not say goodbye, but it was quick. You knew exactly what was going to happen after tonight, and you needed it. It had been too long.

“You’re not coming over?” Is the last thing you hear right before you and Irene head out. It’s Momo again, and her eyes are sad as she seems to know exactly what’s going on. “We haven’t had the big sleepover in so long, and I cleaned my house.”

Irene is reading you like the open book you are, and you’re fighting it. You haven’t seen your friends in a while, and you want their attention. You love the fact that they miss you, and you miss them even more, but you don’t crave them like you’re craving her right now.

“I promise next weekend.” You try to plead.

“But I got drinks.”

“A promise is a promise.” Now your pinky is out. The way Momo seemingly gives up on her complaining shows that your promises held weight. She connects her pinky with yours, before lightly caressing your knuckles with her thumb. You don’t think anything if it, but Irene knows, and her eyes are burning holes into her skull.

As soon as the two of you reach the car, you’ve forgotten about the coffee.

With a slammed hand on the foggy window, Irene is in bliss.

“So much for that hazelnut coffee, huh?” She purrs, kissing you once more.

“You still owe me.” You giggle.

“You’re absolutely right.” She’s now crawling down your body, fully prepared to repay you for your victory. More like her victory. She had won, and it was easy. You were easy, and yet she still loved you. She would never let you go, and anybody who got in the way of you two being together forever will feel her wrath.

February 17, 2020 — 2:00PM

“Wait wait, so you’re telling me that I leave for two seconds, and Y/N and Irene are fucking?”

“Not just fucking—fucking dating.”

Johnny and Taeyong were catching up, just as brothers did. After being pulled out of the arcade by Ten, it had been decided that Johnny needed a break from his crew. There was clearly some animosity—rightfully so within the group, and a month break was much needed.

“I didn’t even know Y/N...”

“Exactly.” Taeyong finishes for him, taking an aggressive sip from his coffee. With the slam, some of it splattered on the table. He can’t help but think about how you would immediately clean it up as little things like that bothered you, if you were here that is.

“Well, how do you feel about it?”

“I don’t understand how this happened so quick. I mean, think about how long it took me and Y/N to start dating. We talked for what felt like years before you guys pushed us to make it official.”

“You mean pushed you.” Johnny corrects, sipping his Americano with shade.

“Whatever. I just don’t like it. I mean, this Irene girl just shows up, and takes Y/N away that quick? That quick?”

“I mean, she is fine as hell. Are you saying you wouldn’t be down for that?”

“Can you not be gross for like two seconds?” Taeyong fumes.

“Shh.” The congregation of the library says in unison, causing him to throw his head down in shame.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Month of meditation actually did something I can assure you.”

“I want to look into her.”

“As in, like stalk her? Do you really think you’ll find anything?”

“I don’t want to, but this all happened too coincidentally. I know you think I’m crazy,” a nervous habit formed as a little boy, Taeyong is scratching his elbow like a manic. His rash has appeared, and rash equaled bad news.

“Well, you know I’m on your side. You might be stupid and crazy, but as your best friend it’s my job to make sure you don’t do it alone.”

They weren’t alone, even when they thought they had found a secluded area. She was there, disguised as a typical college girl. She sported a bob that made her look extremely basic, and her ears heard every drip of that conversation. Of course, being the idiots that they were, a bathroom break included them leaving all their belongings on the table.

February 21, 2020 — 12:00AM

“Do I know you?” The blonde girl says in a low voice. She’s scared as she approaches her vehicle. She worked the late shift tonight, and deep down she knew it was a horrible idea, especially when her boyfriend was too drunk to come and get her.

“You don’t need the extra money—I got you, babe.”

But she ignored him.

“No, but I know you.”

“Did my boyfriend sleep with you? Because if you want revenge, I’m not the one you need to be speaking to.”

“What would make you think that?”

“Past trauma.”

“So he’s cheated before.”

“No, past trauma.” She doesn’t know why she’s entertaining this stranger. Maybe it’s because she’s so beautiful. You can’t help but to trust her, even in such a suspicious predicament. I mean, she was leaning on her fucking car like she pays the note. “Are you an addict or something? I barely have anything for myself, okay? Maybe next week.”

