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whirlybirbs · 3 years

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( chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes from this lovely set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

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vennilavee · 3 years

Text

love lockdown (7)

pairing: levi x reader summary: an anniversary spent together, and an old memory. warnings: wine, cursing, suggestive content, feelings of insecurity, smut (levi gets pegged)- 18+!!! word count: 4.3k a/n: based off of several asks you guys sent me hehe (the ones about the sweater curse, and tbah couple being the winery couple) tbah masterlist

Levi has been knitting for a long time, for years now, since a little before his mother had gotten sick. His mother had been the one to teach him- she had tried to even as a young boy, but he hadn’t really paid attention to it until he was older. He remembers how happy she had been when he had woven his first wool scarf. It’s been several years since his mother passed away, but he still keeps his knack for knitting alive and well.

Besides, it’s a way for him to feel close to his mother.

Levi has his favorite techniques tucked away in his brain and his favorite types of fabrics tucked away in a royal blue box in the corner of his linen closet. His trusty knitting needles also sit in the same box. It’s been a while since he had taken them out.

But he has decided that he’s going to knit you a thick blanket. Who better than to knit a blanket for anyway?

Once you and Levi begin to rack up anniversaries, Levi feels the need to do something different. Neither of you had celebrated monthly anniversaries because you felt no reason to (other than a nice candlelit dinner for your six month anniversary), but this specific moment in time feels different. Mainly because he’s come to the calming realization that you are it for him. And really, it’s a realization that has been brewing warmly for the last few months.

He’ll make it out of sunflower yellow yarn. The color that reminds him of you.

The idea is planted in his head about two months before and he sleeps on it. Before deciding that he wants to do it. It’ll take some time to finish, and he thinks he can have it done in a month or so.

Levi’s favorite way to knit is with a glass of whiskey and with the television turned on for background noise. With every stitch, he finds himself thinking of you- will you like it? He hopes you will- it’s not much, but it’s him.

But he has nothing to worry about, because he knows you’ll appreciate it. It’s part of why he keeps you around, after all.

“Dude, you’re knitting her a blanket? Have you never heard of the sweater curse?” Mike asks incredulously, “I would think you, as a well seasoned member in the knitting community, would know what the sweater curse is…”

“The what,” Levi says flatly.

“The sweater curse,” Mike repeats with a raise of an eyebrow.

“You repeating it doesn’t tell me what it means. Spit it out.”

“It’s when someone who knits makes a sweater, or anything really, for their significant other. And then the couple inevitably breaks up, because one of them realizes that they put in way more effort than the other,” Mike says. He says it so knowingly, as if it’s fact.

Levi scoffs with a slow roll of his eyes. But still, something uneasy settles in his chest. He tries to quell it before it sprouts and blossoms, and he does a mostly good job of it.

But Mike’s words stay with him for the rest of the day. Even when you had called him to say goodnight from your apartment, it had lingered in the back of his mind.

You could tell something was off- after all, you like to think you could read him like a book. Despite him giving you his full attention, you could tell he was distracted-

“Levi? Is everything okay?” You ask softly, “You seem... preoccupied.”

“Yes,” He says instantly.

With that, you don’t push him. But still you frown a little at him, wondering what could be bothering him. You decide to change the subject. It’s taken a while, but these days, if something was bothering him then he would tell you.

After letting it fester for a bit and after he tried to work through his feelings on his own.

“Hey, can I come over this weekend? I have something for you… And also your bed is comfier than mine.”

“Just say you wanna sleep on my bed. No need for false pretenses.”

“Well, it is a well known fact that your bed is superior to mine…”

You don’t push him and Levi is grateful for that. Maybe he’ll voice his concerns when you come over.

The blanket that Levi is preparing for you still needs about a week of work, but they are coming along nicely if he says so himself. The material is soft- he’s particular about what he works with and for you, he’s even more picky.

With each weave and stitch, he grows a tiny bit unsure about the stupid sweater curse. He curses Mike for putting such a stupid idea in his head. But what if it holds some truth to it? After all, he can vividly remember the instances of breakdowns in communication in the beginning- how many times he was so quick to jump to conclusions rather than talk things out with you.

He’s come a long way since then, but what if the stupid curse holds some truth to it?

His slight spiral takes a backseat when his phone vibrates, a text from you letting him know that you’ve just parked your car and you’ll be inside in a few minutes.

Levi makes his way to the lobby to greet you. Almost every time he does this, you protest, telling him that you can just meet him in his apartment. But every time, he greets you in the lobby whenever you visit him.

It’s small, but it makes your heart sing happily for your chivalrous man.

Levi takes your bags and touches your elbow lightly as you both wait for the elevator to ding. In the privacy of the elevator, you kiss him hello quickly.

“How was the drive?” Levi asks, rubbing your wrist.

“Felt longer than usual,” You admit, stifling a yawn. Levi hums in acknowledgement and keeps a hovering touch over your elbow as you both walk side by side to his apartment. You allow yourself the luxury of resting your head against his shoulder as he unlocks the front door.

“I would’ve come to pick you up if you were tired,” Levi scolds gently.

You shrug, “I don’t mind the drive, baby.”

Pet names slip easily from your lips when you’re in each other’s privacy and comfort.

“Go change and wash up,” Levi murmurs, patting your ass fondly, “I have dinner ready. I’ll pour you a glass of wine, shiraz good?”

You hum wordlessly and squeeze his arm with a grin. As you fumble through your small duffel bag that you specifically use for whenever you stay over Levi’s place, nerves begin to fizz up in your veins.

You sincerely hope Levi enjoys the small gift you had for him. Pulling on one of Levi’s looser shirts, your favorite purple hoodie and cozy leggings, you pull the gift tucked away in the side of the duffle bag and hide it behind your back.

“Hi,” You mumble softly, molding yourself to his side in the kitchen where he is setting plates for you both, “I have something for you, baby.”

“And what’s that?” Levi asks, bringing you in front of him and pressing your back against the kitchen countertop.

“Sit with me on the couch,” You murmur, tugging his hand in yours gently. Levi sees a small package in your hands as you not discreetly try to hide it from him.

You seem a little nervous, picking at the hem of your hoodie before finally raising your eyes to meet his.

You hope he likes it.

“It’s not much,” You mumble, “But…”

Levi unwraps the blue wrapping paper dotted with little cartoon stars on it with a raised eyebrow. His lips are pursed together in a thin line, wondering what it could possibly be and how he didn’t know you were planning to gift him something.

He thinks about the nearly completed blanket hidden in his bottom dresser drawer.

“It’s getting cold, and I know you don’t like how cold your neck gets in the winter,” You say, watching with wide eyes as he pulls out a rich navy sweater from the wrapping paper. It’s warm to the touch, the material thick and of good quality.

It doesn’t feel store bought.

“Did you- did you make this?” Levi says, almost incredulously, “You made this for me? Since when do you knit?”

“I don’t,” You say sheepishly, “You like knitting and I wanted to make something that you like. Or try to make something at least. If it’s shorter on one arm than the other, mind your business.”

Levi rolls his eyes and pats your head fondly. It had taken you months and hours to figure out what you were doing, with the help of videos and the elderly lady that you bought your fruits from on Saturdays.

He can’t believe you had done this right under his nose. But should he be so surprised, considering he is doing the same?

He wants to tell you about the blanket sitting at the bottom of his drawer, but he refrains. The sweater is a rich, blue that brings out his eyes (at least, according to you).

Levi instantly takes his shirt off to pull the sweater over his torso as you watch with hearts in your eyes.

“I know it’s not much… Do you-mmph-”

Your sentence is cut off by the abrupt press of his lips on yours. Levi leans over, laying his weight on top of you and kisses you soundly- his tongue slipping in your mouth with the tilt of his head. The material of the sweater tickles your chin and your cheeks. You’re surrounded by him- his kiss, his touch, his distinct love.

Levi knew he was worrying for no reason. The sweater curse might exist for other couples, but not for you both.

“Thank you,” He mumbles into your neck, his cheeks heating up, “It’s really warm.”

You only beam at him, adoration clear in the edges of your smile. Levi looks handsome, infinitely more handsome than usual since he’s wearing something that you made for him.

Your love looks good on him.

The memory of the sweater curse is amusing now, when Levi looks back on it. Now, five years later, he’s with you at a winery in celebration of your anniversary. You’re spending the night at a nearby hotel- you had picked the winery and Levi had picked the hotel.

If Levi was a painter, he thinks this would be the perfect picture to paint. You, in a sea of green vines and a clear sky beaming down on you. You, with your glowing skin and mischievous eyes. You, with love sitting in every crevice of your smile that you give him.

Maybe someday he’ll paint it. You, his sunshine personified.

“Mmm, Levi darling. Don’t you think this red wine contains a note of blueberry? Perhaps some...how do you say...raspberry?” You giggle behind your wine glass, the liquid swirling around carelessly.

“It’s a pomegranate wine sweetheart,” Levi says in amusement. You always do this at wine tastings, pretend like you’re an actual sommelier when in reality you and Levi mostly believe that all wine tastes the same.

“Close enough. It’s in the same family,” You huff.

“Oh is it? Blueberries taste like pomegranates now? What kind of berries have you been eating?”

“It’s called wine. You should try it sometime.”

That earns you a subtle swat of your ass and you giggle happily.

“It’s gorgeous out,” You sigh.

“Yes, it’s almost as gorgeous as you,” Levi says flatly and you nearly throw a slab of cheese at his chest, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Tell me you think I’m pretty.”

“You already know I do.”

“Tell me anyway. It’s my birthday, remember?”

“Your birthday just passed.”

“Okay, and? It’s still my birthday season.”

“You know you’re gorgeous. You know I think you’re gorgeous,” Levi rolls his eyes and then smirks, “But you’re prettiest when your mouth is stuffed full of-“

“I’ll blow you right here in these vines, don’t test me.”

“Stop making empty promises that were both too classy for and finish your damn wine.”

You beam at him and clink your glass noisily. It nearly slips from your grip but you catch it in time.

“We have about an hour until the wine tour. Think we can finish this bottle by then?” Levi murmurs, tugging on your hand for you to settle in his lap.

The vines you’re seated in are far, far away from the main entrance of the winery. Away from prying eyes. Which is why you both allow for a little touching, a little kissing and a lot of flirting.

“Who do you take us for?” You mumble and turn your head to kiss him lightly, “We’re wine connoisseurs. Sommeliers, if you will-“

You laugh wildly when Levi playfully nips your neck and steals a sip of your fruity wine. He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His long, lithe fingers brush against your bare thigh. It’s funny, even after all these years, he still manages to touch you in a way that feels like magic.

You both finish your glasses of wine and eagerly fill them both up to finish off the bottle.

Your lips are stained a pretty red, matching Levi’s own lips. You touch his lips with your fingers and he doesn’t even swat your grabby hands away.

“There’s some cheese at the corner of your mouth,” You say flatly, “I’ll just get it off-“

You kiss him and he expects it, already used to your antics. He doesn’t let you get very far, only allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth and only allowing himself a plentiful grab of your ass.

“Wow, Levi, keep your hands to yourself. We’re in public,” You laugh to yourself, shooting him a pretend glare.

Levi only sighs and pops a cracker and cheese into his mouth, his hands never leaving the curve of your ass. Your giggles are higher pitched than usual, your limbs and your lips a little looser.

Tipsiness colors your dark eyes when Levi pulls your sunglasses off. “You’re not fooling anybody, sweetheart,” Levi jeers, “You're drunk off your ass.”

“No! I’ve only had like… two glasses!” You protest, grabbing your sunglasses back from him.

Levi looks at you in disbelief but says nothing. He indulges you in taking selfies with him and deciding to change your lockscreen to a new photo of both of you.

He can’t resist kissing your cheek after another half a glass of wine. “Mmm, you’re pretty,” Levi murmurs into your neck, his face warm, “You wore this dress for me?”

It’s one of his favorite dresses and his favorite color on you, and yes, maybe you did wear it because you’re very well acquainted with this information.

“No,” You roll your eyes and ignore the pinch to your waist as he tightens his arm around you, “I wore it for the wine tour guide. She’s really pretty, I might ask for her number-”

You swat his shoulder when he has the audacity to bite your neck in response. “I’d call you a vampire but you’re looking more golden than usual, my love,” You poke him, “That’s what happens when you get more than two minutes of sun per day-”

“You’ve got a mouth on you today, huh?”

“Gonna fuck the attitude outta me or what?”

“Tempting, but I’ve got wines to taste.”

Once the wine tour starts and you both get progressively more and more tipsy, blaming it on both of your affinities for wine, you make grabby hands for Levi’s cheese and crackers. He glares at you, close to pushing your hand away, but you stick your tongue out at him and swipe them anyway.

“God, fuck, you know what would taste good with this wine,” You whisper (but really it’s more of a low groan).

“What?”

“Fuckin’ Thai food,” You moan, cracker crumbs sticking to the side of your mouth, “Fuck, babe, I could go for some pad see ew…”

You huff, a dreamy sort of look in your eyes at the thought of it.

“You’re interrupting the wine guide,” Levi scolds, swatting your thigh. Though his eyes are starting to unfocus as the heat of your thigh feels so nice in his palm. He thinks he’ll leave his hand there for a bit.

“This tastes like I just dunked my head into a crisp apple and sucked the juice out of it,” You murmur, giving him a mild cider.

“Like in a good way?” Levi whispers.

“Duh.”

The wine tour consists of a few other couples and groups, but you and Levi keep to yourselves at a corner table as you give each wine you taste a rating. They all begin to blend in with each other after each taste, and pretty soon, you’re heavily leaning against Levi. The scent of his warm, spicy cologne curls around you and envelopes you in a hazy daydream filled with shades of grey.

“What?” Levi whispers when he sees you staring (a little dopily, he might add).

“Nothin’,” You grin, “Wanna nap at the hotel after this?”

“Can’t believe we’re getting drunk just to nap together,” Levi scoffs but he squeezes your hand.

“We have reservations later,” You remind him, “We both need to rally before dinner, honey.”

“Are you ready, baby?” You purr, stroking Levi’s hair back and leaning over to kiss his forehead. A pretty peachy pink blush colors his cheeks and creeps down to his neck. You tug his bottom lip out from the grip of his teeth.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin. You grin salaciously with hungry eyes and lick a stripe up his neck. His breath hitches, tilting his neck to the side a bit and you kiss his neck even over his pretty necklace with a green pendant hanging on the gold chain.

It’s pretty because it’s your necklace.

The softness of your lips over his skin- his chiseled chest, his lower abs- is a nice compliment to your fingers gently skimming his sides. You sit back, looking down at him from above. You lick your lips to moisten your suddenly dry mouth.

You’ve seen Levi like this, pliant and glistening for you too many times to count. But still, the sight of him flusters you and sends an instant rush of wetness flooding your pussy.

You adjust the straps of the black harness around your hips, tugging at the pretty purple silicone cock that hangs heavy between your legs. Levi tracks your movement with blown out eyes and a hand wrapped around his own thick, dripping cock.

“Did you like my fingers, baby,” You murmur, letting your hands travel up the expanse of his chest. His muscles tense with your touch, goosebumps arising instantly.

Levi hums, reaching for your hands and rubbing your knuckles.

“Mmm, words, my love,” You mumble, pressing a thumb to his plump bottom lip. His hot breath warms your finger when he opens his mouth to reply with a soft ‘yes, sweetheart’, his voice heady and low. Broken and slow with desire for you.

You pull away from his lips, ignoring the way arousal swirls in your belly and your clit throbs with how needy he looks already. You reach forward and stroke his cock languidly and gather his wetness over your thumb and press your thumb to his bottom lip again.

“Open, baby,” You say, your own voice sounding a little raspy, “Open up.”

Levi parts his lips and allows your thumb into his mouth and he swirls his tongue over it, tasting himself on his lips. You groan at the sight with hooded eyes, wishing for some friction over your clit.

You look like a vision hovering over him- your legs tanned and glowing, eyes zeroed in on him, looking at him like you want to absolutely ruin him. You are a goddess, and he’ll follow you wherever you might take him.

Especially when you slide into him slowly, deliciously, as he savors the slight burn as it dissipates into pleasure. Your grip is tight over his hips, warmth and electricity spreading from your fingertips to his belly.

You’ll ruin him, ruin the silky navy sheets below him, steal his soul from his cock. All of the above. Anything you give him, he’ll take. He’ll take it with open lips and open legs.

It doesn’t take much for you to find a rhythm with your palms flat on the sheets on either side of Levi. Arousal licks your insides at every gaze of his heated cheeks and his murky, grey eyes. He’s openly vocal with you, panting and mewling into the sheets, alternating between fisting them and holding your hips with a searing grip.

“God, baby, look at you,” You whine, leaving open mouthed kisses to his chest while still rocking your hips into him, “Is this okay, baby? I love you-”

Levi groans and nods, wrapping his legs around your waist for a deeper grind of your cock. He palms your tits, squeezing in his large hands and moans into the space between you both.

“Are you wet,” Levi asks in a strangled voice.

“Fuck yeah,” You grin, thrusting your hips in a slow grind into him. His cock is throbbing, standing tall and pretty for you. You stroke him slowly, matching your thrusts with your strokes.

It takes coordination, but you’re used to it.

“Wanna sit on my face?” Levi murmurs, squeezing your thighs with his heavy hands. He’s close, so close, and you both know it- his thighs begin to quake slightly. And he has the familiar look in his face when he’s about to cum, his eyes go dark, lips parted and his eyebrows are furrowed into a tight line.

“Mmm, maybe later,” You reply instantly, wanting to see him come undone by your hands and by your cock. By you, by the steadfast beat of love that surrounds you both and envelopes you on this silky sweet cotton candy cloud.

Or maybe it’s just the sheets.

“Is my baby close?” You purr, dark eyes swirling, “My baby’s gonna cum?”

“Fuck,” Levi groans, throwing his head back onto the bed when you thrust into him particularly harshly. The column of his pretty throat is exposed to you and you lean forward, his cock still in one hand. Sucking a mark on his clavicle, you nip his earlobe and his breath hitches as you make your way down his chest.

“Your cock is so big in my hands,” You marvel softly, looking down, “You’re so big, baby…So good to me. My big, strong, sexy man.”

And apparently, that’s what he needs to finally cum, a long, drawn out groan of your name slipping out of his mouth as he shakes in your hold. Ribbons of cum paint your hand and his lower abs, some of it even spraying on your harness.

“You’re messy,” You tease and Levi only hums in acknowledgement, “Are you okay? I’ll go get you water and clean you up, sweetheart.”

Levi doesn’t move, only shifting on his side tiredly. You make your way to the fancy, marbled bathroom to unclasp the harness and clean yourself up. Your pussy still throbs, achingly so, but that’s the last thing on your mind.

He calls your name gruffly, voice a little hoarse. You return to him with a glass of water and wrap your arms around him from behind, kissing the back of his neck gently. Your fingers thread over his sore muscles, his abdomen and his thighs and you rub his scalp soothingly with a deft touch.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, hugging him close to your chest.

“Yes,” Levi says instantly, “More than okay.” He turns in your arms and pushes his head into your bare chest, inhaling deeply and innocently grabs your ass. Just to hold you close- his touch is mostly unassuming. He likes being close to you, touching you, just breathing with you after times like this when you steal his soul with your cock.

You glance down at him and smile, pushing his dark hair away from his forehead and press a kiss to his sweaty skin. Levi nuzzles his cheek further into your chest, a content hum rumbling in his chest. His thigh brushes against your aching core and you force yourself to stifle a groan. But he catches it, because he always does.

Your attentive man.

“You didn’t cum,” Levi states, letting his hand drift downwards to palm your sensitive pussy.

“We have later for that,” You mumble, swatting his hand away but he doesn’t listen. He presses himself closer to you, sinking his lips into your neck and rubbing your clit lazily.

His long, lithe fingers slide into your wetness easily and you huff into his ear. “We have now for that,” Levi murmurs, nipping your jaw as presses his finger into your dripping core, “Slow with me, baby.”