“You’re Johnny’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“I’m calling the police.”

But Irene snatches her phone from her, slamming it on the ground. The black gloves that cover her hands secure her non-existent finger prints, and the phone shatters.

“Literally what the fuck!” The blonde screams, but it doesn’t matter. They’re in a parking garage and there’s no one here to save her. She tries to run away, but Irene is just too quick. The knife that was behind her back connects to the back of her neck, and she haults.

“This is for your nosy fucking boyfriend, who believes that he can somehow find out about my past and make Y/N leave me. How foolish of him.” She chuckles, letting the blood trickle down her arm.

She’s crying and screaming, but as stated, it’s irrevlant. Irene 2 — Johnny 0.

February 18, 2020 — 9:00AM

“I just...I just can’t believe it. I told her not to work that stupid fucking shift.”

“It’s not your fault, Johnny.”

“Yes it is. If I wouldn’t have been drunk out of my ass, I could’ve saved her somehow—I don’t know. But now she’s gone. I loved her. I loved her so damn much and I was finally pulling it together because of her.”

The rest of you sit on the couch, struggling to find the proper words for such a tragedy. Johnny is sobbing into his hands now, while Ten is rubbing his back gently. Taeyong is off to the side staring into space. You’re familiar with this look. He was thinking heavily about something, but you obviously would never find out what it was. Chungha is sitting on your right, rocking back and forth. Her nails are chopping at her fingers—a clear sign of her fearfulness. Similar to Taeyong, Momo is silent. You expected her eyes to be on you in search of some answers, or silent suspicions, but she refuses.

Finally, Irene is beside you to the left. You didn’t know Johnny’s lover that well, but you knew she was a decent girl. She didn’t deserve this, and you couldn’t even imagine what would it would feel like to lose someone you loved. Anyone sitting in this room. Her frail hand is locked on your elbow while her thumb is trying to soothe you.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers. Her lips find your shoulder in something sweet and comforting. “Who would do something like this? Did she have an ex boyfriend?”

It takes a minute for Johnny to find a response.

“She did tell me about some guy who began to get a little possessive, so she broke it off. But she never mentioned him coming back.”

“Maybe it was him.” Irene says quietly. You can tell she’s trying not to say too much, as she hadn’t been hanging with the crew for too long. You’re grateful that she’s here for you.

“Let’s just let the police do their job.” Momo finally speaks, standing up from the loveseat she sat on alone. Something is wrong with her, but you’d have to figure that out later.

“Let’s order some food.” You decide, standing up as well. “I know you might now want to eat right now, but it’ll clear you head even if just a little bit. We are all under a lot of stress right now.”

“I agree, babe.” Irene commends, smiling at you sadly.

“Alright.” Johnny sighs. He also rises, but he goes straight into the back of his apartment instead. None of you were worried about him hurting himself. You knew he needed time to let his emotions out, as he was constantly trying to be society’s definition of a man.

Your phone vibrates, and it’s Irene who’s hitting you up.

I think you should check on Momo. Was she friends with her? She just seems really upset and I know how close you two are.

You have to contain the smile that wants to come out for the sake of the situation, but she was so perfect. She didn’t get jealous about anything. And she was so in love with you. It had been too long since you could confidently admit that this wasn’t a one-sided situation.

Your feet are approaching the kitchen softly, trying not to make such a scene. Momo is leaned over the counter at first, but when she sees you she tries to straighten up.

“Hey.” She whispers, preparing for eavesdropping.

“Hey.” You say back.

Why was this so awkward? It was never like this before.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

Which means she’s not. You see her observing your current outfit—yoga pants with a shirt she had bought you years ago covering your body.

“Do you want to talk later?” You offer, putting a tiny smirk on your face remembering that usually made her feel better.

“I think that would be good, actually. I don’t know if we’ll have the time, but maybe when everyone’s asleep?”

“The best thing I’ve heard all day.” You open your arms out, and you know she won’t deny you. She lets out what seems to be all the stress from her week as she lets you engulf her. It had been so long since the two of you were close like this. On your nights where you couldn’t sleep from past thoughts, it was Momo who would come over and hold you until you could.

“I’ve missed you.” She mumbles into your shoulder. “So much.”

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I haven’t been exactly here as much.”

“Irene...I know.” She pulls away at the mention of her name, and it’s odd timing. “Let me just ask you something— as one of your best friends?”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t you think the two of you are moving a little fast? I mean, we saw the girl for the first time a month ago, and now you’re all committed and in love with her. I’m just concerned.”

She made several points. It wasn’t that you made people wait for you in the past. This whole scenario was just too quick, especially since you had just gotten out of a relationship not too long ago.

“Are you insinuating that I’m not over Taeyong?”

“No.” She’s confident in her answer. “I don’t want you to be with him anyway. He cheated on and is a fat jerk.”

You snort at her last two words, and she’s punching your shoulder lightly even though she’s laughing as well.

“You’re so negative minded.”

“Continue.” You breath out, covering your mouth.

“I just feel like—

The door flies open, revealing Irene on the other side. “Sorry to interrupt, but have you ordered the pizza yet? We’re all starving.”

In reality, she wasn’t in the mood for food. Ten and Taeyong had went to the back to check on Johnny, and Chungha was using the bathroom. She had heard your whole exchange and to say she was pissed was an understatement. Why didn’t you try and defend her? You should have walked out of the room, and straight into her lap the minute the slut tried to question you on something she knew nothing about.

Both of you look like you’ve been caught, and she relishes in that. The fear that is in both of your eyes.

“Yeah I got you.”

That’s all you have to say to her? First, Momo was able to get you to open up that fast, when you hadn’t even revealed to her any details of you and Taeyong’s relationship.

“Or, you can order it if you want. Me and Y/N were just catching up I’m sorry to take her away.” The slut speaks. Her voice bleeds cockiness, even though her face is soft and sweet. She knows that Irene is mad. She’s enjoying it.

“Okay.” Is all Irene mumbles before going back to the living room.

“What was that about?” Momo is looking at you in confusion and fear. She had always had suspicions about Irene. She just seemed too nice—too willing to be everything you needed, when in reality she didn’t fit the role.

Momo had been in love with you since she met you. Your smile, the way you loved everyone no matter their differences, and your seemingly never ending talent of making her laugh. You were magical, but she was okay with being on the sideline. She had done it for two years straight while you were with Taeyong, and even during your nights of crying over she kept it to herself.

She knew keeping it to herself was only hurting her, but she was willing to be hurt for the sake of your happiness as you were happy with Taeyong. She could see how much the two of you loved eachother, and even after everything went down, she didn’t want to stop your journey of loving herself to have to figure out a way to reject her feelings nicely.

“Guess I’ll have to find out later.”

You seem frustrated as your leg is tapping up and down—even though you’re not sitting. Your breathing is getting faster and faster, and she knew this picture. This is exactly how you used to react when Taeyong made you upset, or neglected your feelings.

“Does she know what pizza you like?” She decides on, trying to pick your mood up with her bare hands as you were always able to do for her. She finds herself dancing slightly—her go to when she didn’t know what to do.

“I should probably go find out.” You smack her exposed stomach before walking back into the living room, where everyone has returned. Momo is behind you, and Irene is staring straight at the wall.

“The pizza should be here soon.” She whispers without removing her eyes.

“That’s goo—

By soon, even she didn’t seem to have meant this soon. The door is being knocked on quite aggressively, and all of you are looking at eachother trying to decide who’s going to answer.

“I’ll get it.” You step up. You were always the one in the group who would rise to the things you knew they were scared to do. Before you can even put your hand on the knob though, the banging is coming again, this time even louder. “I’m coming!” You spit full of attitude, and at the same time, everyone but Irene is rising to the occasion to stand by your side. You would always protect eachother—even from the pizza man. Johnny steps infront of you, opening the door himself.

It’s the police, and they don’t look happy.

“Are you Johnny Suh?” The chubby officer questions.

“Uh—yes.” He stutters. “The police said I wasn’t getting questioned until tomorrow.”