It doesn’t take much for you to cum, just a few strokes of his fingers in you and a few slow circles of his thumb on your clit. It hits you slowly, crawling up your toes before curling in your belly in a warm stroke of flames. It’s unhurried as it blooms in your belly, allowing you to savor every second of it.

“Sit on my face later,” Levi says, pulling you closer into his side. You throw a leg up around his hip and hum in agreement. You press a kiss to his clavicle, the slow of his heartbeat in tandem with the gentleness of your fingertips rolling through his hair.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” You mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Our anniversary was on Friday,” Levi says with a turn of his lips, earning himself a swat to his chest, “Happy anniversary, pretty girl.”

Levi kisses your forehead, his knuckles brushing your cheek before dipping down for another kiss.

“Cheers to many more,” You say, smiling into his kiss. He replies by deepening the kiss and pressing your back to the bed, allowing himself to drop on top of you.

Levi’s touch has always made you feel infinite, and this time is no different.

tags: @simpingmaize @captainchrisstan @kentobean @alrightberries @melancholicmonologue @regalillegal @castellandiangelo

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x you #aot x reader #snk x reader

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miraculouswolf99 · 3 years

Text

Silver Siren

Happy New Year!!! This is not a New Years story, but it is a story that I am using New Years as an excuse to post it. LOL

*****

Luka Couffaine was often described as the most relaxed and chill guy that anyone could ever meet. Often seen with his guitar on hand, playing what he would call a person's heart song. He was also described as a protective older brother to his sister, Juleka. Especially when it came to her friends.

The only ones that Luka really knew were Rose, Ivan, and Mylene as they were the ones that came over the most often. This was the first time that the entire class was on the Liberty. And if Luka was being honest with himself, he was most intrigued by Marinette, Lyon, and Adrien.

While he had not met Adrien personally yet, the things he had heard from the class made him curious about the model. Marinette also seemed really sweet and the type of person that could brighten a room just by walking into it. And Lyon seemed similar to himself, calm and easily just as observant.

Lyon and his sister had seemed almost like him and Juleka. They liked to be off to the side and observe. They also spoke of animals and plants like they spoke of music, that it relates to everything and everyone. Luka was amazed by their heart songs. So full of life, harmony, and with a slight sense of mysteriousness.

But most of Luka's cool, calm, and collected personality was thrown out the window when his mother got akumatized into Captain Hardrock.

"A treasure in return for freedom," Anarka says. "Ho, ho, ho then I shall be your pirate Hawkmoth."

Black and purple smoke covers the ship.

"Oh no," Luka hears Marinette gasp.

Captain Hardrock rose up. Captain Hardrock has long red hair that is spiked upwards and golden eyes. The upper half of her face is covered with a black mark edged with dark red and she wears a black bandana with a white spiky-haired skull on the front, along with gold circular earrings.

She wears a bodysuit that is red from the collar to the chest and black from the chest, the color separation looking like flames. Her suit includes three yellow buttons vertically on her lower body, three golden spikes horizontally over each knee, and a golden patch above each hip. She has two black belts, one going around the body diagonally and the other wrapped around the waist, that have golden buckles. Over her suit, she wears a black captain jacket with golden inner lining, golden spikes on the shoulders, golden edges, and golden buckles on the sides. Black fingerless gloves with golden edges around the upper holes cover her arms up to her elbows. Her knee-high boots that end below the knees are black and red in a flame-like pattern with black soles, golden heels, black inner lining, and black stripes with golden spikes above the ankles.

"Raise the mainsail, me deck hands let's get swashbuckling around here," his akumatized mom orders.

"Mom," Juleka asks, shocked and scared.

"What's going on," Luka asked, concerned.

"Your mom has weighed anchor, me lad," the akuma says. "I'm Captain Hardrock and today Paris's timbers are about to be shivered by my cannons."

The captain looks through a telescope. Luka took that second to make a quick headcount. He realized that the Greek twins were not on board the Liberty anymore. Remembering that the two were close to the gangplank when all this started, he figured that they had most likely had gone and went to get help.

"Westward ho, Liberty next stop," she orders. "Jagged Stone at the Eiffel Tower. Soon, there will only be one concert in Paris only one Music Festival. We will destroy all the others. Now, get to your instruments and rock those decibels!"

"Mom please, you can't ruin the Music Festival," Luka calmly pleaded.

"You can't force people to listen to your music," Marinette tells the villain.

"No way we're playing like this," Ivan yells.

"Mutiny," Captain Hardrock sounded offended. "On my ship! Liberty, seize these scallywags and throw them down into the hold!"

Chains shot out from different places on the ship. But before any of the teens could react, arrows started flying over their heads and hit the chains. Every chain that an arrow hit instantly froze into ice. Then the next thing that they knew, another weapon flew past them and shattered all the ice chains.

Floating near the ship, above the water, was Beautifly with her shield-sized razor blade flower. And looking over, back on land, was White Wolf. His bow was still at the ready. Luka was amazed that the two got there so quickly and figured that it was because of Lyon and Vallia. He had seen the two newest heroes of Paris on the news and the Ladyblog, but this was the first time in person.

"If I was Cat Noir, I would probably make a very bad ice pun right about now," Wolf smirked. "But I'll stick to freezing things with my arrows."

"And I am happy you are," Beautifly giggles. "I mean, Cat is a great hero and all, but I am very close to slapping him over those cat puns."

"Creatures of the land and air are not welcome on my ship," Captain Hardrock shouts, pointing her sword at the butterfly girl.

"Do I look like I'm on your ship," Beautifly floated around. "If you haven't noticed, I'm not even touching the ground let alone your ship."

"Lock this fly in the brig, Liberty," Captain Hardrock ordered.

Chains, once again, shot out from different parts of the ship. They headed right for the butterfly hero. But unlike Ladybug, Cat Noir, and even her own partner White Wolf, Beautifly is able to fly. But that is obvious at this point. It did give her an advantage over most akumas. The way that she was currently flying around to avoid the chains was one very good example of these advantages.

"I'm a butterfly, thank you very much," Beautifly put her hands on her hips.

She made a quick dive back toward the water, flying barely a foot above it. The chains would hit the water instead as she gracefully dodged them. But she soon made a quick shot upwards as she got close to where her partner had been standing. That allowed him to fire a volley of arrows at the chains following her. Each one of them was soon frozen into ice. She quickly shattered them with her razor flower.

"Nice try, Jackie Sparrow," Wolf smirked.

Beautifly facepalmed. "What you lack in puns, you sure make up for in pop culture references."

"What can I say," Wolf shrugged. "I love American movies."

The kids still onboard the Liberty, meanwhile, seemed to finally get out of shock over the heroes showing up so quickly.

"We need to get off this ship," Alya quickly says.

"How," Ivan asked. "Do you want us to jump into the seine?"

"Would you rather be chained up on this ship," Alya countered.

"All ashore that's going to shore," Ivan headed right for the edge of the boat.

"Never thought I'd have to walk the plank of my own house," Juleka says, surprisingly still as calm as she was during the Horrificator incident.

"Why is everyone in the Couffaine family so shockingly calm," Marinette whispered to Alya.

"Your guess is as good as mine, girl," Alya whispered back. "But they can't all be that calm. Captain Crazy, over there, is one example."

"I am suddenly very grateful for my normal mother," Marinette says. "Yet, I am also intrigued by everyday life in the Couffaine household."

"I hope my crew isn't planning on jumping ship," they were caught in the act by the akuma.

"Shoot," Nino swore.

With a slash of her sword in the air, Captain Hardrock sent another round of chains toward them. Only this time, White Wolf was not fast enough with his bow. He tried, but people need to remember that nobody's perfect. The group of teenagers was soon all grabbed by the chains and pulled below deck.

"Oh, Hades," Beautifly swore. "Now we're going to need a rescue mission. Where are that cat and bug?"

"Don't ask me," Wolf said, freezing another chain.

Meanwhile, Adrien had been in his room. He was watching the news broadcast about the music festival. His father had not allowed him to go to the Liberty and play the keyboard for Kitty Section. He was pretty salty about that. (AN: An ocean pun inspired by Captain Hardrock. hehe.)

"Breaking News," Nadja Chamack interrupted the fun stuff.

"Huh," Adrien knew what this most likely meant.

"Another akuma attack is in progress along the seine," Nadja reported. "This akuma's goal seems to be to take over the music festival with its rock music by taking out all the other musical acts in the city."

"Some people just don't appreciate good music when they hear it," Plagg says, munching on some of his cheese.

"Plagg, claws out," Adrien did not have time for his sarcasm since he knew his friends were at the same river.

His friends may not currently be in much danger, but they were being held prisoner.

While the room wasn't really a brig, but the teens were still trapped in it. Ivan and Mylene were chained together, as were Nino and Alya. Rose and Juleka were both alone in their chains while Luka and Marinette were also chained together.

"You don't seem very worried, Marinette," Luka noticed.

"I am, but this isn't really my first time being held captive by an akuma," Marinette says. "Even if the Evillustrator considered that situation a date."

"Alright," Luka accepted that.

"Alya, remind to apologize to Nathaniel later for bringing that up," Marinette said.

"Girl, I am pretty sure that he wouldn't mind," Alya says. "Nath is almost as forgiving as you. And that says something considering that you could forgive anyone for anything."

"Not anything," Marinette protested. "If anyone insults my parent's bakery, I'll open up a can of butt-kick of fighting techniques that my mother taught me."

The way that she said that so sweetly was enough to send shivers down most of their spines.

Marinette then looked down. She saw Tikki waving at her, having come out of her purse to silently aid her. The kwami phased into the lock on her and Luka's chain, taking a little bit before the lock opened with a quiet SNAP.

"Wow, how'd you do that," Luka asked her.

"Uhh, I, Uhm..." Marinette had to think fast. "With this."

She holds up a guitar pick.

"You're amazing," Luka praised her. "A real magician, Marinette."

"You think so," Marinette asks, going all nervous like how she does around Adrien. "Oh, it was nothing, uh, amazing, really?"

"Excuse me, but some of us are still chained up here you know," Alya says, rolling her eyes.

Before either of the freed teens could do anything, they heard Captain Hardrock walk downstairs and laughing.

"Marinette, she's coming," Nino warned them.

"We'll come back, I promise," Marinette says as she and Luka leave the room quickly.

The two ended up locking themselves in Luka's own bedroom. They had to work quickly as Captain Hardrock soon broke in.

"Run, Marinette quick," Luka yelled out the window.

"Seize him," Captain Hardrock some more chains to catch her son.

It all happened faster than Luka could blink. Chains shot through the open door in order to trap him again. But at the same time, a trio of arrows flew through the open window/porthole and froze all of the incoming chains.

Luka turned around and saw that White Wolf was hanging from an icy-looking rope outside the window.

"My outfit is bright white, how do people miss me," he joked.

"Uh..." Luka had no idea how to respond to that.

"Whatever," Wolf shrugged. "Move that fine-looking butt, handsome, you're getting off this Black Pearl wannabe."

Luka blushed, even if he hid it very well. He didn't have much time to really try and think of anything as his mother was currently breaking through the frozen chains on her way to capture him again.

Taking White Wolf's hand, he was just barely able to get through the porthole.

"Time to leave," Beautifly tells them, seen fighting more chains with the newly arrived Cat Noir.

Luka had to immediately tighten his grip around White Wolf's waist as the icy hero fired another ice rope arrow. The two swung away on the rope, landing on the shore of the seine.

"My sister and friends are still in there," Luka immediately tells him.

"I know," Wolf says. "We will try to get as many of them off of the boat as possible. But we might need to also rely on Ladybug's Miraculous Cure if we can not."

"I understand," Luka said.

"Stay safe, Mr.Couffaine," Wolf tells him, running back into the battle.

Luka couldn't help but get lost as he caught a glimpse of the hero's beautiful eyes.

"Flirt later, Wolf," Beautifly calls.

"Yeah, that's my job," Cat Noir jokes. "OW!"

Beautifly had hit him on the back of the head.

"Sorry, I'm late," Ladybug apologizes, swinging into the fray.

"All heroes are allowed to be late every once in a while," Beautifly stated, blocking a chain with her razor flower. "May I remind you of Cat Noir's late arrival to the fight with Riposte."

"He also told me you were quite late during an akuma attack by someone called the Evilistrator," Wolf said. "That name, by the way, is horrid."

Captain Hardrock, unfortunately, then made her reappearance on deck. She was already angry over her son escaping the Liberty and seeing the four heroes together did not help her mood. She raised her sword.

"Capture those pests, Liberty," she ordered.

The heroes started flipping, jumping, and flying in Beautifly's case to avoid the flying chains. White Wolf aimed another of his arrows at the chain, but Captain Hardrock was having it this time.

"Liberty, fire," she ordered her ship.

One of the cannons aimed at the icy teen. But instead of a cannonball coming out, the cannon fired a soundwave of rock music. It was almost like the soundwave effect that Black Canary causes with her canary cry. It washed over the Greek hero.

White Wolf covered his wolf ears on the top of his head, yelling in pain. The sound was loud and horrible, actually causing pain with his enhanced wolf hearing. When Captain Hardrock sent more of her chains his way, Ladybug quickly threw her yo-yo around his waist and pulled him away from them and the sound blast.

"Leave it to me to face an akuma with sound powers when I have enhanced hearing," he shook his head like he had swimmer's ear.

"Just be happy that you and Beautifly weren't here when we were fighting Guitar Villain," Ladybug said.

"There was seriously a villain with that as a name," Wolf raised an eyebrow. "Does Hawkmoth have no creativity at all?"

"That remains to be seen," Cat Noir comments. "His villain names range from weird, to good, to not very original at all."

"Jagged Stone ahead, Liberty fire," Captain Hardrock ordered.

The ship fired its sound cannons again, only this time entire speakers were shot out. The speakers landed and attached themselves all around Jagged Stone's music area at the Itfil Tower. The music was so loud that it caused cracks to spider all around where the speakers landed.

"Where's a pair of earplugs when you need them," Beautifly remarked.

"Are you the one with sensitive ears, I don't think so," Wolf commented. "My ears are still ringing from that earlier blast."

"What do you think her akumatized object is," Beautifly asked.

"It has to be something on the ship, otherwise she wouldn't be able to control it the way she does," Ladybug theorizes.

"I could Cataclysm the entire ship," Cat Noir offered, raising the hand that he uses to destroy things.

"No," Ladybug instantly shut that idea down.

"There are hostages on the ship, Cat," Wolf informs the hero. "If you sink the ship, they might drown."

"Myself and White Wolf only managed to get one of them off the ship before you two showed up," Beautifly says. "The rest of them are still trapped somewhere on there."

"I think he is Anarka Couffaine's son Luka," Wolf said. "He might know why was hit by the akuma. I'll ask him."

"Fire at XY," Captain Hardrock commanded, the Liberty shooting more of its speakers at the Justin Beiber wannabe.

"Well, do it fast," Ladybug told him, then swung away toward the ship.

"She knows that we're not her sidekicks and she doesn't have to order us around like that, right," Wolf crossed his arms.

"We can tell her off later, let's go, Cat," Beautifly ordered, flying toward the ship.

"We are around some seriously bossy ladies," Cat Noir commented, before using his staff to get to the ship himself.

"I am surrounded by weirdos," Wolf shook his head.

He took his bow in hand, notching another arrow. He aimed it to freeze one of the cannons closed when the akuma saw what he was doing.

"Fire," she ordered.

Another sound blast came right at him. He covered his wolf ears as the sound really hurt with his magical hearing. His bow and arrow fell to the ground. He could hardly tell when another person ran up and picked up his bow. Said person aimed it at the cannon, fighting the headache that the sound was causing. The arrow froze the shooting cannon, stopping the sound.

"I never liked rock music before, and I am most certainly not going to start now," Wolf says, getting up.

"Are you okay," asked the person that fired the arrow.

White Wolf looked and saw that it was Luka that had picked up his bow.

"I'm good now, Mr.Couffaine," Wolf says. "Thanks for the assistance."

"You can call me Luka, White Wolf," Luka tells him.

"Alright, then, Luka," nobody can say that superheroes aren't great actors. "It was very brave of you to use my bow. Very telling as well."

"Telling," Luka was confused.

"Most civilians would be afraid of turning to ice by touching one of my arrows," Wolf explains. "It shows that in maybe another life, you would have made an excellent fit for the wolf miraculous."

"Wow," Luka was still as cool as they come.

"Anyway, did you see what object the akuma landed on," Wolf asked the blue and black-haired boy. "Destroying it is the only way for Ladybug to de-evilize your mom."

"I didn't see exactly, but it is most likely her compass," Luka says. "She has always said that a compass is a sailor's most prized possession."

As someone that grew up near the water, White Wolf actually understood that. He wondered how much easier Odysseus would have gotten home if he had just used a map and compass instead of the stars and a lot of faith. As much as he believed in the gods, common sense is also a thing to believe in.

White Wolf noticed the ice on the cannon starting to crack. He quickly scooped Luka into his arms and ran away just in time as the ice shattered and the sound blast started up again. The two barely got away in time. The sound waves just missed them. White Wolf put Luka down a little way more away from the akumatized ship.

"Stay here, Luka," Wolf directed.

"I have to help," Luka tells the hero. "White Wolf, there has to be a way for me to help."

White Wolf looked at the blue-haired teen. He had shown great bravery when he picked up his bow. Not many people, let alone teenagers, would do such a thing. An image of a silver box flashed into his head, giving him an idea.

"Wait right here, Luka," Wolf instructed. "If any of the others ask, tell them that I went to get help. Beautifly will understand what I mean."

Luka nodded as White Wolf got out his bow again. Using an icy rope, the Greek hero swung away from the Seine. He had no idea what the wolf hero was up to.

The holder of the wolf miraculous landed in an alley on the other side of the street from a beautiful jungle-like flower/garden shop. He de-transformed and out of the alley walked Lyon Garden. The dubbed Ice Prince made his way to the flower shop, greeting his father on the way in. He quickly made his way up to his room, which from what his sister, Vallia, had told him was almost like Marinette's bedroom but made for him instead of her.

Lyon went over to the bookshelf he keeps in his room. He pulled back the one book on the shelf that did not have a title on the spine. In a bit of a cliche turn of events, the bookshelf slid tp the side to reveal a hidden compartment. From the compartment, he pulled out a secure but elegant silver box. It was in the shape of a large jewelry box with bright blue markings that looked like a cross between ice and vines. Silver roses also were dotted around the box.

Lyon opened the box lid, revealing several other pieces of jewelry inside of it. On a raised area of the box was a place for hour pieces of jewelry. The ones marked for the wolf and butterfly miraculous were empty. But there was a bluebird necklace in the space for the miraculous of the songbird and a stag brooch in the place for the stag miraculous. The other miraculouses at the top of the box were around the raised area. A deer head pendant for the deer miraculous, a black snake armband for the python miraculous, a black panther pendant for the panther miraculous, a brown bear cuff bracelet for the grizzly bear miraculous, a feather hair clip for the falcon miraculous, and a white bird hair comb for the dove miraculous.

"I know the perfect choice for this akuma," Lyon talks to himself.

He picked up a necklace before quickly sealing the box back in its hiding place and leaving.

Back at the battle with Captain Hardrock, the remaining trio was having a bit of trouble with fighting off the chains as well as trying to search for her akumatized object.

"I have never seen Pirates of the Caribbean, and this is not making me want to," Cat Noir comments, jumping out of the way of more chains.

"There is a reason why pirates have never been very recorded in Greek history," Beautifly says. "Because there weren't any."

"Seriously," Ladybug raised her eyebrow at that.

"I'm pretty sure," Beautifly shrugs. "I'm a butterfly hero, you really think I know much about pirates at all?"

"I agree with her, only replace butterfly with black cat for me," Cat Noir says. "Cats and water do not mix, in any form."

There was a reason why being surrounded by frost and ice weakened him so much when Lady Wifi locked him in that freezer. Cats and water have never mixed.

"Heads up," Beautifly warned, darting around in the sky to avoid the chains coming her way.

"Fire at Nightingale," Captain Hardrock commanded.

The Liberty shot out more speakers at the energetic pop star.

"Beautifly, where is White Wolf," Ladybug practically demanded.