“Oh cut the crap.” The other offer says. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Cierra Valdez.” He rips the handcuffs from his belt, and he’s trying to turn Johnny around, but Johnny will never go down without a fight.

“What are you talking about!”

“Get off of him!” You yell, immediately trying to pull him in your direction. Everyone else follows, together more powerful than the police. Johnny is out of their grasp for just a few moments before a gun is pointed towards all of you.

“Drop your hands now!”

“You’re not gonna fucking shoot us!” Taeyong screams. It was the most passion Irene had heard come from his lips, and she was quite entertained. She was entertained by all of this. If you wouldn’t have been letting Momo flirt with you, she would’ve gotten up to shield you, but you didn’t, which is why she’s sitting on the couch in fake shock.

“Y/N get over here!” She yells. She doesn’t even have to wipe the sly smirk off her face as nobody is looking at her.

But you ignore her.

“I didn’t kill her!” Johnny is crying all over again, his whole face soaked in tears. “I loved her. Why would I kill her?”

“Anything you do or say will be held against you.” The Miranda rights are flowing out of the officer like he does this all the time, and now they’re dragging him out. His back is scratching on the cement.

“Y’all have to help me!” Johnny screeches. The whole apartment complex can hear what’s going on, and it’s killing him inside. He didn’t kill the love of his life. He didn’t. “I loved her.” He cried once more. “I fucking loved her!”

Continued

#red velvet #red velvet irene #kpop #lgbt kpop #kpop imagine #red velvet imagine #irene imagine #nct #nct 127 #nct imagine #nct taeyong #nct johnny #kpop angst #irene scenarios #whew #nct scenario #nct angst #nct imagines #sm

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lifeonashelf · 3 years

Text

...INTERLUDE...

Come to Vegas! We can make out, gamble, and forget all our troubles.

This is quite possibly the greatest text message I have ever received. Four days later, I hit the road.

I have never driven to Las Vegas by myself. Once I complete the journey I can’t fathom why this is, because despite the extended sprawl of nothing between us, Vegas isn’t nearly as far away as I picture it in my mind. I arrive in 3 hours and 17 minutes (which, oddly, is the exact figure Google Maps gave me when I checked the route before leaving my apartment—this is even more astonishing when you factor in that Google not only calculated my precise rate of speed for the entire trek, but evidently also predicted that I would be pulling off the road for seven minutes to have a cigarette at a rest stop just outside Baker). On the way, I listen to two volumes of a 10-disc playlist I made a few months earlier. When I burn mix CDs for myself, they are ridiculously schizophrenic—crossing the state line, I hear Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, my favorite track by the death metal band Gorefest, and then “Cool For The Summer” by Demi Lovato in immediate succession, and I sing every word to each of them. Needless to say, it is an awesome drive.

Everything proceeds smoothly when I arrive. The Gold Coast has my lodgings ready for me two hours prior to the posted check-in time and they are able to accommodate my request for a smoking flat. I take my bag up to the 9th floor, set up my laptop at the table by the window, and then smoke a cigarette in my room just because I fucking can. I purposefully skipped dinner the night before so my stomach would be prepared to maximize the possibilities offered by the hotel’s Ports O’ Call Buffet. I tear that shit up, then head to the lounge to play a bit of video poker and get a cup of coffee—the machines at the bartop are not kind to me; that cup of coffee ends up costing me sixty dollars. Such is Vegas.

The day is uneventful, by Las Vegas standards. I drink more coffee, I gamble some more and win back my sixty bucks, I write a bit, I watch some basketball. But I am really just killing time. Because the passing hours are merely a preamble; the woman who sent me the text message which acted as the siren song for this trip is in the same town as me, and come “around 7ish” we will be in the same building.