"I don't know, but I do have a pretty good idea," Beautifly tells her.

"He just abandoned us in the middle of a fight," Ladybug snapped, using her yo-yo to fight off chains.

"Need I remind you that we are not your sidekicks," Beautifly snapped back, blocking chains with her razor flower. "We don't have to inform you of everything we do. I trust that White Wolf has a plan. I do not immediately go for such negative thoughts."

"If he has a plan, he should have told us," Ladybug did not back down. "Maybe he would have if he didn't stop with those ridiculous pop culture references every other sentence."

"Not all heroes have to be stern and serious to be good heroes, Bug," Beautifly did not take any crap if someone insults her brother. "Have you ever seen videos of the Flash? He never seems all that serious, but succeeds every time in his fights."

"I've seen news of his battles, and Beautifly does have a point," Cat Noir said.

But before the other female hero could try to find a comeback, one of the chains managed to hook itself to Cat Noir's left wrist.

"Oh crud," Beautifly swore.

Cat Noir was pulled up to the crow's nest and his hands were pulled to either side of him as he was chained down by his wrists.

"Cataclysm," Cat Noir shouted.

His right hand bubbled with black energy, signaling his power of destruction. With a twist of his hand, he was able to free himself from the chain holding him to the crow's nest.

"Great, because you had to act all high and mighty with trying to boss us all around, Cat Noir now only had five minutes," Beautifly snaps at the red and black hero.

"He should have been paying more attention to what was going on around him," Ladybug countered. "He was probably too busy trying to think up another joke or another lame pick-up line to focus on the fight."

"Or maybe you distracted him by treating us all like sidekicks," Beautifly did not back down.

"These two fight more than most would think me and White Wolf would," Cat Noir thinks. "The whole cats and dogs hate each other stereotype and all that."

That was when the icy hero finally made it back to the fight. He landed not too far from where Luka was trying to keep up with the ship.

"Are those two seriously at it again," he asked the teen in blue.

"It is quite ironic," Luka says. "But their music has no way to harmonize. It is too different and can barely even be in the same song."

"It's funny that you mention harmonizing," Wolf smirked.

"Pardon," Luka faced the hero.

White Wolf pulled out a small silver box from under his cloak. It was like a mini version of the Miracle Box in his room, only square-shaped.

"Luka Couffaine, this is the miraculous of the songbird, symbolized by the gift of heart," Wolf held the box out to him. "You will use it for good in this time of need. After the battle is finished, I shall return to retrieve it should you choose to accept it."

"I...I do," Luka was actually showing shock. "I accept the miraculous, White Wolf."

Luka opened the box, and a ball of light came out. It soon turned into a kwami, but this one was a cute bluebird one.

"Geia, young holder," the kwami greeted. "My name if Meloetta and I am your kwami."

"My kwami," Luka was confused.

"Kwami's are what give me and the other heroes our powers," Wolf explained. "They are also generally good friends and guides of sorts for us."

"Wow," Luka says.

He took the necklace out of the box, putting it around his neck. The color blended quite well into his natural style choice as well as the fact that he was a musician wearing a songbird around his neck. Part of him wanted to ask the wolf hero if that was part of why he had chosen this particular miraculous for him. But he shrugged it off as a coincidence.

"All you have to say is 'Meloetta, let's rock,' and you will transform," the kwami explained. "To de-transform, you say 'concert's over.' Your special power is activated by saying 'Harmonize."

Luka nodded at the kwami.

"You ready to be a hero," Wolf asked.

"I'd do anything for my friends and family," Luka says. "Meloetta, let's rock."

"At least my weapon isn't a children's toy," Beautifly shot at Ladybug.

"Yours is nothing more than an oversized daisy," Ladybug countered.

The two of them were back-to-back fighting off the chains while constantly trading insults back and forth. It also seemed that because of the two's constant fighting with each other, Captain Hardrock had basically forgotten about Cat Noir altogether. He was just watching from the crow's nest and also scanning the ship with his eyes to see where the akumatized object could be.

White Wolf soon landed next to him.

"And Ladybug calls the two of us annoying," he raised his eyebrow at the cat hero.

"I don't even pretend to know anything about girls," Cat Noir put his hands up in defeat.

"Good, because I know a few girls back home that would skin you alive if you tried to ever say that you were a girl expert," Wolf chuckled.

"Even with that little bit of information now permanently etched into my brain, I still would want to visit Greece someday," Cat Noir snickers.

"Not like we'd ever deny the help against the myth spirits," Wolf commented.

"So, was Beautifly right when she guessed that you were getting help," Cat Noir asked.

"When is she ever wrong," Wolf smirked.

Another flying hero then came out of nowhere, even if White Wolf did know where he came from. Moving so fast that he was basically a blur, he used his weapon to slice his way through all the chains until there were none left.

"What in the world," Ladybug was shocked.

"I should have known that Wolf was going to chose that miraculous," Beautifly grinned.

"What," Ladybug gasped.

The new hero finally stopped, and everyone was able to get a good look at him. He was in a silver jean vest with matching jeans. He was now also had a turquoise t-shirt with darker silver boots. On his hands were turquoise fingerless gloves. His hair was the same black with blue streaks. And to the shock of Ladybug and Cat Noir, he also had angel-like bird wings that were also silver. The bluebird necklace was still around his neck, matching the bird's eye-like mask over his eyes.

In his hand was an ax-like weapon that also resembled a hybrid of a guitar and a lyre.

"Hope I am not late to the party," the new hero comments.

"You're right on time," Wolf smirks.

"Who are you," Ladybug did not like another miraculous being out and about, as when she recruited Alya to be Rena Rouge was risky enough.

"You can call me... Silver Siren," the newly named hero smiled softly.

"Finally, another hero with wings," Beautifly giggles. "I was getting lonely up in the air all by myself."

"Happy to be of assistance to you, Beautifly," Silver Siren smiles at her.

"Guys, we may need to speed this up," Cat Noir shows his ring as it blinked to show he had three minutes left.

"Gottcha," Beautifly gives him a thumbs up.

"Luka said that the akuma is most likely in the compass," Wolf says.

"Once you freeze it, Beautifly and I can destroy it," Cat Noir said.

For once, Ladybug had to play catch-up as the other four heroes went back to battle Captian Hardrock. The akuma did not look happy that another hero had joined the fight.

"Another pest in the sky," she snarled. "Get them, Liberty."

Chains shot at the team from all angles.

"Nature's Heart," Beautifly called upon her power, throwing her flower up.

The gem on her razor flower released a blossom that came down with the weapon.

"Amaryllis," Wolf immediately figured out. "I always thought that was a beautiful flower."

"I know exactly what this flower does," Beautifly said.

Holding up the flower, it released a number of petal missiles. Each petal exploded on contact with the chains, destroying them. The move almost looked like a combo of the draco meteor and pin missile moves from Pokemon.

"My chains too easy for you," Captain Hardrock yelled. "Then I think it is time for you land-loving pests to face the music."

"Land-loving," Cat Noir raised an eyebrow. "She does know that two of us don't even touch the ground, right?"

"Akumas, big on destruction and not so much on logic," Beautifly says.

The ship rumbled as its sound cannons aimed at the five of them. White Wolf, in particular, did not want to have to hear that loud music again.

"Hit it, Silver Siren," he called out to the new hero.

"I'm on it," he responded. "Harmonize."

He strung his guitar ax, blue energy flowing from the strings to his throat. His eyes glowed as he started to open his mouth.

"Cover your ears," Wolf warned everyone.

Just as the heroes covered their ears, Silver Siren let out a loud scream as the akumatized ship sent out its own sonic blasts. Silver Sirens scream came out as powerful sonic waves similar to the Black Canary's canary cry. Only his seemed slightly more powerful and the sound waves were a bright blue color.

The two sound attacks met in the air, a loud BOOM resulting from the collision. It blew their hair and loose pieces of clothing back a little at the wind blast that also resulted from the collision.

White Wolf and Beautifly uncovered their ears as both sides died down their attacks. They had to move quickly.

"Winter's Touch," Wolf quickly called.

His hands started to pour out an icy mist with a slight blueish color to it. The wolf hero then jumped to where he was sure that the compass was on the ship.

"Stay away from my compass," Captain Hardrock yelled.

But with one touch, the piece of equipment was frozen into ice. With a quick jump back, he let Beautifly throw her razor flower at the compass. The weapon smashed right through the frozen compass as easily as it would be to shatter glass.

"Gotta love this thing," Beautifly smiles at her weapon.

A black butterfly soon flapped its way out of the rubble. That was when Ladybug stepped forward.

"No more evil-doing for you, little akuma," she said, opening her yo-yo. "Time to de-evilize."

She caught the corrupted insect.

"Bye, bye, little butterfly," Ladybug released the now white insect.

"That thing is definitely a moth," Beautifly comments.

Cat Noir snickered at the comment while White Wolf simply rolls his eyes playfully. Silver Siren smiled but Ladybug looked annoyed.

"She does seem like the perfect person to know a butterfly from a moth," Cat Noir joined in Beautifly's fun.

"You two give me headaches," Wolf said.

"You know you love us," Cat Noir winks in a flirty way.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Wolf waved him off, making him and Beautifly snicker. "You did great out there, Silver Siren."

"You think so," the new hero asks. "I was a bit worried about using my power against those cannons."

"If I didn't think you could help, I wouldn't have given you the miraculous," Wolf smiles at him.

All of the heroes but Ladybug all started to beep as their miraculouses flashed. Cat Noir had a minute left as his ring lost another piece of the paw. One of the wings on Beautifly's bracelet went black. A feather on Silver Siren's bird necklace went from blue to white. One of the wolf's teeth on White Wolf's medallion went black.

"You can handle the clean-up, Bug," Beautifly says. "We all have to go. Secret identities and all that jazz."

"No one likes smooth jazz, Fly," Wolf said, but then all of them separated.

#ml salt #marinette salt #original character #original heroes #original miraculous #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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the ice before the rainbow

title: the ice before the rainbow pairing: nakamoto yuta/reader genre: figure skater!au summary: yuta’s will is crashed after an injury almost ruins his entire career as a figure skater, but he seemingly forgets about something—the rainbow always follows after the rain. unbeknownst to him, the physiatrist who helps him with his injury holds all the colors of the world in her icy stare. type: lots of fluff/tiny bits of angst word count: 11,448

Yuta is in love with ice.

He lived off the feeling of gliding across the ice rink, battling gravity with one pirouette, glistening against the white ice with his bedazzled suits, becoming one with the music, with the cheering, with the air as he flew and fell down to a slow tempo. Yuta felt free, the perfect mixture between the side of his personality he never showed—softer, one that he could never show for the life of him—and his competitiveness. The ache on his feet are his pride, for he is a piece of art while also practicing a sport. In his head, Yuta loves ice because it doesn’t burn him, he considers himself equally as cold, freezing people with just one smile, making the Earth his own with his mightiness.

A failed attempt at a championship is not enough to ruin that; he tries to convince himself, but it actually ruins his situation a little bit. The Triple Axel just took its toll on him when the smile on his face and the cheering from the crowd changed to gasps and his pained expression. Unluckily for him, his femur took most of the fall, a pain so hard that it brought a shiver down his spine, unable to even stand up from the position on the ice. A broken bone later and five weeks of resting to the doctor’s content, Yuta was ready to go back and prepare for the next award under his name. If love is in the name of a sport, then he is going to live up to the expectations he has for romance. Strong. Passionate. Continuous.

His doctor thinks otherwise. Damn, even his own mother thinks that he should really take a break from the sport, perhaps find some kind of job online writing articles about figure skaters and their techniques instead of putting himself on the line, blinded by adrenaline and the need for success. But Yuta is a hard worker, one with the ice, dancing and performing in the air is what makes him live. One jump is not going to stop him, even when his left thigh is in severe pain and he still has to constantly check up on it, go to therapy and contact a masseuse in order to help the ache in his adductors.

The ice skaters at the ice rink welcome him with a smile, even when Yuta is clearly lumping in his walk, pushing the doors open with grins to share with everyone. His usual bag dangles off one shoulder, his ice skates waiting for him in his locker. His lungs get filled with the fog in the atmosphere, listening to the sound of the blades dragging across the ice, an old form of art that people could only appreciate when the Olympics came around. Painters used canvases, figure skaters used ice to draw figures, a dance that leaves an imprint on the floor.

His fingers reach up for his black, long locks, the elastic that he keeps around his wrist wrapping around his hair to pull it up in a small bun. These days, he has let his hair grow longer—sometimes, he thinks it is because he has been training so hard for that damned championship that he didn’t have time to cut his hair or style, or if he is actually just feeling more like himself with longer hair, freer in some kind of way that he can’t explain. Either way, it looks good on pictures, and it would have looked even more perfect with the hair-pins his cousin gifted him for the championship presentation, if only it wasn’t for his fall.

Some of those pictures that got to his email sadly show the most embarrassing moment of his life, but Yuta tries to convince himself he can do it. Gone are the hours to blush or bask in embarrassment, for that is unlike him, and this is the moment to simply practice.

His joints need to be moved, for Yuta is not a man of resting. His ears can almost make out the sound of his weight gliding across the ice, gaining strength and rapidness before lifting himself in the air. If he is lucky, he may stand on his feet instead of falling once again, but that is something that can only be discovered by going to the ice rink and proving to himself that he is, indeed, just as good as he imagines himself to be.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears the sound of his locker’s door closing, almost taking the skin of his hand if only he hadn’t moved it away quickly. Blurry is his vision by adrenaline and anger when he turns around to look at the subject that had done such a thing, only to be met by two faces—one very familiar, old and wrinkly always wearing the same tacky lycra pants that he wore in his years of glory, and one that he has not seen in his life, or at least hasn’t paid attention to. The first face belongs to his coach, Daniel, and the other one is the face of a woman, letting her gaze wander around the changing rooms.

“Coach, you could have ripped my hand off!”

“You deserve it,” Daniel scolds, the tone of his voice poised as he takes a good look at Yuta. So, he knows he is stubborn, and that is exactly the same reason why he thinks he has been as successful as he is in two completely different fields in sports. Some days, when the coldness clings to the skin on his face so much that it hurts, is when he feels complete. A routine is a challenge for him, a reminder that there is always something better that he could be doing, and the tiredness that welcomes him when he gets home is more than fulfilling. “I had to get a text from one of the older students earlier this morning telling me you had said in the group chat that you were going to come here.” Before Yuta could defend himself, the Coach gives him a pointed look, only capable of shutting Yuta up as he drags himself to sit on the closer bench. “You are going to hurt yourself. You need to get massages first and stretch and do all kinds of things before going back to something as dangerous as the ice—”

“What is a massage going to do for me?” Yuta asks, letting his neck roll until the back of his head tips against one of the lockers. “I am absolutely fine. I need to continue practicing, Coach. This is my way of living, I can’t just stop and not do anything.” His family had been sweet enough to help him out; cooking for him, making sure that he took his pain medicine, fluffing out the pillows that carried the weight of his damned thigh, helping him get off the car when going to the doctor’s office…He is just tired of that. Not to say he doesn’t like the silky feeling of his blankets or being pampered, for one or two days like that every few months is not bad, but it is not enough to keep him going in life. “Do you just want me to not participate in championships so I lose my apartment, the food that I eat—”

“The doctor said, kid,” The Coach leans down in front of him, squinting his eyes at the long-haired ice skater. “That a femoral fracture takes three or four months to heal, and you need your legs to compete.”

“But I feel fine! I can walk now, and the Doctor says I’ve been healing fast.”

“Yes, I can’t argue with that. You’re walking and doing great, but I don’t think you can be skating right now. The Doctor also added you need to get fucking massages, Yuta.” Yuta knows better than to get obsessed with a sport. Most athletes feel like they need to live to an expectation of excellence, that they will only be worthy if they have a million golden medals and the cheers of people by their side, but he can’t help it. In the ice rink he feels functional, like there aren’t any worries in the world—like dropping out of college, one of the biggest problems that he had been facing in the past few years, and the fear of being a forgotten ice skater that could never live off his talent. After all, he had left his career in soccer for something else, something different. “Listen,” Daniel pats Yuta’s thigh and the man flinches, biting down on his bottom lip to muffle the sound. In the past, he has been told he is not good at hiding his feelings—and this is one of the main reasons why. “My uncle is a physiatrist and I called him as soon as I heard you were coming here, because if you’re not going to the doctor, I’m taking the doctor to you—”

“Coach, really, I appreciate your efforts and all…but I’ll be fine.” The ice skater tries to convince, standing up from his spot before giving one of those smile of his, those that battle all kind of badness in the world and replace it with utter happiness. He wants to feel happy and functional again. “Just let me get my ice skates and—”

“Yuta, I said no.” Not to be confused, Daniel is not a stern coach. If Yuta dreams it, he lets him do it. The amount of times Daniel has shaken his head at the thought of one of the jumps Yuta wants to try out is infinite, but he always follows after Yuta’s plans. He has a vision, one with the ice, romance in the form of a dance, but this is the first time Daniel stops him from reuniting with his beloved partner. “My uncle wasn’t available, but he recommended me a recent graduate that does home visits and whatnot. She’s…here, as you can see.” The ice skater’s eyes go over the physiatrist by the Coach’s side. Finally, she shares a glance with him and he sees that poised, rational and composed part most of health workers have. Coated in professionalism and what seems to be shyness, but it is past that—gone are the blushing expressions, the shaking eyes, instead, she simply looks blank. Icy, even. “Be nice to her.”

“Doc, nice to meet you.” He is not blind, of course, enchanted by the way her lips dip with the rose color she applied on them and how she seemed to take a little bit more of time on working that ponytail on her face. In his head, she imagines her as one of those students that always brought a book with themselves and pushed romance to the side in hopes of successful career. “But I’m fine. You can go to your other patients—”

Nonetheless, Daniel scoffs. “Doctor, just…stay.”

“Ah, Mr. Nakamoto, right?” She asks, raising a finger to quirk it up in questioning. Yuta almost wants to laugh at the name, for she doesn’t even look much older than him—perhaps too put together, taken away from medicine school, but not much different from him to have such pleasantries in her way of speaking.

“Yuta.”

“Okay, Yuta.” His name is softly spoken on her voice and he knows that soothing tone; the ones people use when they want the patient to listen to them. “I have heard from your Coach that you had a pretty bad injury, and it is never going to be the same for you when skating. It will be uncomfortable and you will have to get used to it, but to avoid worsening the fracture…” She trails her voice, looking into his eyes once again. “We need to practice a bit, massage the muscles around the thigh, make sure you get used to walking properly without putting much weight on it. This bone receives a lot of impact from movement.”

Daniel hums from somewhere beside Yuta, but he is too concentrated on the woman in front of him. Now, maybe he has had a plethora of women in his dating list—but he has always had something for challenges. He likes, in one way or another, those people who seem like they would never give him the time of the day and try to get their attention. This is one of those cases, but he masks his attraction whilst listening to her. “Did you hear that, Nakamoto?”

Even though she is gorgeous and resting does sound inviting with how his thigh seems to be throbbing in pain right now, he still cannot accept such offer. “But Coach, there is a championship coming nearby and we had already planned having me there.”

“I’ll have any of the other guys in your spot.”

“I do not want any of the other guys. I want to go.” Yuta complains, his jaw tightening in utter frustration. He knew he could have done that jump perfectly, but something had happened—he only wants to practice harder, try and try until his muscles hurt, only to prove to himself that The Triple Axel could be aced by him.

The Coach sighs loudly, pressing two fingertips to his right temple before looking over at the physiatrist. “I am going to look for some cushions so you can lay him down on the bench right there. Talk to him about this until I’m back.” Daniel excuses himself with a bow before getting out of the changing rooms and towards his office.

The thick moment of silence weights so much that it almost brings him down on the bench once again to rest, but then again, that could also be his body talking about how much of a strain he has put on his body in the past few days. Instead, he hears the sound of rustling and then, the lockers making a noise that indicate someone has leaned on them. When he looks to his side, he sees her attention is already on him and with a clear tone, she speaks up. “I know you want to continue practicing and this must be really difficult for you…” This is something that he has heard before and his eyes almost roll thanks to his own frustration, but then he continues. “But it is better to spend a few months away from the sport than just losing the opportunity to skate for the rest of your life.”

“That wouldn’t happen.”

“It could,” She shrugs her shoulders, biting down on her bottom lip before extending her hand for him to take, introducing herself to him. Her skin is cold, perhaps for the atmosphere that he no longer feels around the ice rink, or because something within her heart is like that and it pours out in her body temperature. “I am a physiatrist resident, second year. I may not be much…but I’ll do my best to get you to heal soon. If we work in this together, I may get a few pictures for my thesis and you will get your leg back.”

His eyebrow raises in interest, his brown eyes studying every form of her expression. Red lips, cold eyes, the scowl over her face—natural of her. The solemnity that falls upon her, a sedative of sorts for people who got too close, but Yuta has never been afraid of ice. “Okay. I will do my best, Doctor.”

“Call me by my name.”

“Okay, I will.”

But even though he tries to get to know more about her, there is a barrier around her, an igloo that protects her from someone ever getting too close to her. If anything, Yuta is more concentrated in the pain that shoots up his thigh as she makes him do certain exercises, bringing it up to his chest, then slowly back down, massaging at the muscles and tendons only to hear him take a sharp inhale.

So he really is about to lose his dream to a fracture, huh?

He pushes the thought away, closing his eyes tightly as he asks her more questions, trying to cling to his last bit of sanity while she gives him short answers. Yes. No. Maybe. Okay.

Yuta is in love with the ice, and someone with such a cold personality must be the one to take him back there. He trusts her, strangely enough, something about her knowledge telling him that she is really going to live up to her words.

❄️

The lights of the ice rink are dimmed, casting upon the ice and leaving everything else to pure darkness. Somewhere in its silence, he swears he can hear the security guard lighting up a cigarette, but the heat does not reach him, neither does the smell. The long sleeves of his shirt are pulled down to reach his fingertips, though he wants to extend them in the elegant way he does when on stage—but he fears what is to come. His life is torn in two, in between the version of himself who wants to try getting back to figure skating as soon as possible and the other part of him that is asking for rest, one is heartfelt the other is mental. The voices speak too loud for him to stand, wanting to be left alone even by himself. It has been yet another week of just going to the ice rink simply to watch, to do some exercises with the physiatrist, of simply feeling useless.

It sickens him and of course, this is not the way he wants to feel for the next three months. In his own nostalgic way, he needs to feel the coldness caressing his skin, craves for the feeling of knowing it would only take a second to have him back to whom he used to be. That is why he pushed his bag in his locker, took his ice skates and promised himself that he was going to roam the blades through the thick concoction of frozen water. The same reason why he is earlier than usual, or why he is sitting near the ice in fear of letting go of the wall he is clinging to.

It’s just ice, he convinces himself. He has been there before.

But definitely not with his femur wanting to give up on him.

Though, it’s fine—Yuta claims mentally as he pushes himself towards the ice, both of his hands extended by his side to keep his balance. If Bambi could do it, so can he.

Freedom reaches him for the first time in weeks, though the pain he feels on his leg shoots up to his hip-bone, catching up to his knee when he decides to move quicker, rushing through with his legs in the positions he has learned like the back of his hand. He wants to jump, reach the sky in a twirling motion and land, but he doesn’t understand what is so wrong with that. His fingers move, finally becoming more relaxed when he feels like he has gained some balance. His lip is stuck in between his lips, used as a concentration matter just so he can go for that jump and he tries, gets closer and closer, arms folding to his sides, knees buckling the slightest bit in such a perfect manner that it deserved all the awards in the world. Yuta is one step away from trying the easiest jump he knows when he feels it—

A pain so bad that it has him gasping, losing his balance and reaching for the first thing he feels. Luck is on his side that morning, considering he grabs on to one of the railings near the ice rink and he hangs from it slightly whilst the muscles on his leg tremble. Adductors, the physiatrist had called them one of the many times he tried to embark in conversation with her, and he really wants to extract them from his body the moment he feels such an ache.

More than anything, it is his heart that goes through such agony. The devastation that takes over his body is insufferable, staring at the ice like a lover that is pushing him away, waiting for him to change before they can get back together. He wants to try again; he knows he can do it…

“Yuta!” Someone calls out or him, an exclamation that echoes through the place as they near him. He knows it is a woman, and he also knows that it is his physiatrist, but he doesn’t want to look anywhere in embarrassment, fear or frustration, perhaps all three. Instead, he feels the warmth of her hand—much welcomed whenever she greets him with a high-five, or now, when she holds it to help him up, and then, he hears her voice. “What do you think you are doing?!” She asks him, long gone her poise and soft spoken voice, now exchanged for utter confusion and anger. Finally, he moves the strands of his hair away from his face by shaking his head, looking up at her and resting his weight against that wall.

“I was trying to ice skate.” He says calmly, though she doesn’t seem half as calm. “Didn’t work anyways…” The disappointment that oozes from his words has her sighing, her scowl softening, her hand letting go of his quickly.

“I didn’t give you permission to ice skate.” She presses. “You should be resting and following after the therapy I am giving you. Not ice skating.”

“This is my job…You know this.” Yuta complains, bottom lip jutting out at his words before he groans softly, resting his head against the wall. “And now I’m stuck in here, and my leg really hurts, and I feel like I want to throw a punch but knowing my luck, I’ll probably break whatever bone is in my hands.”

“Bones. There are plenty in just one hand.”

“…Biology wasn’t my forte.” The ice glistens on both of their faces, creating beautiful stars as a reflection in their eyes. Yuta looks at her for a few seconds, wondering why he can’t read her in any possible way—he knows she is smart, but that is common knowledge, he also knows that she doesn’t talk much, but anyone would be able to tell such thing. What is there in her that he simply can’t explain? Something in her gaze, like she has found all the secrets in the world, but she would never give them to anyone even if they tried to get them away from her. “Hey, not to bother you or anything…but I really can’t move and…” For the first time in years, and he means it, his cheeks feel like they are burning for something more than just ice. Yuta doesn’t think he has blushed in the past decade, really, maybe when he was fourteen and had a crush on some girl, but other than that, he has lived his life in absolute peace. “I need someone to get in here and drag me out…or help me out, I can move, just that I’m too chicken to try to extend my leg.”

A shaky breath leaves her lips, the corner of them lifting up in what seems to be a smile. “Okay. Yes, I’ll get in there…I’ll get you out, but listen,” her voice becomes strict in the matter of seconds. “I am giving you an earful after this. You know I am working hard on that leg of yours.”

“I know.” Yuta claims, pointing with his index finger towards the lockers. “Get some skates over there and save me, please.” The whine in his tone is unlike him, he knows, but something within him likes the way she tries to protect him. Sure, the words are there—doctor, med degree, physiatrist, but Yuta likes to believe in his chances of getting her attention, as a friend, maybe.

Or just to get her attention, really. Yuta is not a saint, nor does he claim to be.

Once she is back, he can tell by the way she squats down to put her skates that she is not a professional, not even remotely close to a regular. One, her eyes hold so much fear he thinks she is going to cry right at that moment and if his thigh wasn’t in so much pain, he would have skated over to her just to figure out if she is fine. Two, her steps are anything but certain when she steps into the ice rink. And third, most importantly…the reason why Yuta’s smile widens quickly whilst he is hanging his weight on a railing, is that she wobbles the moment she starts skating. If he can even call it that, because she lands directly on her ass, looking at him with the most precious of surprises in her gaze.

“Oh my God,” Yuta smiles, chuckles a little bit actually, before sighing. “Okay…just…I am sorry for laughing. Get up.”

“I do not know how to skate, Yuta, if you haven’t noticed!” The bitterness in her tone makes her usually poised voice far higher, definitely at the verge of snapping.

“I just figured out. I will do my best to coach you through it—”

“How though?!”

“Just get up!”

By the time she gets to him, Yuta already feels his arms cramping from holding his weight up. Almost like two children learning how to skate, they look like, one because of his injury, another one because they have pushed any life experience apart from studying away just for the mere benefit of having good grades and a successful life. He is the same, without a degree, but giving up on a lot of things just to ice skate.

The fluffiness of the cushions makes him feel sick, much more when his thigh is pressed to his chest and he has the hardest time pushing it down and lifting it back up. Something as mundane as that is difficult for him, and that irks him terribly. His eyes want to get filled with tears, but he deems them ridiculous—what is crying going to do for him? “I hate this,” He mumbles at first, bawling his fists when she helps him push his thigh down, hissing at the pain. “It’s like life doesn’t want me to succeed in anything. When I was a soccer player, I got kicked out because I wasn’t as good as I used to be and now that I’m good at something, I have to destroy it, too.” Maybe, he should be as closed up as her. Icy, instead of loving the ice, but that is unlike him. Instead, he steals a glance at the woman who has her complete attention on him by now.

“It happens to a lot of athletes. It’s bound to happen to you, too.”

“But I didn’t want it to happen to me.”

“I am sure all those athletes who got injured in the past didn’t want it, as well.” She tries to sell the idea to him, taunting it like something normal. “Hey,” She pats his leg, caressing the soft flesh in between her fingertips—a massage, really, this is nothing out of the ordinary, that is her job. “I know it may not be much, but we all go through those times where we feel like our dream is escaping.” The reassurance makes him look up, realizing that she has some kind of doubt written on her face. Perhaps, she feels like he is getting too close. “When I failed my first test in med school, I thought it was over. I said to myself that I had tried so hard to get somewhere, only to ruin it in the first go.” She confesses and Yuta finds it impressive. In the short time they have known each other, she has never talked about herself. “But I realized I was just studying too hard. I took a break, read slowly, knowing that I just had to put little bits of efforts continuously to get to my goal, not try all of it at once.”

“And did it work?”

“I graduated. That’s something.” She replies before patting his leg softly. “So, you can do it. I’m here for you. I ice-skated for you, the least I want is to have a patient that doesn’t listen to me after I did that.”

The conversation that follows soon after feels warmer, and perhaps Yuta should get used to the feel of heat on his skin with every part of her that she uncovers with her words.

❄️

Patience is not his best trait, really.

In the realm of ice, he feels himself getting lost, that much is known, but after his last encounter with ice-skating and a good earful from his physiatrist, he knows better than to simply step in the ice and ruin both his doctor’s work and his career altogether. Always a risk taker, he is, but that trait of his has died down in the dull memory of whom he used to be.

By now, Yuta feels comfortable with the person that knows his muscles, bones and the structure of his impatient brain more than himself. After a month of complete treatment, going back and forth in between his orthopedic surgeon and his physiatrist, Yuta has gotten to know the woman that visits him once a week far more than he ever imagined. With the small structure of coldness that still seeps from her, he gets to see little glimpses of her real personality—the thoughtfulness she puts into her decisions, the moments in which she wants to let go but stops herself in doubtfulness, stories of her childhood that embarrass her when in reality they are the most normal thing in the world. Yuta is a risk taker, the complete opposite of her, but their lines connected in a simplistic dot, far too miniscule for people to notice.

They are so passionate about something that they have turned their backs to everyone else in their lives. Cinematic parallels, some would call this situation to be, and the more he got to know her, the more interested he felt in seeing how their perception of dreams were just so similar.

“Since I can’t ice-skate because of my leg…why don’t you ice-skate for me?”

“Oh, hell no.” She prompts, shaking her head with a smile on her face. “Come on, lift your leg like I told you and stop saying nonsense.”

Yuta does as she says, however, his statement remains intact. “It’s kind of life driving, you know? You need it for movement, and it’s a nice way to distract yourself—”

His eyes trail over her body to see her next movement, for that is what he is supposed to do. Though, inside his head, he couldn’t say he hasn’t seen the outer beauty of the physiatrist, hasn’t gathered confidence to flirt at her only to watch it dissipate thanks to her serious facade. Moments he grabs on to are definitely engraved in his brain, like the one time she seemed both embarrassed and frustrated when she had to ‘save him’ at the ice-rink, or the few times he has seen her angered expression when talking to her colleagues over the phone. Her smile, rarely seen nowadays, is one of his favorites, but in her opinion…she says she smiles too much.

Not enough for him, though.

And she definitely does not smile when Yuta’s good legs—he is getting better, or maybe it is passion that is moving him at this point—practically lead her to pick up the same shoes that she had taken the day he had gotten stuck at the ice rink, making sure to talk about the importance of wearing the garments adequately. His long hair frames his features as he kneels in front of her, tightening them enough to keep them in place before he is up at his feet once again, their faces briefly close. His senses grow aware of her perfume, most of the time forgotten in their rushed meetings, of her hands and how they hold on to his forearms when he puts his own shoes on, too skilled in their own version of art, rough to the touch, somewhat heavy. Yuta notices the lines under her eyes, gift of endless hard-work, the drying lipstick in the inside of her mouth, the soft caress of her eyelashes when she blinks, its own version of purity, he likes to believe.

“Okay, here we go.” The man instructs, pointing at one of the entrances towards the ice-rink. “You’ll be here, alright? And I’ll be on the other side. I want you to skate over to me.” Before she could say anything, Yuta is already moving over the ice, slowly and thoughtful, like he is tracing the outline of his home, full of memories of the past. Once on the other edge, he is fully aware of her complaints.

“Yuta, I swear—! I have worked so hard on your leg and if you end up ruining it—!”

“I will not!” He says, hands raised up in the air in some kind of defeat. He sits down on the edge of the ice-rink, the cold floor passing through the fabric of his jeans. “You are the one skating. This is for future knowledge, you never know when you’re in the middle of nowhere, the ice is coating the street and you have to use two butter knives under your shoes to ice-skate to the other side.”

Now, he knows she doesn’t believe the whole dumb act that he pulls off, trying to feign happiness in this moment of his life. A spider that hangs into webs, afraid of being swept away by more powerful beings, Yuta holds on to the things that make him happy. Sports. Nature. Fun. Jokes. Family. Friendship. Strangely enough, making the physiatrist laugh is up there. “Yuta, for the love of God,” She rolls her eyes, chuckling as her hands wrap tightly around the railings, too afraid of falling on her ass as done previously. “Tell me one situation in real life where that would happen.”

Yuta clicks his tongue, as if the answer is obvious. “In the zombie apocalypse? Zombies can’t skate.”

“No comment.” The tone of her voice has him laughing, so joyous he can feel his heart bursting with heat. “Okay, so, what do I get from this?”

Tilting his head to the side, he responds. “Me, of course.”

“You’re the prize?”

“A good one, indeed!” There it is, the smile he is looking for, the only warm part of her. With his hands clasped together, grip as tight as their bond—not too lose, not too clamped—, he finally decides to speak up. “Walk first, but not completely straight. You need to…put all your weight on the balls of your feet, kneel down a bit, just try that at first.” The instructions process through her brain perfectly, as it seems, taking a few steps that reminded him a lot of the kids that would try ice-skating for the first time. “Stay close to the wall, just in case you fall.”

With a huff leaving her lips, fruit of her own frustration, she sighs. “Yuta, I know I am going to fall!”

“Everyone falls!” His voice is certain, though it wanted to falter. He is the perfect example that even professionals could fall. “Okay, now that you have that down, I know you’re wobbling and all—”

“Whoa, thank you.”

“Just listen to me!”

“I can’t!” The whine on her time is masked by a smile, a reminder that she truly enjoys her time at the ice-rink. He has heard it before, after that apology text he sent her after having her skate towards him, and she simply says she likes it. Perhaps, the coldness is familiar to the temperature at hospitals, or maybe she feels like she is at home—an ice queen in his eyes, really.

“You’re going to glide, which means pushing your weight slightly while keeping balance and to stop, you simply push your knees and toes inwards, that’s the easiest way.” Determination fills her face, mixed with a little bit of doubt, because Yuta’s words sound easy, with the smile on his face both teasing and reassuring. Of course, Yuta knows what he is doing—he may not have been good at biology, but damn is he good at speaking. The debate clubs wanted him, even though he never got in one. “I believe in you.”

Seven falls later and barely a nice try, he still believes in her, but she doesn’t believe in herself anymore.

Patience is not his virtue, sure, but perhaps he is having a good time as he watches her huff with anger, trying once again only to do it with more frustration than the last time. Mind him, it’s cute when he offers her help, only to have her swatting him away with her words. When she slips once more time, this time letting out a groan that rips directly from her chest, Yuta stands up from his position, chuckling along the way before he takes her by the arm, chest to chest by the time she is up at her feet.

“Let me help you.” The words roll of his tongue prettily, but she shakes her head.

“No. This isn’t for me!” Of course she is going to complain, and Yuta takes the time to keep his lips sealed in a nice smile. This is the most ice-less he has ever seen her, showing the human side of her—not that she is not human, but she damn right gives that vibe sometimes. “…What are you planning?”

Slotting his arm in the crook of her elbow, he starts moving at a decent pace; definitely slower than he has ever skated for the past years of his life, but a normal pace for someone as bad as her when it comes to ice-skating. “Just ice-skating with you. I need practice, and you need to learn that stomping on the floor is not gliding.”

She laughs at his words, although a bit deeper than her previous laughs, for the taste of failure clings to her. “This comes to you so naturally.”

A deep sigh leaves him, pushing his body so he is standing in front of her, taking both of her hands in his to keep her balance. His mind is clouded by a repetition of that video he saw of himself falling—failing, becoming exactly what he feared he would ever be. “See? Ice-skating is like dancing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You just have to trust me in this, okay? You’ll learn.” His voice is soft as he speaks to her, ice-skating whilst never looking over his shoulder to see where he is going. He, too, is one with the ice—just like her, but for different reasons.

“I trust you.”

❄️

Never does he pick up his calls, for that is just his trademark. It is not like people make calls nowadays, or that is how he defends himself, texts are far more usual and he can always check up on those at the time he wants, no connotations added to his actions. That is until one Saturday night, when he is watching a compilation of the best jumps in the ice-skating industry on YouTube, he receives a call. His mind ponders on putting his phone aside, waiting for the other person to give up on calling him, and just continue with his sad hours of longing for his career, but then he realizes who it is. His friend the physiatrist, the same person who would much rather call the devil itself rather than asking for help, and if she is calling him instead of texting him, then it must be a pretty difficult situation.

But he gets the short side of the story, a brief invitation to have ice-cream leaving him dumbfounded, but it is not a surprise when he accepts, picking up a pair of jeans and a bomber jacket before heading out the apartment.

The air is too cold, blowing at the strands of his hair that is barely pushed back by a bun, and he cusses at the fabric of his leather jacket. The situation makes him feel odd, given that he has spent so many years of his life surrounded by cold and at one point, he likes to believe he grew used to it but after seeing himself in the reflection of himself the glassed doors of the ice-cream parlor give, he thinks he has changed in the past month and a half. His life is way more simplistic, like it is not his to control anymore. Long gone are the bedazzled suits, the cheering for him, the premises people would put under his name as a representative of the sport. And sometimes, he believes he is not even trying, that he simply has grown used to being like this.

Yet, someone is trying for him, someone is leading him closer to his renewal as an artist and a sportsperson. That, of course, is the same woman that eats ice-cream on the coldest night of the year, not minding her runny nose and the cough that leaves her lips when she takes another spoonful of ice-cream. Seated by one of the tables, all of them would be empty otherwise, is whom he likes to consider his latest friend.

It takes him three minutes exactly, one to order, one to pay, one to get to the table to simply ask what is going on and the ice-queen that he likes to call her leaves the room to be replaced by the fidgety version of herself, the one that doubts. The one that eats at the rough edges of her life, wanting it to be perfect, meticulous inside her head, even biting at parts of her she has grown to love.

Doubt is one hell of a thing, he discovered far too ahead on his ice-skating career. It’s an enemy that people never let go of.

It takes her a moment to speak, before she becomes the most talkative person in the room. Yuta barely got to ask what happened when she starts talking. The tangents of the story keep him interested, listening intently as he gives his own reactions—work is doing fine, as normal as usual; her family life is alright, not too interesting and finally, there is this stone that weights on her heart, the one that has her sighing as she brings another spoonful of ice-cream to her mouth just to tell Yuta the story, and it shows him two things that he had never realized.