She’s here on business. ___ is a reality television producer, and has been dispatched to Sin City to film the upcoming season of the show Hell’s Kitchen. I have not seen her in over two years, even though she only lives 30 miles from my apartment in real life and driving to Nevada is in fact way more effort than I would normally have to exert to visit her. But our real lives are rarely able to intersect. Besides, I love Las Vegas. And there’s something undeniably enchanting about the prospect of walking beside a beautiful girl amidst a panorama of brilliant dramatic neon and exotic stereoscopic night-sounds. Being in Vegas is like being in a movie, and the character you get to play has way more fun than you do when you’re not on-screen. Compared to my daily existence, and the daily existence of anyone who does not live here, the milieu of Vegas feels like an ethereal dream. That’s why it’s the perfect place to rendezvous with ___; being around her is so intoxicating that it feels much the same.

Our history spans nearly two decades. It is as complicated and messy and wonderful as any history I have ever shared with anyone. I cannot possibly recount all of it here, though I will tell you some. I lost a girlfriend when ___ and I became close because that girlfriend clearly identified that we were mutually attracted to each other. I would have never cheated, but my relationship imploded because I aggressively refuted her well-founded apprehensions and pretended like she was acting crazy for even insinuating I was drawn this person who I would 17 years later drive 230 miles to visit at the whim of a late night text. As a result I broke the heart of an incredible woman who deserved far better, and she broke mine by dumping me. Twenty-four hours subsequent, I was on a park bench making out with a girl who I swore up and down was merely a platonic acquaintance, and I was officially a liar.

I was 23 years old. I was also far more charming and attractive than I am now, and in the mindset to actively explore the positive corollaries which arose from that confluence. I spent a few years kissing a lot of girls because I was single and I was in my early twenties and it’s a good idea to kiss as many girls as you can when you’re single and in your early twenties because you won’t get to kiss too many more after that. Despite the sagacity I demonstrated by accurately predicting this, I was an unadulterated fucking idiot when it came to ___. I am horrified by my conduct throughout everything that ensued between us, and I will forever be haunted by the what-ifs brought about by the consequent brazen stupidity I exhibited.

From the moment we began groping each other at Cahuilla Park in Claremont, ___ became sort of a surrogate for the girlfriend I had sacrificed, a proxy upon whom I could bestow both the passion that had been extinguished and the anguish that had been stoked after the break-up. ___ did not kill my relationship, I killed it by being a callous asshole. But I think subconsciously I blamed her anyway (for having the audacity to enter my life and be the extraordinary girl she is, I suppose); that was far easier than owning up to the fact that I had acted like an irredeemable piece of shit toward the girl she supplanted. My pride and my heart were wounded and I couldn’t take it out on the person whose inescapable-in-hindsight decision had caused those injuries since she was no longer taking my calls. So I took it out on her replacement instead. And over the course of the several tumultuous months that followed, I proceeded to meticulously break the heart of another incredible woman who deserved far better.

I have never handled anyone as poorly as I handled ___. She was a dazzling and unequivocal gem, yet I treated her like she meant nothing to me at all. The mere thought of her being with anyone else drove me mad, yet instead of telling her this I told her time and time again that she could never have me all to herself and continued dating other people to underscore my assertion. More than once, I brought her to tears by stating in no uncertain terms that I never wanted to see her again, only to call her the very next night and ask her to come over as if that conversation never happened. I wasn’t simply emotionally abusive to ___, I was utterly fiendish to her. For every year of my life leading up to that one and every year since, I have been proud to conduct myself as a true gentleman, so I will never understand how I was even capable of hurting anyone as persistently and comprehensively as I hurt her. Rest assured, I didn’t understand it at the time, either. Nor did I understand why no matter how awful I was to her, she still saw the best in me and held out hope that I would come to my senses and acknowledge the singularly special thing that was standing right in front of me.

Unfortunately, I realized far too late that the reason ___ did so was because she was deeply in love with me. And I also realized far too late that I was deeply in love with her.

By then I had done about as much damage to her psyche as one person could do to another. Though she wouldn’t know it, my comeuppance was delivered by the next woman I entered into a failed relationship with, who put me through a lot of the same things I put ___ through and came up with several novel doozies of her own for good measure. ___ and I remained in sporadic telephone contact, though we rarely saw each other in person. Bizarrely, this had the upshot of emphasizing the indissoluble strength of our bond, since none of the interactions we had were stilted by our silence and distance—every time we came together, I felt as close to her as ever and she clearly felt the same.