This person is someone who he wants to protect, just like how she had protected him—absentmindedly, but she keeps that hope within him of knowing someday he will be back on his feet to give those jumps he likes.

And that said person, said woman, the one that leaves lipstick stains on her spoon of ice cream, does not deserve to be considered cold…when all she does is protect herself.

“I don’t get it,” She pushes the empty container that was once full of ice-cream forward, making Yuta sigh as he drags his seat to be closer to her, bringing his own spoonful up to her lips and she takes it. “I’ve been friends with these people for four years, and it took me damn long to ever open up to them…and they do this to me.” The scoff that leaves her lips is weak and when she looks at him, she can barely hold his gaze. Instead, she takes one of his hands that is placed over the table, as if stopping herself from being sentimental, instead playing with the rings on Yuta’s fingers. “You’re too fucking clingy.” She spits out, venom to her tongue. “I care about them! Is that being fucking clingy?! What kind of bullshit is that—?”

His tongue is too sharp, he realizes, but she wasn’t made of paper—he knows she is strong, because being strong is being able of showing every side of you to someone, and that is exactly what she is doing with. Slowly. “I don’t think they are good friends.”

“But what if I don’t have friends after them?” The question is full of insecurity, dripping with a nostalgia that is uncertain in her. Fear of loneliness, he would call it. “I…I don’t know what to do. I told them to leave me the fuck alone, but—”

Yuta places the spoonful of ice-cream inside her mouth before she could continue speaking, licking his lips soon after. “Hear me out. I don’t know if you have noticed, but I consider you a friend. You have been with me through one of the hardest things in my life and have taken care of me, even when my coach pays you. I really hope you consider me a friend, too, alright?” His tone is so soft, but what he tells her holds weight. Surely, Yuta is not the type of person to claim friendship or to talk about how important a person is to him, but he never wants her to feel alone. Protectiveness, maybe that is what that is called. “And they don’t deserve you. From what you’ve told me, they are just shitty friends.”

“But four years—”

“Four years my ass.” The way he says it brings a smile to her face, long gone the coldness of her fingertips against his rings. “What does time mean when people didn’t value you when you were there for them? They didn’t care about the four years, they don’t care about you. That’s shitty.”

She pushes her lips up, looking into Yuta’s eyes for some type of answer. In his brown eyes, there is something magical, mischief with depth, someone who could hold the most beautiful form of happiness within them. “This is the exact same reason why I am a bitch to everyone.” She comments, making Yuta smile back at her.

“You’re not a bitch to me.”

“Yuta, I scold you all the time.”

“I like it when you scold me.”

She raises an eyebrow at that. “For real?”

He nods his head, looking down at his own cup of ice-cream before deciding to speak his mind out with sentimentalism for once. The thorn of a rose he never wants to hold, called attachment. “You are not a bitch for asking for respect. I think you are great just as you are. With all those angry moments you have with me, like, ninety-seven percent of the time.” The sound of her chuckle is classical music to him, touching his skin, penetrating the surface, reaching his cells and making a home out of him. A home. Warmth. She possesses warmth within her, and she never notices. “Life is so much simpler than friendships and living up to other’s expectations. Just be yourself, and people that are worthy of your time will arrive eventually.” Yuta’s eyelashes flutter at those words, comedic on its purpose. “Like me, who is now going to take you out for dinner because you can’t be eating ice-cream and nothing else.”

“But Yuta—”

Before she could continue complaining, Yuta picks up her purse from the seat in front of him, slotting it over his shoulder before tugging at her hand. “So, what is your favorite food?”

Yuta is in love with ice, but maybe because the friction of the blades creates warmth and leaves beautiful imprints on the surface. He loves it so much that he wants to warm her, make her feel like there is nothing wrong with being cold at times, simply because he is, too.

❄️

Realistically, everyone has that miniscule trait in their personalities that they hate—imperceptible to others, a bother to the person who has to hear their brain constantly for the rest of the day—. She is not the exception, of course, but the way she hides from him throughout their last session of therapy for Yuta’s leg really does make him worry. Just a few nights ago, she had opened up to him, given him the reason why she is so cold in a silver platter, and then she closed up, deciding that maybe Yuta is not worth having a friendship with, that he is just like everyone else and his words will only be a weapon of hatred in the future.

“There, done.” She finishes after endless minutes of silence, patting his leg softly before pulling away. Yuta is seated over the usual bench, cushions included, and he can’t help but look at her face. A shining diamond that people forget about, far too bright for those who feel threatened, perfectly shiny in his gaze. “I am going to go now. Don’t go too hard on your leg yet, don’t do any jumps, but you can start skating faster. Remember, don’t make my two months of work go to waste.”

Something overtakes him, perhaps happiness because this…this he couldn’t have done without her. This type of healing sensation that he feels going up his chest with hope that, someday, sooner than he thinks, he will be back on his championships and his normal training, makes him happy. When he stands up—rather quickly—to take her face in between his hands, cupping her cheeks and moving her face from side to side as he speaks with the biggest smile on his face. “Let’s ice-skate together as a celebration.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” She adds, blinking softly as they exchange glances. To anyone who would see them—it’s too early to even have anyone else but the security guard there—this situation could surely have some kind of thick, waving tension.

“Come on, you know you liked it last time when I taught you the basics.” The cocky smile he gives her must work for something, right?

“I’m starting to believe you have a thing for me when I’m ice-skating.”

Yuta quirks an eyebrow at that, letting go of her to reach for their shoes, ones that he keeps inside his locker just in case she ever decides to ice-skate with him. “…Give me a pretty, intelligent girl and I’m sold but also one that doesn’t even understand the concept of ice-skating and I’m absolutely head over heels.” The flirty comment flows through his lips naturally, like he has been waiting to say it and it would be a lie if he said that was not the case. Endless flirting, he has tried, but she never seems faced by it. “Come on, let’s do it. This is your last day at the ice rink, and probably the last day you’ll ever want to see me.”

As always, he expects a scoff, a huff, something that shows him that she thinks he is the epitome of illegal, but instead, she grips his arm, walking by his side when he starts giving a few steps away from the changing rooms. “That’s not true, Yuta.” She says. “You said a few days ago that we’re friends, too. Like, it’s just a matter of finding time to meet with each other.”

Nothing feels better than breaking a barrier, slowly, with little caresses of warmth to destroy the coldness. Some people would mind getting their hands slightly burned with the touch of distantness, but Yuta knows better. Although very different to anyone who didn’t know them, she and Yuta had become two drops of an abandoned glass of water. Her, with her turmoil of bad friendships. Him, with the near loss of his dream. “I like that,” Yuta grins. “I will always have time for you.”

The promise is spoken just as he interlocks his fingers with hers.

Laughter fills the air when Yuta, instead of simply gliding across the ice-rink with the woman by his side, decides that it is a good idea to slow dance to the rhythm of song they haven’t listened to. They can’t hear it, but Yuta can imagine it—classical, as whimsical as her, just beautiful in tune. Her arms grip his shoulders, sometimes feeling like she loses control of her legs, but his hands rest peacefully around her waist. It’s a moment of grounding, when he finally realizes that there is warmth in her gaze, coquettish features written all over her smile, a moment of peace in between all the bundled up frustration they have felt for the past two months.

From then on, Yuta knew he would always find himself in her arms, perhaps seeking for protection or absentmindedly, protect her as well.

❄️

“When I said I wanted us to go out on a date, is this what you had in mind?”

“Yeah, totally, Yuta. I thought you were going to take me…” After taking a long gulp of his bottle of water—she had drunk hers earlier on the trip—, she continues. “Hiking. Yes. Hiking was in my mind the entire time.”

Her eyes may never contemplate the beauty he has from his line of vision. From where he is standing, watching as she walks in between bushes and rocks, showered in the glow of the sun, she doesn’t see how beautiful she is. Her ears don’t get to hear the reality of her voice, talking with him and bonding in a way that no one would ever accept. Of course, he knows what a normal date consists of—the smell of popcorn at a cinema, perhaps tight clothing for dinner, something in the lines of wanting to show the best version of one-self to the other, but Yuta is as far ahead as he can get on their friendship, deciding instead to do something that would only paint itself as a nice memory in their heads. He wishes to never forget the sight of her, adorable in the swing of her legs while reaching up to him and the smile that follows soon after, irreplaceable in wealth, is a good combination with the sight that they have in front of them. Nature in its usual calmness, a reminder of humbleness and hope, reminiscent of how small they are in comparison of the world.

Feeling small is never a bad thing, he has convinced her time and time again. To her, weakness is the weight on her chest, a pendant that people see and squint their eyes at, but she never judged his feebleness when he was going through the hardest time in his career. In this reminder, he lets himself be engulfed by the delicacy of her touch, feeling how her arms wrap around his waist to rest her chest against his back, looking at the scenery in front of them, long gone from the city, from the ice, from the walls of a hospital. For such otherwise hard-headed, strong, secretive people, there is a soft spot for them to connect. She knows what his are, he knows what hers are. In the time they have known each other, they have talked about their worst times in hopes of making the other feel better.

With the clasp of her hands over his abdomen, sprawled in a way that has his fingers hooking with hers, Yuta looks over his shoulder to look at the adoration in her eyes. For the scenery or for him, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t plan on knowing either, just letting the moment blossom with the feelings that have only grown with time. “Even though I didn’t expect the hiking date and the sweat…I really like this.” Her voice is merely above a whisper, mixing with the wind that blows on his hair. “It reminds me of you. You have always said you like stuff like this.”

“I do,” Completely different from her, he is, in what tastes consist of. “But I like to see you struggling to keep your sarcasm to yourself a bit more.”

After a chuckle, she hits his chest. “Asshole.” Though he knows she doesn’t mean it, the smile on her face still petrified in its spot. “…Is your leg doing fine? I don’t want you to overdo yourself.”

“It feels fine.” The man shrugs his shoulders before bringing her hands up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the tender skin. “Someone is worried about me.”

“Of course I worry about you!” She complains quickly, something that comes naturally to her. “Or do you just think I go hiking with good-looking dudes just for fun?”

“I really hope you don’t,” The sweet sound of his laughter has her joining briefly, just in time to look at him when he turns around. His arms find solace in her waist, making her bite the inside of her cheek.

“How are you so good at everything that has to do with your body?” She asks, innocence dripping from her words, but the moment Yuta wiggles his eyebrows, the depths of such a sentence are looked over to simply change its meaning. “…I mean sport-wise, stop being nasty!”

Pulling her body closer to his when she tries to pull away, Yuta looks down at her lips. Goodbye he must have said in the early morning to the lipstick that usually accompanies her, now a brief coat of dried chap-stick covering the surface of her lips. His destination, maybe, that is a better way to put it. “It comes naturally, I guess.” The smile on his lips only gets wider, softer, somehow making her hesitate the slightest to look at all the spaces of his face that she hasn’t studied. In the thirst to get to know him, study him like the books that she knows like the palm of her hand, their bodies grow impossibly closer, connecting two souls in their silent rendezvous. The first movement comes from his lips, a slap to the heart in the form of mawkishness, albeit accepted at this case, rooting to have all of her slowly but deeply at the same time. He doesn’t dance around the subject, doesn’t jump to conclusions, simply keeps it in a soft, gliding motion that makes her feel at ease. His kiss burns, leaves a trail of fire that can only be caused by him, asking for her to remember him, to have him in her dreams, to crave him even when he is there. His kiss is an ode to worship, sweet and kind in his own way, mischievous with his hands, wanting every part of her soul by the time he pulls away, the same grin he always gives her plastered on his lips. “You know what will be even worse?”

Breathless in her spot, her curiousness comes from a clouded mind. “What?”

“Going back.”

“Yuta, is that the first thing you plan to tell me after you kissed me?” She asks, voice rising in its tone as the man begins laughing. In reality, Yuta’s kisses are not his if they don’t end up with the slightest bit of teasing. “I’m going back by myself if you don’t apologize!”

“Make me.” He mumbles, pressing a peck to her lips before resting their foreheads together. “Either way you can’t go back without me. Not with how much you whined to get here.”

“Yuta—!”

❄️

Life can go perfectly well, until there is that flashback in the form of slight physical pain that reminds him nothing will ever be the same.

The darkness of failure engulfs him even when the room is perfectly light, even when he has been able to practice for his comeback at a championship for a little bit over a month, even when his life has been nothing but bright lately. In front of him is someone who deeply cares about him, who likes him for who he is—broken femur or not, figure skater or whatever else he wants to be, and the reminder of his growing insecurity makes him feel sick towards himself. At some point, he lowers his head, something that she is aware of because of the bobby pins she is pushing in his longish hair, moving the wavy strands slightly after the last one.

In there, she really does look like a queen, standing in the middle of his parted legs, practically begging him to look at his ice skating outfit for the upcoming event. Supportive, poised and intelligent she has been, pushing him to take care of his body whilst also believing in himself during practice. The problem comes with the reminder that even physics say that everything that goes up, must go down. His frightening fear of falling goes alongside with the anxiety of not knowing if his time as a figure-skater has passed, long forgotten thanks to his downfall.

Before his thoughts can merge into more of a mess, he feels someone tugging at his hair to bring his gaze up, welcomed by the sight of his girlfriend. Not too long ago, perhaps over two weeks, Yuta had decided to ask her out. It was nothing too serious yet, but the ever-lasting effect of the honeymoon phase is still clinging to him. “Look at you!” The cooing tone on her voice brings the faintest bit of happiness to his features, light in between doubts. “I really like how it fits you.”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, home for his skin whenever they are together, he tilts his head to the side. “I know I look good, but thanks.”

Her finger reaches for his bottom lip, touching it softly—almost like tapping it, really—. “Then, what’s the pout for?”

Unmasked, he feels, but unlike previous people in his life, Yuta doesn’t pull away from her, doesn’t push her away in fear of seemingly being too weak. Instead, his thumbs rub at the skin under her shirt, opting to give a playful bite to her finger that has her rolling her eyes lightly. “…I just feel so stressed. It’s been a while since I’ve figure-skated, like, professionally, you know?” His brown eyes connect with hers, seeking for that depth that always shows him hope. “I’m scared that I’m going to fall on my ass again.”

“On your leg, mind you. Your ass was fine.” She corrects him, watching as the man raises an eyebrow at her as the telltale sign of the beginning of his annoyance. Her arms wrap around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead that is supposed to heal him, or at the very least, let him know that she is there for him. “And love, you’re excellent at what you do. You’ve worked hard for this. Whatever the outcome is, just know that you went through some rough months and you still—still came back. You’re like the devil of the figure skating community.”

Sometimes, when he looks at her, he wonders if he had melted the ice around her so much that it turned into rain, showcasing all the colors within her in the form of a rainbow. Perhaps, she did the same for him—or rather, he’d confirm that she did. She showed him the simplicities of life in the form of laughter and optimism. “But what if I never go back to being the same Yuta?”

“You will. You’re almost there.”

He looks down, resting his head over her abdomen and pressing a fluttering kiss to the covered skin. “I can’t even have you sit on my leg without complaining after a while,” The tone of his voice is muffled by the fabric of her t-shirt, bringing a frown to her face that he doesn’t see, instead losing himself in the feeling of her fingers going through the free locks of his hair—away from the little half-up-do she did—. “And if I do fall once again, it’s game over for me. I am scared of trying new jumps because I’m afraid I’ll ruin it again…”

“Yuta, you’re not less of a person or a boyfriend or a figure skater because of an injury. You’ve gotten better, with my help and your own will. After basically everyone in your life scolded you, for some reason.” The woman smiles, this time around he is able to see her face, his chin prepped against her abdomen.

“I guess…”

“Come here and give me a kiss,” The quick mumble she gives him is interrupted by her own kiss, filling his soul with colors, creating patterns and pictures for him to remember, to use as energy for when he is on stage once again. “I am proud of you, okay?”

That much is enough.

❄️

“You did great.”

“…Uh-huh, sure.”

She knows him well, that much he can recall, so it is no surprise when he feels her weight pressing to his side on the couch, trying to see what he is looking up on his laptop, early in the morning with his coffee mug completely forgotten in the coffee table—precisely, getting cold, but Yuta doesn’t even remember he served himself coffee with how stressed out he is. Suspiciousness, that is exactly what she feels, but it roams around with worry, seeing that Yuta had gotten to his apartment with his girlfriend just the night before, eyes coated in angered tears after doing an average work, though that was mediocre for him. But as he normally does after talking his heart out, he decides to ignore it, pretend like he simply sees the comedy in everything.

But she sees through that, through the expanse of his eyelashes that still glisten with the reminder of Yuta’s defeat, with the way he frowns at whatever is on the screen and how he immediately freezes at the words she just told him. Pressing her head to his shoulder, she gets to see what he is reading on the screen—an article that talks about the best and the worst figure skaters of the championship he participated in. Much to his delight, he is nowhere near the worst list, but that doesn’t seem to faze him.

“See? Even the professionals think you did great.” She nudges his shoulder, watching a Yuta simply sighs, scrolling lower on the site to show a picture of the winner.

“But I still didn’t win. I had such a good streak last year.” The longing in his voice is enough to bring some kind of disappointment beneath him, carving on his skin and he hates it. He absolutely hates it. Yuta is the type of man to be confident, to know what he is worth, to think he is—at least—three steps ahead anyone who is a competition for him. Yuta just knows better than pitying himself.

So he closes the laptop, putting it on the coffee table before wrapping his arms around his girlfriend, pressing almost all his weight on top of her as he makes her lean back on the couch, the sound of her giggles filling the air. He’s careful, of course, resting his head on top of her chest to hear the rhythmic sound of her heartbeats, followed by her voice: “You’re going to have a good streak soon. I promise. I like it when you’re cuddly, but I don’t like it when you’re cuddly because you’re sad.”

Yuta lifts his gaze at that, pressing a kiss on her collarbone that has him breathing in her scent, grounding him with the reminder of how much work they had gone through to have him there, to have the two of them together. His world is not black and white, it’s painted in colors and it is up to him to create whatever canvas he wants in his future with the shades life gives him. “You know what?” He asks, sitting up on his knees and bringing his hands to the back of her calves, wrapping them around his waist. “You’re fucking right.”

“When am I not?” She asks, making Yuta smile.

“And I want to celebrate because I didn’t fall on my ass yesterday.”

“Okay, valid.” She chuckles, pressing the heel of her feet to his chest. “Do you want to go out for breakfast? It’s on me.”

There are two types of falling, the one that comes physically and he is glad he has avoided that one for a while, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from falling for her. Somehow, without knowing, the person whom he used to compare to ice had warmed him up—and he didn’t even realize.

Yuta is in love with ice, and the ice is in love with him, as it seems.

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smarmaladey · 4 years

Text

The Bad Touch - (3/3)

Chapter 3 - “the discovery channel”

Rating: 🇪

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizzare Adventure

Relationships: ��♡🚺

Words: 12479 (yikes i know)

Ao3 Link Prev.

(For content warnings and additional notes, click read more)

Our “lovely” heroine finally reaches the truth.

cw: rape/non-con elements, AU (probably), ooc (probably), break-ins(?), unintentional voyeurism, “sci-fi violence”, mind break (sorta), mildly rough sex, blood, yknow the uje

enjoy ♡

♡🐞♡

Tuesday.

12:00 AM.

The third incident.

♡🐞♡

How?

How did it all go wrong?

It all sounded so slick in your head. It sounded foolproof. It sounded...smart.

Your scheme, to you, felt like the best idea you had ever had in your life--at least in terms of your own, organic plans. But, as it always seemed to turn out, being a "thinker" just really wasn't your style.

What a shame it was. Really, to think that your egoism had already conjured up a hypothetical scenario about you solving the mystery of your boss’s behavior, therefore sparing countless others from the humiliation you went through, therefore gaining some kind of respect from people you barely knew.

To your defense, anyone would’ve thought that it was flawless.

...Alright, in retrospect, maybe it wasn’t so great.

The idea was to exploit a brand-new, experimental technique you’d been working on to make yourself utterly invisible, and to stow yourself away in Giorno’s bedroom until you got your answers. What you did was demonstrate Black Hole Sun on the surface of your skin, in such a precise way that the only light absorbed would be “visible light”, therefore making you colorless, i.e, invisible to the human eye.

On paper, that was where it ended. Because to you, and your egoism, it felt untouchable. You had so much confidence, in fact, that you just up and did it! Right away! No further thoughts, no Plan Bs, just as soon as you got out of that sunroom you maneuvered your way to the second floor and swung open a random window.

To your luck, said window was just the one you were looking for. Upon stepping onto the plush carpet of your boss’s bedroom, shivers traveled down your legs at the temperature. It wasn’t as cold as the office, per say, but it was still madly different from the mild early-autumn climate.

At least it smells nice.

The room looked exactly as you had imagined it, a fuchsia-purple-blue-gold color scheme, gaudy flower and ladybug themed decorations, and, of course, a king-size canopy bed. It honestly felt less like the room of a powerful adult man, and more like a clueless American teenager’s idea of what being a rich European was like. Ugh.

But you had no time at all to dwell on pointless things, you had a mystery to unpack! Moving as silently as you could, you began scouring the entire place, starting with the small bookshelf at one edge of the room.

Nothing seemed to be evident, except for perhaps a thick-sleeved copy of Kama Sutra. Needless to say, you pushed that one in as soon as you pulled it out. At this point, you had already used your “technique” when you entered the room, but soon faded it out when you realized it was clear.

It was frustrating, the fact that there was nothing abnormal about his room. Hell, he didn’t even have any condoms or anything in his nightstand! You’d think he’d at least have the audacity to plan on violating you using protection, but no! He didn’t possess anything suspicious aside from a shitty book or two, at least nothing he kept in his bedroom.

Realizing this, you let out a groan, and coincidentally, you heard an unidentifiable noise right after and panicked. Heart racing, you rushed to a corner of the room, right next to a dresser, turning invisible. What you didn’t know was exactly how long you’d be forced to stay in this one spot.

This was the point where the cracks in your plan really began to show.

Consequences of this "technique" of yours wouldn't be apparent at first thought, but you already knew what could happen. During numerous past self-training sessions, you'd discovered how using your Stand in this way affected your body.

By removing all visible light from your form, it basically made you a sponge for ultraviolet. The UV rays previously had, at the least, made your skin extremely irritated, and at worst, gave you a few medical scares.

You thought that you’d be safe from this, since the lights in the room were all off, and the sun was already going down by the time you arrived. Although, when you saw the multiple light fixtures in the room, there was a sense of unease that overtook you.

So, cut to the present, you’ve been standing in this one corner for countless hours, too terrified to move from the fear of getting caught, while dreading the inevitable daylight. Also, additionally, it was midnight at this point, and Giorno hadn’t shown up. Why?

The only people who’d come in were a few housekeepers that soon left upon seeing nothing wrong. Whenever that happened though, it was rough, as the light from the hallways tended to spill into the room and scald your skin a tad when the door was opened.

Needless to say, your current situation kinda sucked. The only stroke of fortune you’d had so far was finding a few stale snacks in your coat pockets that gave you enough sustenance to not go insane. As for hydration, that was a different story. Before you had retreated into the corner, you considered getting some water from the bathroom, but you held off on it until it was too late. This didn’t bode well, combined with your ever fluctuating body temperature, the dehydration set in much sooner than you had hoped.

You cursed the very concept of time, and the fact that there was no clock in the room.

Normally, at these hours, you’d either be asleep, watching television, working, but usually asleep. Currently, you were more sleep deprived yet more awake than you’d ever been, leading to your mind going to places you’d never explored before.

It’s just not fair. You never asked for this. You never wanted to be put in this situation. What would eighteen-year-old you would’ve thought if she knew this was where she’d end up after becoming part of this organization? Crammed in the corner of her boss’s bedroom, because said boss tried to force himself on her (twice!) all of a sudden, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it instead of simply just avoiding him?

At eighteen, during the first months of your “career”, you’d never seen your Don as a man, nor did you really see him as a boy either. Just an untouchable figure that you slowly seemed to get closer to, yet still remained slightly enigmatic. He was ethereal, beautiful, and assumedly powerful--like a god. You had no clue how he got to where he was, and you never planned on learning. Yet, as he got older, and became a little bit more reliant on you, that divine mask of his seemed to chip away. He felt more human, less like a god and more like...a demi-god? Something like that.

Despite all of that, he remained practically unreadable to you. And this persisted to this current situation, being that you still had no real idea what piqued his sudden “interest” in you.

Your mind ended up going back to Sunday, to that first-ever incident. To his constant showcases of unwellness, to his abnormal teeth, to his fascination with that one vein in your chest. These, along with his apparent misunderstanding of temperature physics, were the only points you really had.

Racking your brain, you tried your best to come up with some kind of half-conclusion with these points. Was he sick? It’d seem like he was absolutely impervious to any kind of illness, but he was only human after all. But, you hadn’t ever heard of a flu that makes people inexplicably lustful, so that was probably off the table.

Puberty? No, can’t be. He was too matured and too responsible to be having hormonal “rushes” like that, and succumbing to them, no less. Plus, neither that or the illness excuse explained his teeth.

Did some kind of Stand possess him? The thought of anybody managing to lay even one finger on him seemed out of this world to you, hell, you still couldn’t fully comprehend how you managed to successfully break into his home. Even so, it did seem like it was the most plausible out of your three “theories” so that was probably the farthest you could reach with your current information.

Apparently, getting lost in your thoughts was a great time waster, as when you peered around to the window after settling down a bit, the sky had gone from near pitch black to a greyish blue. You couldn’t help but sigh when you realized this, both in weariness and fear.

It wasn’t long before you sensed some commotion from under you, nothing too alarming, just a few signs of people walking here and there, mostly from the bottom floor. Working in stealth had caused you to greatly hone your senses, which came in useful for situations like these. You had even picked up a habit of memorizing footsteps, and that included the ones of your superiors. For example, one of Giorno’s right hand men (you didn’t know his name, but he was recognizable enough) had heavy, hasty footsteps, not unlike your mother, or a particular now-neutralized leader of a rival group. Giorno, on the other hand, walked slowly and lightly, the precision of his movements reflecting everything else he did.

None of the footsteps downstairs stood out to you. They all blended into each other, all light and fast, the most common category you’d come up with.

As time continued to flow, you slowly kept backing yourself even more into the corner in order to avoid as much light as you could. It revealed to be in vain, though, since you could already feel the UV seeping into your flesh and causing a mild burn.

While uncomfortable, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, since there were no lights on in the room. At one point, you considered moving to close the curtains, but you decided against it.

Is it really too late to leave? Most definitely. Perhaps earlier, you could’ve ditched the plan and left without leaving any evidence, but now you were in too deep. The carpet would’ve definitely had imprints of your shoes, there was probably sweat and other DNA samples scattered around, and you most likely wouldn’t be able to close the window behind you. Shit. You knew, no matter how deluded he seemed, he’d be able to know you had broken in just with those clues.

If only I was like him. If only.

With that thought, a sudden wave of depression hit you.

You were a genuine fool, to think someone like you could’ve pulled off something like this. Truly. You weren’t a thinker, you weren’t a conniving mastermind, you were a pawn, a worker, a soldier. A machine that just knew how to follow orders.

But then again, you were kind of content like that. And besides, becoming a breeding doll for your boss wasn’t exactly your ideal type of promotion.

So you stayed. Stayed in that one place, till something came up again.

♡🐞♡

You weren’t very sure, but you felt that it was around 4:00 PM when your situation truly began to shift.

Leading up to said shift, you’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, as keeping B • H • S up took a lot of your energy. During those moments when you were present, you kept wondering if you’d end up eventually dying here, in this place. Wondering if you’d just end up succumbing to the dehydration and radiation, keeling over like a ragdoll while the light inside you faded.

What would people think of me if that happened? They’d probably see it as some kind of Aesopian tragedy, a cautionary tale to be passed on throughout the organization. A tale of a woman with a once efficient, somewhat important role in the great Passione machine, who threw it all away in the search for unnecessary answers.

You were genuinely starting to feel hopeless. It was most likely showing, too, you could tell some of your color was fading back in, no matter how transparent it was.

How ironic. In all of the many kinds of media you’ve consumed, color was usually a symbol of hope, while darkness and paleness was seen as evil. It seemed like, in your case, that was reversed.

Ignoring your past fears, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh when you thought of this. And that was when you heard it.

Footsteps. Recognizable footsteps, no less, coming from the hallway just outside the room, getting closer and closer.

Slow and light. Perfetto.

And just like that, all of your color faded away once more.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, though, there was something abnormal about those footsteps. They weren’t slow slow, like you were used to, they were a tad quicker, a smidge hastier. Medium slow.

That didn’t matter when they paused, presumably just behind the door. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped when you saw the handle of the flower-shaped door knob begin to wiggle and turn.

Time seemed to go slow as the engraved, gold-painted door creaked open, and from the corner came a shiny black brogue. Who else could it have been, but the man of the hour himself?

Giorno stepped in slowly, a neutral, but slightly worried look on his face. He was being a bit cautious, almost reminiscent of how you stepped into his office that fateful Sunday. His outfit looked no different than your past few encounters with him, somehow, some way.

You watched his eyes scan the room as he closed the door behind him. Again, it felt like your heart was stopped, especially as he was glancing towards the exact corner you stood in.

This is it. He can definitely tell where I am. He’s going to find me. He totally is. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. In that quick second, regrets started filling your head for what felt like the thousandth time today. If you had decided not to go through with this, you probably could’ve just moved to California and lived out your dreams, devoid of worry. But no, no no no no, you just had to--

Giorno didn’t notice you.

The confidence that refilled into you felt blazing.

Your boss sighed and started taking off his shoes, and shortly afterwards, his socks. You watched him closely, even as he strode to his closet to put them away, walked back towards your side to grab a random book from his bookshelf, and then promptly tossed said book onto his bed.

When he approached the door again, and his deft fingers neared the light switch, your breathing hitched. Fortunately, he lowered them, deciding against flicking on the lights.

It felt so surreal, watching him like this, in his element. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly normal, as you took note of how dismayed his face looked, and how hasty he was when walking down the hall. Well, it wasn’t surprising, but it felt a little good to know it wasn’t just you he was acting weird around.

He stopped in the middle of the room and stretched his back, grunting very quietly before sitting down at his decorated vanity. A rolling noise echoed through the room as he opened one drawer and took out a bottle of liquid, and then a small crimson handkerchief. Then, he turned a knob on the side of the mirror, and the brim of the vanity mirror lit up.

Despite the sudden flash of excess light, you steeled your resolve and stayed silent. This was your chance, you couldn’t go and ruin it now. Besides, it wasn’t even that much artificial light--it’d take more than a tiny fluorescent bulb to take you down.

You examined him as he dabbled the liquid on the hanky, sighed, and then began to smear it on his face. He started with his cheeks, then his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and ended with his chin. All while the red cloth gathered a stain of pale beige, and the true texture of his face was revealed.

There was a noticeable red tint on his face, like he had a fever or something. It made sense. A lot of sense, actually.

Giorno turned the cloth over, re-applied the remover, and wiped off his mouth. The natural light pink color of his lips was uncovered, pert and shiny.

Cute.

Wait, no.

As soon as those intrusive thoughts entered your head, you shook them out and internally punished yourself for even noticing that.

You still had a good reason for looking at his mouth, you were trying to spot his strange teeth, but they didn't seem to show. Bummer. He then moved on to his eyes, giving the lids a couple half-assed swipes before setting the hanky down altogether.

He stood up, closed his eyes, and started fiddling with the brooches on his coat, while trailing off near your side of the room. Before you knew it, he was standing right next to you, topless, the garment folded in his arms. It all happened so fast and so smoothly, it was almost terrifying.

Now it really felt like you were invading his privacy. Especially after he put the coat away, walked a few meters away from you, and stretched his back again. You could see every inch of his slim, toned figure, every muscle that shifted underneath his flawless flesh. Needless to say there was a bit of heat on your face, and it wasn’t just from the radiation.

After he had enough of giving you an unintended show, he sat back down at his vanity and rested his left leg on top of the other. Leaning back, he lifted his long braid onto his shoulder. You couldn’t remember where from, but you once heard that he hadn’t gotten one haircut in the entire time he’d been Don, allowing it to lengthen down to the small of his back.

How does he manage all of that? You knew it wasn’t the most important thing to worry about, but still, how?

Perhaps the same way he handled everything else in his life; (Well, everything except advancing onto you, and most of his interior decorating) With inexplicable perfection.

He began to meticulously pull his braid apart, after removing all the ties. It was insane, how he managed to make even something as simple as unraveling his hair look so graceful, in a way only he could achieve.

Under the cloak of your Stand, you bit your cheeks.

When he was done, he tossed and shook his hair, a golden cascade that rolled off his shoulders and flowed down to the base of his spine. Soon he grabbed a brush from inside a drawer and started combing it, ever-so-slowly and gently, with zero hitches or knots.

You were, frankly, quite enjoying the view up to this point, but this is where things started to get a bit...mundane. Never did it cross your mind how many times your boss had to brush his hair each night, but it was proving to be quite a few strokes. You were nearly thankful you didn’t decide to count them.

While this was going down, however, you could feel the UV still penetrating your skin. Along with your ever irritated epidermis, there was a growing faint feeling in the back of your skull, and a rather queasy feeling in your gut. Crap.

The only thing you could really hear now was the sound of your own breathing. The more stress put on you, the louder it got, blocking out subtler sounds that you could’ve heard earlier. One said thing you did pick up on was the quiet but notable sound of the brush passing through his locks.

For a second, you considered moving to a more comfortable position, but you knew it would be way too risky. What you did do, however, was look out the window again, checking the sky. While it was darkening, it looked to be a while before you’d feel any true relief from the ultraviolet.

At this point, Giorno seemed to have finished brushing his hair, now just sitting down and watching himself in the mirror. You had expected him to get into bed and start reading the book he had gotten earlier, but no, he just...stayed still.

The sound of your breathing got quieter.

He exhaled. Then grunted. All of a sudden, he began showing visible and audible signs of pain, curling over with his hand on his abdomen. His other hand, steadying himself on the edge of the vanity, twisted into a fist, the knuckles white.

“God…” You heard him breathe out, his voice brittle. Catching a glimpse of his face, you saw how scrunched it was, and how prominent the redness became.

It really looks like he’s suffering.

You almost felt bad for the poor guy. Almost. Keyword, almost.

Your line of sight wandered back to his eyes, which were dropped, looking down. He had leant back in his chair, gazing at his own lap. It didn’t register with you when his hands moved down to his hips. It didn’t register with you when he unbuttoned his paints, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband.

The next time you looked down, you saw it.

He was...exposed. To say the very least. And...erect. Very erect.

It was like staring into the goddamn sun.

You almost immediately averted your gaze, your breathing stopping altogether, as the heat in your cheeks threatened to grow hotter than the radiation racking your body. Oh lord. Mother of god, what the hell?

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him wrap his hand around himself, and soon after you heard him moan. He moaned. Was this really happening?

It shouldn’t have shocked you as much as it did, it really shouldn't have.

He gave himself a gentle stroke, and the weight continued to sink in. You frantically looked for something else to gaze at, but you couldn’t resist the urge to stare. Instead, you settled on squinting your eyes so much so that you could barely see anything.

The sound of his breathy voice cut through in the silent room, torturing your own ears with sounds that sent uncomfortable shivers through your torso.

Now you really felt like a pervert. Truly. Never in your life would the thought of a situation like this ever crossed your mind, even at your most hormonal during your teenage years. Secretly watching someone, anyone “gratify” themselves was already a wild idea, and now that said person was your boss, one of the most powerful men in the goddamn country?

It made you want to scream.

Minutes went on, with no sign of him stopping. Although, halfway through, you picked up on something; something a little strange.

His soft, gentle moans had changed into what sounded more like sobs. Not even erotic sobs, just genuine weeps. You bit the bullet, looked at his face, and lo and behold, he was crying. His tears mixed with the leftover eye makeup on his face, and dripped down onto the surface of the vanity and the floor. It was the first time you’d ever seen him like this.

It was the strangest, most disturbingly saddest thing you’d ever seen. And you'd seen plenty of messed up movies. Yet, instead of feeling sympathy, something else clicked inside of you.

The shock, embarrassment, and fear faded away.

He was vulnerable. For the first time you’d ever seen.

I could kill him right now.

You totally could. You could collapse the entire room with just one flick of your wrist, and most likely get away in time as well. All his efforts, over the three years he’d been at the top, could be destroyed in just a matter of seconds. And he wouldn’t even know.

How ironically poetic would that be? After trying to violate his lackey twice, said lackey ends his life while he’s pleasuring himself--like a fucked up modern version of a cautionary Greek fable.

What would happen after that? Would I take over? Could I?

The thought of that was enough to make you hesitant. Would that really be what you wanted?

You moved for the first time in hours, bringing your invisible hand in front of your face. Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew it was there, and you knew what it could do.

Would I be hunted? Killed? Assassinated? Or would people...worship me?

While the morals of the organization confused you more than anything, you knew some people had strong, strong feelings about Giorno’s policies. You couldn’t even think of any changes you would make, honestly, you didn’t care or know enough about that kind of stuff.

During your juggle of the pros and cons of that decision, the young man across the room grew all the more intense, bucking into his own soft hand, most likely wishing it was yours. His other hand moved from the vanity to the edge of his chair, his knuckles white and forearm trembling. He shut his stained eyes and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, voice growing higher and breathier.

After a couple more solid pumps, he finally released. He let out one final whine as he climaxed, bringing you out of your thoughts and forcing you to lay eyes on him once again. As his essences surged out, he exhaled gently, his body calming back down.

You watched as he sniveled one last time, before loosening his back and letting go of himself. He put his hands in front of him, seemingly coming to terms with what he just did, before tossing his hair up and sighing one more time.

Giorno sorted himself out a bit, pulling his waistband back up again before slumping over with the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Your window of opportunity was starting to close. You could feel it.

Near panicking, you put your hand out in front of yourself and did a quick rundown of all the consequences of taking action.

This is my chance.

If I don’t do this now, who knows what will happen?

But is it really worth it?

Who else could I hurt by doing this?

Shit.

With the fingers crossed, you raised your hand up higher.

If I’m going to do this, I have to focus…

So you did. Your vision unblurred, and…

wait.

what the hell is that.

Across the room, the ghostly golden form of G • E had been manifested. And its fingers were at the light switch.

no you cant do that

you cant

its not fair

Time seemed to go slow as you watched the switch flip up.

thatd be way too much light please

please dont do that

please

dont

During that microsecond after the switch flipped, you almost came to terms with your downfall.

The instant the ceiling light came on, what felt like a thousand suns bloomed upon your flesh. It was like every single atom in your body was being shaken, and a dozen needles were being shoved into the back of your skull. You gave in near immediately, crossing your forearms over your face in an attempt to protect yourself as your cloak dissipated and you came crumbling down to the floor.

You hit the carpet with a thump, letting out the shrillest, most pained scream of your life. After all this time, you were finally able to see your own two hands again, but this time they looked emaciated and dull as they gripped onto the carpet.

There was most likely something else going down in the room, but you paid it no mind, as you raised yourself up onto all fours. Something swashed through your head and caused you to heave, a concerning amount of liquidy saliva dripping out in place of vomit.

Behind the sound of the loud ringing in your ears, you heard a voice.

“I-I...ah…”

You turned your head towards him, neck cracking, eyes so wide they hurt. He looked absolutely taken aback, his jaw dropped and cold sweat on his forehead.

Once again, a newfound confidence overtook you.

I may still have a chance.

All of your remaining strength was used up trying to get back on your feet, all while you kept glaring at him. With your hand pointed to the sky, you shouted;

"Don't you dare! I can murder you right now, right this second! I won't hesitate, bastard!'

His face looked filled with dread. "H...how long have you--"

"Thirty-two hours! Thirty two fuckin' hours! I've been hiding here, cooking myself alive, waiting for you, for thirty-two...ho...urs…" your breath ran out as you finished your words.

"I...dear lord…" he uttered.