Over the years, we’ve had numerous conversations about what happened between us. I wish to keep those private, but the essence of what has been expressed is that despite everything she considers me one of the people closest to her in the world. She also told me that “Perfect” by The Smashing Pumpkins is her song to me; I listen to it often, even though those beautiful and devastating lyrics always bring tears to my eyes.

Of course, along the way I finally did what she desperately wished I would have done 17 years ago. I came to my senses and acknowledged the singularly special thing that was once standing right in front of me. I made overtures to that effect on a couple of occasions when we once again found ourselves simultaneously single, but they were way overdue. She said she did still love me and always would, but the wall I forced her to build to shield herself from me had grown too tall and sturdy to tear down. A tacit understanding developed between us: we would be friends for the rest of our lives, but I had confused and harmed her enough for one lifetime and she was not willing to give me any chance to add to that abominable legacy. It’s a verdict I had no choice but to accept because it was a much better one than I deserved; she would have been undeniably justified in never wanting to speak to me again.

I know ___ has never wholly resolved the chaos of emotions I stirred within her, neither the amorous nor the angry. Some cuts are too deep to be sutured, and those tend to leave scars. Truthfully, I think she despises me as much as she adores me; she just adores me too much to let the other side win out most of the time. But this paradox is entirely fitting because our entire relationship is a paradox, a saga of two satellites which have shared each other’s orbit since they were launched and create a blinding explosion when they collide. Last night, she kissed me in the lobby of the Golden Nugget casino and we melted into each other just like we did that first time in Cahuilla Park, seventeen years erased by the touching of lips. When we came up for air, she wrapped her arms around me and buried her face against my chest and said, “god, I hate you,” with so much love in her voice that it made my stomach swim. It was the perfect thing for her to say in that moment, both because it is absolutely true and because it is the absolute opposite of the truth.

We had a delightful night on Fremont Street, both of us properly investigating that very cool region of the city for the first time. We had some drinks and we listened to some music and we played some poker and we held hands as we walked the promenade. For a few hours, we got to be the couple both of us wanted to be at one time or another, just never at the same time; we even fought like a couple for part of that span, since the resentment and pain she’s had to bury deep within herself to continue accepting me into her life despite my previous sins still gets triggered from time to time when we speak of the past. Regardless, I wouldn’t have changed a second of it. The night was absolutely magical, because ___ is absolutely magical.

But the spell of Las Vegas gets broken once you realize that nothing there is real. There’s an axiom people use to justify all manner of debauchery they engage in while visiting Sin City: “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Tonight ___ is out with a large group of people who esteem her, and I am alone in a smoky room sitting at my laptop, which is a lot closer to what our individual non-Las Vegas lives look like. This artificial vacation existence in which we were united as one happened in Vegas and will stay in Vegas, because it has to. Because, truthfully, the life she built for herself without me is much richer than the life I built for myself without her. Tomorrow morning I will get in my truck and exit this city of lights to travel back across a stretch of barren desert the length of two mix-CDs, and after I arrive home I will spend the next interminable number of days and nights sitting at my laptop in a room that is less smoky than this one but no less lonely. Meanwhile, tomorrow morning ___ will continue to work her fascinating job and then she will leave the country on some adventure, and no matter where she is and what she’s doing, she will be surrounded by people whose company is far more gratifying to her than mine ever could be.

The hours we spent holding hands on Fremont Street were unreal. But they were also so real that I am still reeling from the aftershock of our latest satellite collision. Our relationship, both the real and the unreal, befits that manner of contradiction. I don’t think ___ and I are still in love with each other, but I do still love her in a way that I have never loved anyone else. I have committed unconditionally to other women in her absence and redistributed the connection we share into a more manageable framework, but whenever there is no one in my life I can’t help but recognize that there very well could be if I hadn’t once been a soulless beast to someone who was merely pleading for me to appreciate them the way they sincerely deserved to be appreciated. ___ is without a doubt one of the most phenomenal and inside-out beautiful human beings I have ever known and I cannot conceive of my life without her in it, yet I still to this day find it difficult to face her. Every moment I spend with ___ feels like a gift, but those moments also sting in equal measure, because she is a walking reminder of me at my absolute worst.