Seconds upon seconds of awkward silence between you two passed, so much that you could feel the lactic acid building up in your arm muscles. Both of you were breathing heavily, you moreso, with your body begging you to stop doing things.

Eventually, Giorno’s expression dropped, and he turned, once again slumped over while pinching the bridge of his nose.

Is...is he not going to attack me? “H...hey...what’s your deal?” You asked, quieter.

He wiped his hands down his face, groaning. “Suppose this is what I get for being brainless...god almighty…” It was infuriating, how easily he brushed off your threats like they were nothing.

Your rage flared. “You’re underestimating me, aren’t you? Don’t doubt me! I already have one of my Stand’s plants on the roof, and if you try to pull anything on me, I’ll destroy everything you’ve built up over the years!” That part about the plant may or may not have been true.

The golden boy looked at you again, completely unamused. “Alright…” he breathed out, dropping his arms to his lap. “I understand why you’re angry. I really do. If--”

“Then why’d you do it?” You quickly spat out, “why are you like this all of a sudden? What’s going on with you?”

A few more seconds of silence passed.

He sighed. Again. “If you really want it so badly...then I suppose you have the right to know. Just...calm down, please?”

You were a little stunned at this sudden turn of events. It felt like just a few minutes ago you thought he was like a heavily-guarded safe full of secrets, but now he’s just offering to open himself up to you, right here, in this very moment.

“Retract your Stand, please,” he made a lowering gesture with both hands. “I don’t want you to strain yourself anymore. Come and sit down, I beg of you.” His arm stretched out and he patted at his soft bedding.

While you did indeed lower your arm, you stayed hesitant, refusing to let your guard down. “Hey, wait. I don’t get it, how come you’re acting so…”

Giorno quirked a brow.

“So...normal?” You gritted your teeth after the last word left your mouth.

“Sit. Please.” It would’ve been rude not to comply.

Now that you both were face-to-face, seemingly both in the right state of mind, he began. “Honestly, as mortifying as it is, I think you came at the best possible time. That’s because…” He cleared his throat.

“It’s something I’ve been experiencing ever since April--perhaps even before then. I’ve been having these...urges, these...desires. And...oh, how do I put this...it started off somewhat normal, but it soon started to cause me...physical ailments.”

The eye contact didn’t last long, as you ended up dropping down onto his bed, resting your dire, dire self. You felt a tiny bit bad for paying less attention to his words and more attention to the lovingly soft mattress, but you still got the gist of what he was saying.

“It’s been especially apparent in my…” again, he cleared his throat. “...abdominal region. There’s this pressure, this pain, and it doesn’t have anything to do with my stomach or my kidneys or what have you--it’s something different entirely. And that’s only where it begins…”

The feelings in your head were mixed. One part of your brain had sympathy, while the other felt a bit of gratitude hearing his ailments. It was a bit fucked, sure, but pretty understandable considering what you’d been through.

"My body's been so hot--"

"--I know. I could tell."

He looked down sheepishly after you interrupted him.

"That's the one thing I've been noticing." You went on, "it's weird, man. Plus, closing the door to 'keep the cool air inside?' That's not how that works at all!"

Silence.

"Y...yes. You're right. But in addition to that, my throat's been so dehydrated, and near nothing will quench it. It's awful, truly…"

"And?"

"Mastur--ah, gratifying myself helps, but only temporarily. Each time that longing, that fire comes back to haunt me and it...it hurts…"

After some more silence, you propped yourself up by your elbows to look at him again. "That sounds...horrible, but I just want to know, why? Are you sick? I don't--"

"I was going to get to that."

He shut you up.

Taking another sigh, he leant back in his chair again, holding his knee. "If you had asked me that, say, four months ago, I wouldn't have had a clue. Yet lately…"

"I'm listening."

He inhaled for a good second. "I've been looking deeper into my origins, ever since I turned eighteen, trying to find out where I came from...and what I discovered was--"

And...out.

Everything your boss said started going in one ear and out the other. And who could blame you? It was a habit.

He just...went on, about his family, parents, his Stand and even his birthmarks for some reason. You truly didn't see the point in 99 percent of what he was talking about.

I just want to know why you're acting like this, you bastard. I don't care about your dad or whatever…

Despite your vexation, you did pick up on one subject that he seemed to bring up a lot during his tangent; Vampirism.

It stuck in your head so much, that when he finally stopped talking you instantly sat up and responded, "woah, woah, what? What are you talking about, about vampires? You're not seriously…"

His deadpan expression told you all you needed to know. It also told you that he could tell you were barely listening to him.

“Well, that’s what I said.” He began, “my current theory, stemming from all the research I’ve done...is that I’m a vampire.” He paused for a second, then adding on, “or, at least an ancestor of mine was.”

More silence.

Wha?

It definitely should’ve shocked you more than it did, but...somehow, it made everything make sense. The teeth, the thirst...still, part of your world was turned upside down. You weren’t even too unfamiliar with the supernatural, with your family being relatively superstitious, but something like this…

"And I'm thinking that this period is some kind of...awakening. A sort of…--"

"Vampire puberty." It wasn’t even a question, the pure disbelief in your voice overshadowed any other nuance.

"Oh, putting it like that makes it sound a bit--" you cut him off before his last word.

“--you...you’re kidding right?” You couldn’t help but stare him down, but he looked 100% serious. “Ho-how? How did you come to that conclusion, of all things? I mean, I get it, sorta, but…”

Giorno put his hands in front of his mouth and took in a deep breath. “Have you ever tried pork blood before, amore?”

Now it was your turn to stare at him with a judgmental look.

“I had some the other day at an Asian restaurant...oh,” he moved his hand to his cheek and looked away from you, “it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. Truly, it was amazing.” His eyes were near sparkling.

You weren’t given a second to respond.

“After I had that, some of the dryness in my throat went away, but it was only for a while. I still found my eyes lingering on people’s veins, at the reddest points of their bodies...and you were no different.” A pang of your heart rang through your nerves. “Somehow, I knew that the only thing that would satiate me would be...the taste of a human, as awful as it sounds.”

Silence continued to prevail.

It was a lot to take in. You ended up getting up and standing in front of him, your back turned and your hands supporting the back of your head.

In spite of the millions of words swirling in your head, one seemed to prevail.

"Me…?"

"Pardon?"

You dropped your hands, but refused to look at him. "You could've chosen anybody to pursue, for these needs, but...you chose me, of all people."

“Well, I…” Giorno stopped talking when he heard you inhale sharply.

Rather slowly, you turned your head to look him in the eye.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

It became uncomfortably quiet, and he looked down at his hands, twiddling his fingers. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with--”

“You are! I fuckin’ knew it!” Your voice came out loud, louder than you intended, but you didn’t bother piping down, “holy shit…” The only thing that felt appropriate was to rub your temples while continuing to take in all you’d learnt.

“What difference does it make?” His brows were slanted, a questioning and slightly furious expression on his face. “I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal out of it.”

“Be-because...ugh…!” You were having a tough time getting your words out, your voice going up a few more pitches. “That kind of thing...for your first time, you should do it with a person you, uh, really love…"

"But I-"

"An-an-and!" You held a finger level with his face before crossing your arms. "You should do it with someone your own age, too!"

He did some math on his fingers. "Wait, you're not that much older than me at all--"

"We-ell then whatever!" You knew you sounded irrational at this point, but something was still driving you to sputter out words. "The...the point is, someone like you should do this with somebody special...I mean, I’m just a random lackey, right? It’s not like I’m...uhm…”

His expression didn’t drop, it just grew more irritated.

“You truly never listen to me, do you, cara?” Your boss sighed and looked towards the mirror again. “How many times have I told you, already?”

He watched as your once hardened appearance softened with concern.

“I chose you to go after because I love you. Didn’t I tell you this before?"

"I...uh…"

“‘Random lackey…’” He repeated your words with venom on his tongue, shaking his head. “Ever since I met you, knowing all you were capable of, I’ve felt a connection to you. Not to mention you’re one of the most…” a dreamy sigh came out of him, “...interesting people I’ve ever had working under me. I mean...you broke into my house, that's so...bold."

It was too much. All this news, it felt like your brain was an overflowed sponge.

“No...don’t say that…”

In the midst of all your confusion, he stood up.

“What do you mean? Do you not believe me?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

"Amore mio, I’ve loved you for so long, now...I know this is all sudden, but I thought you would be the best one for this situation, I thought you of all people would understand…” His hand came up to brush some of your damp hair away from your forehead.

“Lying...you’re lying, you have to be…” It couldn’t be genuine. It just couldn’t. “You...someone like you...can’t…”

One of his hands came to rest on your shoulder.

“Oh, why do you reject me so much?” He breathed out, “you keep saying ‘someone like you’...what kind of person do you think I am…?”

Your name slipped out his lips at the end of his sentence. His words sent shocks right to your eyes, the liquid threatening to spill out.

“Maybe…” his face became one of sympathy. “Perhaps you don’t think someone like you deserves a person like me?"

That was it. That was when your downfall became cemented in stone. It felt like he had just stuck a key into your heart, but instead of unlocking anything, it just made everything collapse. Your egoism, your confidence, and all of your self-security shattered, and the pieces that fell had cause your tears to overflow.

Although, you did realize one thing.

Giorno Giovanna was far from a super-secretive man, nor was he cold like one might expect from a goddamn mob boss. You had no idea how he got to where he was. But, despite that, you realized how he kept his place at the top. How he managed to control everyone under him, how he got so many people to submit without using force.

He got inside my head. It's over.

The tears felt hot running down your face.

All you could let out was a sob, and a fragment of a word. Without warning, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to yours, taking in the noises while holding your face gently.

His lips taste like roses.

Was there really anything else you could do, besides kissing him back? You gripped at his triceps, still sobbing out your nose as he deepened the kiss, without protest from you. It went on for a few seconds, before you finally couldn’t take it anymore and broke away from him, escaping his embrace and moving away quickly.

Despite you retreating into the bathroom, both you and him knew that he had won.

♡🐞♡

Click, clack. Click, clack. Click, clack. The imaginary clock in Giorno’s head was the only thing he could currently hear. It felt like it could be fit for a time-bomb, as the longer the uneventful period went on, the closer he felt to exploding.

Five minutes. It had only been five minutes since you had ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind you, leaving him to contemplate his actions. (“Contemplate” in large quotes, since there was already a lustful smog growing in his brain, clouding up his rational thinking.) Since you had retreated, he had picked up on water occasionally running, a few concerning heavy impacts, and perhaps a cry or two.

He was almost starting to think that he might’ve pushed you a bit too far, what with making you break down in front of him and all that. He would’ve actually begun to feel some regret, if not for him hearing the bathroom door behind him at the perfect time.

Giorno looked behind his shoulder, and there you were. Standing in the doorway, completely bare apart from your underwear, covering your breasts with your forearm. While there was still a shy, cold expression on your face, the three words you uttered told him all he needed to know.

“Do your worst.”

The pure joy inside of him fired up. He finally met with your eyes, giving you a small smile that said a thousand thankful words.

Before you even had a chance to trail a meter away from the doorway, he had stepped over to you and trapped you in his oh-so-warm embrace. He soon kissed the shell of your ear, uttering out a soft "thank you."

Your legs felt weak.

He snaked around behind you, aligning his arm with your raised one. His hand cupped your knuckles, squeezing them.

"Put your arm down...let me see you…" there was an almost desperate twinge in his voice, more apparent when it was so close to your other ear.

Of course, you obeyed him. What else could you do?

The golden boy resisted the primal urge to grope and caress your chest, instead deciding to begin guiding you towards his bed. He still kept his bare torso flush against yours.

When your knees touched the edge of the mattress you instinctively gave in and dropped down onto the comforter, momentarily detaching from him as you crawled up to your knees.

When you blinked, Giorno was in front of you again. He put his hand on your neck and gripped it very gently, getting up-close to your chest-shoulder area. You could feel his lips touching against the very slight hairs on your body, threatening to give you goosebumps.

“Cara…” he still sounded desperate. “I...I don’t know where to bite first…”

It was true. There were just too many places he could go for first; the soft, lovely flesh of your breasts, the accessible, potent croon of your neck and shoulders, or even a part of your face...it was enough to give him analysis paralysis.

He didn’t get any suggestions from you.

Eventually he made his decision by pressing his lips against your chest, right next to where your heart was. For a split second he pulled away, allowing you to invite him by raising up your tits with your forearm.

You watched him, his eyes happy, as he slowly opened his maw, revealing his small fangs. It wasn’t long before he finally bit down onto you, be it mildly.

It didn’t hurt that much the first time around, but it made both of you realize it'd take more force to get you to bleed for him.

He wasn't deterred though, quickly after the first bite he champed down again, his canines poking down into your flesh, drawing a sharp exhale from you.

The harder he bit, the more you whined. You felt a bit of suction on the spot, as he was trying his hardest to get any of your extract out and onto his tongue.

Finally, after gnawing at you for a good half-minute, he broke skin.

To your surprise, he pulled away, wanting to look at your blood before he indulged. The little red splotch bloomed bigger, and started to flow down your breast.

The pure, unadulterated salacity in his eyes made your body feel warm.

His tongue rolled out, his breath so hot it was like steam in the cold room. He swept up all the blood that flowed out, his saliva seeping into your small puncture and stinging slightly.

But that sensation had nothing on what he was feeling.

By God, it was the most sublime thing he'd ever tasted. Coating his tongue, your fluid sent him into a state of absolute ecstasy.

It was as sweet as caramel, yet as intoxicating as absinthe.

After letting out a small, amazed moan, he re-attached to your skin and sucked on it, trying to force out more of the liquid ruby. It was a miniscule wound, so only a small, thin stream was coming out, but he savored every drop of it by mixing it with his own saliva so he could swallow it down better.

His swallows were definitely audible. You tilted your head back, completely bewildered at what was currently happening.

He’s drinking me.

My boss is drinking me.

My perfect, psycho boss is drinking me.

You felt your flesh be released after a short while, Giorno letting out a groan. He moved his hands up to hold the sides of your face, staring deep into your eyes. His once pale-pink lips were stained with red.

“I love you, I love you so much…” The words came out barely as whispers, before he kissed you again. You were instantly met with the coppery taste of your own blood.

When he pulled away, the string of saliva that connected the two of you was dyed a light red. You glanced down and saw that the bite mark had been smudged, so even more of your chest was painted crimson.

There was something...exciting about that. Something you couldn’t put your finger on.

Giorno shifted, his hands on your shoulders, so that he was pressed against your back once again. He tugged you backwards, leaning onto the wall behind the bed. It wasn’t long before he sunk his teeth into your trapezius, again gnawing a few times before getting access to his ambrosia.

It was definitely painful, getting your blood actively sucked out gave you cold chills wherever he bit. You were thankful that he wasn’t drawing litres from you, in movies it always looked so...violent…

You couldn’t help but throw your arms back around his shoulders, squishing your hands between him and the wall.

He continued to drink for a good stretch of time, before sliding one hand down your body. You watched him as he pressed his middle finger against your clothed crux, producing a short yelp from you. His fingertip pressed down until there was an apparent wet spot in your dark grey bottoms.

Hot air brushed by your ear. “You’re wet~♡” He cooed, pushing his fingertip lower down the cleft. You tilted your ear away from him, squeezing your eyes shut.

A cry escaped your lips when he slipped his hand under your bottoms and wasted no time massaging your excited nub.

“I wonder how it got that way?” His inquiry was met by a sob. “Hmm...maybe you like it when I drink you up…♡?”

“I-I...ah…”

“Or…” You could feel him smile against your shoulder. “You did watch me when I was enjoying myself earlier...maybe you get off to that kind of stuff?”

“Wha...no…”

He tittered and kissed the area behind your ear. “Well? Am I correct? Do you get off watching younger men touch themselves?”

An uncontrollable cry came out of you. No...you’re wrong…

“Oh, you’re a pervert, aren’t you~♡ ”

“I’m not...not a pervert…”

You could tell he was toying with you.

Goddamnit…

While you cursed in your head, deep down, your body loved it.

Another stint of him drinking you went by, all while his hand grew more vigorous. You managed to suppress most of your noises, but it grew harder the closer you got to your climax. The thought of cumming while he was still indulging in your blood...it was so…

He pulled away with a satiated sigh.

When his fangs left you, so did his hand. It left your lower area convulsing, feeling abandoned.

“Tesoro…♡” Giorno nuzzled up against you. “That was amazing...you tasted so good, I think I might get addicted...I’m so happy...I love you…”

Despite being on the brink of orgasm, you felt a strong feeling of relief, knowing that this “saga” was over. You couldn’t help but smile, shutting your eyes and dropping your arms down and enjoying the feeling of being held in your boss’s warm arms.

“I...uhm, Giorno...I think I…” The words you wanted to say were hard to get out, but eventually you managed to build up the needed “confidence”.

You felt a bit dazed from getting all that blood taken from you, but it wasn’t too bad.

It was still unbelievable to you, to think that all this time a grandiose man like him had taken such an interest in a lowlife like you...it still felt conflicting. What’s gonna happen now? What comes next? With the intent of asking him that, you opened your eyes, and…

Oh.

Somehow, you had changed positions without even noticing. He had laid you out on the bed, your head on the pillow, and was straddling you. The light from the window bounced off his eyes, and you knew it was far from over.

He was pressing his hard-on right into your crotch, his hands on your waist. “Bella…” he murmured, dragging his hands closer to himself.

You felt your heart thump harder as he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pulled down his pants again. Your eyes went from the center of his briefs to his face, trying to signal your distress to him. Too bad he was only focused on “himself”.

Determined to not see his cock again, you shut your eyes tight. Yet something in your head told you that it was inevitable, because honestly, where else could this go?

So you opened your eyes, be it slowly, and laid your sight on him.

This is really happening, isn’t it?

It was utterly stiff, resting on your belly, and tinged with red, just like his face. His pre dripped down near your navel, the heat combatting with the surface of your skin.

You looked up at him again, but couldn’t tell if he was doing the same to you. His eyes were pointed not at your face, but somewhere lower. Not being able to predict what was going to happen next, you swallowed nothing.

Suddenly, the bed rumbled a bit, and you reflexively closed your eyes again. You felt the crown of your head knock against the wall, before you noticed a sudden weight on your torso. When you peeked ahead, you realized Giorno had moved up your body, now straddling your lower thorax.

You were met with the head of his cock, resting comfortably in the valley of your breasts. Immediately your face reached internal levels of warmth you didn’t even know were possible.

“I wanted to try this, with you, for a while now…” he trailed off before putting some saliva in his hand rather solemnly.

How long is a ‘while’?

While he massaged the makeshift lubricant onto himself, you were staring up at him, at a loss for words. “This-this position is...it’s, uhm…” To think that such a presumably perfectly proper person would have such...pornagraphic proposals. Maybe you yourself weren’t as “experienced” as you liked to think you were.

His hands traveled to the sides of your chest, pushing them up so that the soft meat enveloped his shaft. A satisfied sigh came out his mouth, this was just the start and you already felt like heaven.

“Gio-ru-no…~” despite his nails being just barely a quarter-centimeter long, you felt them digging into your flesh. You were glad he wasn’t too heavy, if he was this would probably be even rougher. “Be gentle...please…?”

Your pleas were unfortunately ignored.

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled back a little bit before pushing forward, slightly rocking both the two of you and the bed. There was a bit of a cooldown period before he rammed his hips forward again, and again, and again.

“Amore mio, amore mio~♡” Thoughtless words were spilling from him. “So, good...your body really is the best~♡! I love...everything...about you…” He kept speaking in between pushes, but you could barely pick up on it.

The sight of his cock rhythmically slipping on your chest--it was almost hypnotizing. It was just..so lewd, so much it was by itself stimulating. You were helpless, letting your tits get fucked by your beautiful bastard of a boss, arms limp on the bed.

Under your breasts, you could feel his testes against you--you could tell they were heavy. Lewd noises kept coming out with each shove, and you had a front-row seat to them. That along with his ecstatic moans created a cacophony of smutty noises that assaulted your eardrums. His tip kept inching ever-closer to your face, to the point where you felt you would be able to kiss it if you wanted to.