I don’t think she has ever truly forgiven me. I’m not sure she really ever could, or should. Nothing I do today can undo what I did yesterday. I know that no matter how exhilarating it feels to look into her gorgeous and soulful eyes after we kiss in a glittering alternate universe, there are times when she looks at me and only sees a man who likely hurt her worse than anyone else she has ever known. I know there is a part of her that will always love me, but I also know there’s a part of her that wishes she had never even met me.

While I can only suppose what the world might look like if I had treasured her instead of trashing her all those years ago, I am positive that it would look far better and brighter than it does now. I’m aware that even if I had done the right things then, it’s improbable we would still be together today. Very few relationships go that distance, and despite our exceptional chemistry, ___ and I are not effortlessly compatible. I wouldn’t change a single thing about her, but there are unchangeable things about me I know she could not abide and no one should have to. She detests smoking; I enjoy smoking more than I enjoy most other things. She dreams of spending her days traveling and exploring; I dream of sitting in my easy chair and watching blu-rays.

She thinks I was worth falling in love with; I think strongly otherwise.

I don’t specifically wish ___ and I were together now. Yet therein lies another paradox. Because I got a little glimpse of what that might look like last night on Fremont Street, and it looked amazing. But that wasn’t real, that was Las Vegas; what happens there stays there. It was a magnificent movie, but that’s not what our actual lives look like. We could make out, we could gamble, but we could never forget all our troubles—no matter how much she loved me then and loves me now, I will always be one of hers.

So maybe what I do wish is that I could really be the person she was holding hands with in that unreal fantasy, the person who kissed her with abandon in the lobby of the Golden Nugget, the person she gazed at with unbridled tenderness during that joyful interlude when both of us were able to shelve our past and exist solely and safely in our present. The person she hoped I would become before I shattered her hopes by becoming a monster. Regrettably, untethered from our mutual orbit, I grew to be someone else entirely, someone with numerous regrets he can never completely atone for, someone she will always measure with a watchful and skeptical eye to protect herself. Someone who can never be anyone else except who he is. And that person simply would not be capable of making ___ as happy as she deserves to be, because he already had his chance to do that and made her miserable instead.

Besides, he can barely make himself happy most of the time.

###

The trip home is an inexorably depressing conclusion to every great vacation—you’re doing the exact same thing you did when you set off, except there isn’t anything to look forward to when you arrive. Fittingly, an unseasonable rain is coming down when I hit the 15 Freeway. The water-dappled windshield and the desolate unfolding highway ahead evoke another cinematic scene, perhaps a montage in which the central character takes a long drive to think heavy thoughts. At the risk of becoming a cliché, that is exactly what I do.

My mix-CDs play on, the music blurring past with the miles. I hear “Wonderwall” and I hear “Stairway to Heaven”, which are two songs that everyone should listen to extremely loudly on the open road at least once in their life. Seaweed… Tiamat… Purity Ring… My Chemical Romance… P!nk… The Dillinger Escape Plan... Fleetwood Mac… Each one of them imparts a decisively fantastic tune, but this time I’m not singing along. I am instead blinking away tears as it dawns on me exactly how much I am leaving behind in Las Vegas. Not the money I lost at the video poker machines, but the luminous girl I wagered at the age of 23 when I made a much more foolish gamble than I could have ever imagined and ended up losing the most precious thing I never had. The fortune that I lose over and over again every time ___ and I part from each other and return to the real world.

I discover that her hold on me, this cosmic magnetism we share, has not diminished with time. And I discover that the axiom is not absolute—not everything that happens in Vegas stays there; some things follow you all the way home.

That night on Fremont Street, she told me that she will never be completely over me. At least that makes us even in one respect.

Though the imprint I left on her heart was shaped like a bruise, there will always be a piece of mine that is the precise shape and size of ___. That piece belongs to her, and though it is a woeful consolation prize, it is the only one I will ever have the opportunity to give her.

But it does come with a vow: forever and always, whenever and wherever we meet, in Las Vegas and in real life, I promise we’ll be perfect.

May 9, 2019

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