Giorno kept going, rocking his hips over and over again, and it made you wonder if he was ever going to finish.

This really is happening, isn’t it...not a dream, or a trip, or anything…

He’s using me like some kind of object...

How long has he wanted to do this kind of stuff with me?

Where...did he even get the idea to do this?

Those questions were pointless, and you knew it.

You were jerked out of your thoughts when he pressed his thumbs against your nipples, making you flinch and scrunch up your face. The small amount of tears that had been building up in your eyes were squeezed out, coating your eyelids.

Seeing that subtle change in your face, Giorno sped up his movements. The whines that came from you as a result of his roughness just tempted him more, giving him extra ideas of what he’d do in the future.

Something dripped down and hit your cheek, as well as the pillowcase around your head. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to tell what it was, which was sweat that was dripping from his bare body. It perplexed you how he still managed to smell like fragrant flowers.

His “rhythm” was beginning to feel like it was synchronizing with your heartbeat, and in a weird way, it was relaxing. Maybe it was that, combined with his warmth, his weight, the soft mattress...you wondered that, if you did hypothetically fall asleep in the midst of this, would he continue?

It proved to be another pointless question, as soon enough the golden boy’s moans peaked, before he suddenly stopped.

Is...is he done?

For a split second, you felt his weight lift from your body, but at the same time one of his hands gripped at your jaw roughly. He pulled down, forcing you to open up but a tad, before he quickly moved even higher up your body and stuffed his cock in your mouth.

Your tear-laced eyes went wide immediately. A muffled whimper came out your throat, but he ignored it and dropped himself lower down, stabilizing himself on the wall. Your abused gag reflex caused more tears to flow out, but it also just made your throat tighten around him.

After he let out a few sighs of pleasure, you glanced up at his face. His eyes were glimmering as he kept forcing himself into you, adoring the way all the soft ridges and bumps felt against his ready-to-burst cock.

Tears were completely blurring your sight as he bottomed out in your mouth. A joyous, shuddering groan came out of him before you felt something hot bloom in the middle of your neck.

Realization set in, and so did a slight sense of panic. It wasn’t long before your throat had been filled, agitating your gag reflex even more. Your heart thumped heavily as his essence invaded your mouth, the strange taste a bit too overwhelming.

While one of your hands had fingers shaking and curling, you raised the other one up to batter at his side, trying to tell him he was starting to stifle you.

In response, he reached down and pinched your nose shut.

“This...this is only fair, right~?” There was some kind of sadistic giggle in his voice. "Come on, take it, take all of me…♡" his smile, despite looking filled with nothing but love, made you want to cry even more.

You felt yourself begin to asphyxiate.

“Swallow it.” While his voice was soft, it still managed to be commanding, almost intimidating.

Not having any other options, you obeyed.

Soon as Giorno saw the lump in your neck go down, he removed himself and lifted off of your body. The excess fluid that didn’t go down came gushing out of your uselessly-closed lips, oozing down your chin as you struggled to sit up.

You put your hand to your mouth as you coughed, trying in vain to stop it from getting everywhere. To your dismay, you felt a drop of it land on your chest.

Despite the multiple fluids covering your face, you, once again, felt a strong feeling of relief. It’s over now, right? It’s gotta be. No way is he still…

You were distracted by him wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your temple. “There we go...it wasn’t that hard, right?” No response to that.

“See, I got to drink you…” he chuckled as if he had just told a joke. “And now you got to drink me! We’re equal now~!”

Even if you wanted to talk back to him, you couldn’t, as there was still liquid pooled in your mouth. After spitting out most of it onto your hand, you picked up on something--your bottoms were being lowered.

You jerked to the side. “Wait, wait, wait--what are you doing?” His fingers were still pulling at your waistband, despite you kicking a bit to try and get him to quit.

He looked at you with a rather sudden innocent expression. “Well, we’re moving on now, aren't we?”

“You can’t be serious, ri-right? You...just finished…” without words, you were proven wrong by him straightening his back, revealing that he was still hard.

Lord have mercy.

“That...doesn’t make sense...how…” Giorno interrupted your driveling by pulling you back down the bed, tilting you onto your back. You genuinely didn’t know how much more you could take.

Your leg was lifted up, resting on the inside of his elbow. “Did you actually think we were done…?” He laughed while completely removing your soused underwear. It was humiliating, seeing him with the small garment dangling off of his index, and it got even worse when he carelessly dropped it onto the floor behind him. “You haven’t even finished yet, right? What kind of man would I be to let you--no, the both of us,--go unsatisfied...?”

But I’m already ‘satisfied’... It was true, even if you hadn’t technically climaxed yet, you still felt like this had gone on long enough and--

“A-ah--!” Suddenly, you were ripped out of your thoughts by the feeling of him prodding your crux with the supple head of his cock. The sudden heat made your channel clench around nothing as he pulled away from your entrance. You uncontrollably pushed up your pelvis, most certainly looking oh-so desperate for him.

While pulling even farther away from you, he moved his hand before spreading your vulva with his middle knuckles. He peered down at your drooling pink hole, watching your insides convulse with a voracious look in his eye.

“Ah...I wasn’t expecting it to be like this…” he chuckled, while rotating his hand a bit to get a better look. "It looks like it's...begging for me…"

A gratified smile stretched across his lips. He was right! He knew you wanted this just as much as he did! And when he took a look at your face, your frightened yet tantalized expression, the tear stains on your cheeks and the remnants of his semen covering your chin and jaw, he let out a happy breath, knowing he wouldn't be changing his mind anytime soon.

That sight just made him simply ache.

“Bella~” he crooned out, the edges of his eyes watery. “I can’t hold back anymore…~”

The second after that, he plunged himself inside you all too quickly, giving you absolutely no time to think. You had only a split second to come to terms with what was happening before you were impaled by a certain scalding appendage.

All that built-up stimulation from before came to a crash, your jaw dropping as you humiliatingly climaxed around him. Your fingers curled around the sheets as you pushed your hips against him, only to realize he wasn’t even bottomed out yet.

While you managed to stay mostly quiet, even during your orgasm. That couldn’t be said for the young man above you, though.

For him, it was just too heavenly to resist. You felt so soft and tight, everything he’d hoped it would be and more. A series of strained yet euphoric moans sputtered out of him as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you, closing his eyes and letting his tears fall down onto your face as he leaned over you.

He stayed still for a small while, taking in the rapturous feeling before rising up a bit and looking down at your abdomen. “Look, look...we’re finally connected…~”

Staring up at him with lidded eyes, you silently prayed that he didn’t notice you had--

“Hey,” his voice stayed breathy, as he started to roll his hips against you. “Did...you finish just from me putting it in?”

You covered your face with your hands, crying out in shame quietly.

“Don’t be embarrassed~♡!” Giorno cooed rather loudly, forcibly grabbing your wrists and pushing them back down onto the mattress, and while continuing to ram into you. Drool, tears and sweat still running down your face, you looked down at your pelvis, feeling taunted by the marshy noises being produced. “You feel really good, and so do I--be happy! I love you…!”

He kissed the side of your nose, holding the sides of your head. “I knew you loved me too, that you wanted me just as bad--I’m so happy I’m right, cara…” You couldn’t help but nod slightly in response, anything to make him be a little more gentle.

“Suh-low...please…” it sounded like your brain was melting, which wasn’t exactly inaccurate. But even if your brain wasn’t melting, it definitely felt like your groin was. The combination of his roughness and his body heat was making your upper legs go numb, all feeling focused on the absolute stirring-up of your insides.

To him, despite the fact that your internal heat wasn't low in the slightest, compared to his own it felt like you were almost cooling him down--it wasn't just pleasure he was feeling, it was also relief. And he wanted more.

In order to try and get even deeper inside you, he raised your left leg higher, tilting you onto your side. Tugging you closer, he pressed his lips onto your ankle.

The new angle made you grit your teeth and squeal, feeling his tip reach your fornix. You extended your arms, partly trying to get him to give you a break and partly wanting to hold his hand for some kind of support.

"You're good...so good...your body was really made for me~" he kept singing your praises while churning his hips, the upper base of his cock continuously pressing into your swollen nub.

As embarrassing as it was, you could feel another building twist in your gut.

After a bit, he leant over you again, leering at the beet-purple bite marks on your skin. Those and the smears of blood on your skin looked like art of his own making to him. But something was eating away at the back of his mind, a strange instinct that was telling him to do...something…

You watched as he moved his hand closer to your bust, bending all his fingers except for the index and middle. You felt him poke at the soft flesh of your neck for a second, getting a tad confused before…

Wait, what--

Somehow, in some unexplainable way, he pushed his fingertips and into your neck, bypassing your skin without puncturing it. It wasn’t even exactly painful, but incredibly strange and almost frightening.

Fear in your eyes, you watched the veins in his forearm swell as the chilling feeling that came with getting your blood taken returned. You cried out, tears falling while you put your own hands on the one that was drinking from your throat.

For him, he could feel your blood flowing into his veins directly, even being able to taste the lovely sweet flavor. He picked up a severe pace once again, mercilessly ravaging both halves of your body.

Despite his roughness, there was nothing but love in his glazed green eyes.

I'm...getting my blood taken...while being fucked...♡

A small broken smile appeared on your lips. To think that such an amazing man was indulging in you in this way...it made you wonder why you ever tried to get away in the first place.

"Do you like this?" He asked, dipping his fingertips even deeper into your neck. "That's really perverted...♡"

The second after he said that prodding comment, you felt yourself tremble as the tugging feeling in your belly burst, cumming around him once again. Your legs stiffened and seized up uncontrollably as you moaned out helplessly.

After your second orgasm, the ever-growing exhaustion began to take a toll on you. You hadn't slept in over 32 hours, after all. Foolishly thinking it was finally over, you turned your body onto your stomach, sighing into the soft pillow after you felt him pull out both his digits and his cock.

This really happened, didn't it? Was your seemingly last thought before you were about to drift off, but that was before you felt your backside get lifted off of the sheets.

"You're a selfish woman, aren't you? I'm not even done yet and you already want to go to bed? Hm…" You heard the man behind you say before slowly penetrating your raw cunt. "...but I don't mind. I still love you~" he sighed happily.

"Wow…" he kept talking, even though he knew it was most likely not reaching you. "To think you were really threatening to murder me just a while ago...just look at you now, bella~♡"

You genuinely couldn’t respond to him, you didn’t have the brain power to do so. All you could do was accept him as he began to fuck you once again.

“Ah~” A happy breath left his lips. “You still feel so good…” he rocked his hips and bottomed out easily, pushing your pelvis towards him to keep a sort of rhythm going. “Do you like it from behind, too?”

Before he had entered inside you, you had tried your best to raise your upper body up with your arms, but failed once you felt him inside. Your face dropped onto the pillow, all the sweat and tears surely soaking into the case.

You felt his soft hands on your upper arms before he raised you up, so his chest was against your back. With his lips right near your ear, he started panting in your ear as he bucked up inside you.

"I love you...I love you…" he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time today. "And you love me too, right? Right?"

When he didn't head a response, he grew rougher.

"Say it...say you love me, please, bella…"

"I...I love you, Giorno…!"

You heard him let out a happy sound before kissing your ear. "Yes...yes...I, I love you, I love having sex with you...♡"

It felt like there was static all inside your brain. He let both of you lower back down onto the bed, still ramming his hips in an almost animalistic way.

"We're gonna do this a lot, alright? I wanna do this with you every day...♡" He kissed at your shoulder before suddenly sinking his incisors into it, quickly creating another puncture he could sup from.

You couldn’t help but cry, desperately clutching at the surely sweat-soaked sheets. It was unbelievable, but he had created another twisting feeling in your abdomen.

The broken and sane parts of your brain were having a battle, one in disbelief at how spectacularly your plan had failed and how this even came to be in general, while the other was just simply euphoric at the pleasure he was giving you.

“I’m close, tesoro…” he uttered after pulling his fangs from you. “Are...are you gonna finish again? Even though you’re so tired~? You think we’re gonna cum together…?” you gave him no response, looking at how his hands were now on the bed right by yours.

It went on for a bit more, him continuously drinking your blood while plunging into the deepest part of you. All while your brain was on the very brink of shutting off and traveling into dreamland.

Yet, after a while, he said one more thing.

“I wanna finish inside you, cara…” He moaned out before kissing the new bruise on your shoulder. “Let’s start a family~♡!”

That one proposition was enough to jerk you out of your haze and bring you to action.

No.

“No!”

You balled your hand into a fist and repeatedly pounded at the back of his hand. “No, no~! Take it out, take it out…!”

Even if it was disappointing to hear your refusal, he heeded and slipped himself out just as he started to climax. Your walls clenched around nothing as he whined out, letting his essences spill out and smother the front of your torso.

He held you tighter than ever as he rode out his orgasm, almost suffocating you with how firmly he was pressing against your diaphragm. You had let out all the air in your lungs when you came for the last time today, the dopamine in your brain hitting the absolute max.

In your last moments of consciousness, you picked up on him turning you around and letting the last few surges paint your stomach. He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled, as his own brain was also flooded with serotonin.

A great silence filled the room, apart from the sounds of his breathing. In the quiet, his mind finally came down from the high and he opened his eyes.

Giorno felt great. It was like all of the excess heat had been emptied from his body, and all the pain and smogginess in his head had disappeared like it was never there.

“Ah…thank you, cara, that was amazing--” When he looked down at you, he realized.

“Oh...oh.” It was a little embarrassing, “she’s out cold…” he uttered, putting his fingertips to his lips.

He was caught a little off guard, before seeing how you had been covered in his substances, as well as all the other fluids he had managed to draw from you. The sight was truly wonderful to him.

Oh, how he longed to have a camera on him, as disrespectful as it would’ve been. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long...even more since this whole “vampire” debacle began. And now he had experienced it, and it was better than he could’ve ever had fathomed.

To say he was overjoyed would’ve been an understatement.

Yet, as happy and satisfied as he was, he wanted to let you have your rest. So, after brainstorming a couple “thank-you gifts” and cleaning you up a little bit, he managed to manhandle your sleeping body under the covers.

Seeing your peaceful, sleeping face, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I wonder what you’re going to dream about…?” He breathed out before kissing the tip of your nose one last time.

With nothing else to do, he slipped under the covers as well, holding your gentle, sleeping form. And with you in his arms, in his room, in his home, he finally felt content. It simply couldn’t get better than this.

Thank you, God, for such a wonderful, wonderful day. ♡

#not even putting after notes yall dont deserve them smh #can you tell im sick of this one already lmaooo #oh well #my works #N/S/F/W #jjba #jojo #Vento Aureo #Golden Wind #Giorno Giovanna #fine ill do it #giorno x reader #yumee works #cw dubcon #cw noncon #cw other things too #why is this so long im going to shit myself

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digitalworldbound · 4 years

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miyako and hikari (platonic) for 133?

Number 133: “Slushies aren’t just for kids. Fuck society!”

Characters: Miyako & Hikari. Finally, one of my 02 babies! This is set while the girls are maybe around 15 and 16.

I wrote this in first person as Hikari, just to give it a more casual, carefree feel! I hope you enjoy these teenager-y, summer vibes. The ending kind of sucks, but please ignore it. (Minor swearing)

Send me a prompt!

As a certified teenager, it’s safe to assume that I love summer. Why wouldn’t I? It’s the time of the year when you can pretty much do whatever you like. Summer is the grand time where the months-long prep and countdown for family vacations actually come in fruition.

But there’s danger that lurks during summer. It’s the trap of monotony where sleeping late, waking up at noon, watching endless TV, and playing video games for hours become a routine. Well, not if you are friends with Miyako.

Despite chatting with friends into the wee hours of the morning, the girl is an early riser. She’s the “get up and go” type, only grabbing a banana for breakfast as she sprints out the front door. Afterall, an object in motion in stays in motion.

It was the first Saturday of summer vacation when she barged into my room, a flurry of purple hair and lipgloss. “Hika!” she screeched. Miyako was one of the only people that called me by a nickname, and never failed to abuse this privilege. “What are you still doing in bed? If you want to go scope out hot guys on the beach with me, you have to get up. We’re burning daylight!”

I didn’t even have to glance at the clock to know that it was inhumanly early. The coffee machine in the kitchen was silent, and the sound of my brother snoring permeated the apartment. Somehow, I managed to pull myself away from the warmth of a slept-in comforter, yawning all the while. Before my feet hit the floor, Miyako was rummaging through my wardrobe, clicking her tongue in disapproval at my large collection of borrowed basketball t-shirts. “Hmm, where do all these come from, I wonder?” she asked pointedly. She laughed airily, flashing me a wink.

“Ha, ha, Miya, very funny. You know me and him are just friends,” I offered, attempting to stretch the sleep out of my joints. She shook her head in disapproval, purple ponytail swinging behind her.

A note about Miyako: she fancies herself a matchmaker, and believed I was her perfect target.

For years, she has tried everything to pair me up with my best friend. A few summers ago, she locked us both in the hall closet, smushing us between the extra linens and a scratchy, wool blanket. Takeru and I are pretty close, so we weren’t particularly bothered by our close proximity. We might have been able to enjoy our time together had Miyako not forgotten about us. It wasn’t until my brother came home from soccer practice that someone heard our desperate pleas for freedom. Ever since then, she has stayed out of it.

With a hum of approval, she tossed a sundress in my direction. I barely had time to catch the flimsy, yellow fabric before she barked out another order. “Go to the bathroom and put that on, we need to hurry.”

Another note about Miyako: Never argue with her when she gets in one of her Moods.

My socked feet padded their way silently to the bathroom, pausing only to check the time displayed in the hall: 7:45 in the morning. Changing quickly, I slipped the sundress over last season’s bathing suit, adjusting the straps as the material settled around my hips. Miyako, being a full year older than me, had taken puberty gracefully, filling out gradually and evenly. My body, it seemed, had other plans. The hips seemed to be its first priority, leaving the top of my dress little to fill itself out.

I made my way back towards my room, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards. Miyako sat atop my bed, flicking through a stray magazine. She hadn’t noticed my arrival, and I took my few extra moments of silence to study her.

This past semester, she had shot up several inches, giving her legs the slender look of a model. Her cut-off shorts only emphasized this fact. Her Hawaiian-esque button down should have been tacky, but she left the buttons undone, showing off her camisole underneath. A bathing suit top poked out from underneath it, accentuated her new curves. Compared to her, I felt like a little girl playing dress up.

While I struggled to coax the tangles out of my horrendous bedhead, Miyako gave me the rundown of the day. “Okay, so I was thinking we hit up Starbucks first. They have some new fruity lemonade that I’ve been dying to try, and I’m also kind of hungry.” As if to punctuate her statement, my own stomach growled, and I grinned sheepishly up at her. “Make that two of us,” I laughed.

She rambled on about sunbathing and beach volleyball, the metallic jingle of her bracelets accentuating every point. Miyako talked with her hands, making gestures large and small as if it would help the listener understand her better. Spoiler alert: it never did, but it was fun to watch all the same.

My hair finally tamed, I applied some light concealer, desperate to rid myself of the dark circles clinging underneath my eyes. “You know,” her jingling stops, “You really don’t need any makeup, Hika.”

I only snort in response; taking compliments has never been my forte. Grabbing my purse and phone, I slipped on a pair of sandals. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Let’s rock and roll!”

As one could expect on the first weekend of summer vacation, Odaiba beach was cluttered with people. For mile it seemed the white sand was obscured by sunburnt bodies and an array of towels, but that was understandable.

The passing heat wave had been brutal. One could not go outside without sunscreen, lest risk getting sun poisoning. Within minutes, Miyako sucked her lemonade dry, settling on chewing the left-over ice. “Oh!” she squealed, bits of ice flinging about. “An empty spot, just over there!”

Years of running away from evil Digimon looked like practice as we narrowly dodged the ample bodies of beach-goers. Arms linked together; our feet kicked up sand behind us as we ran. Just as we were about to secure our small area, a blue beach towel obscured the white sand.

I was panting too hard to notice Miyako’s eyes light up or the stranger’s shadow obscure the sun’s rays.

“Hey, guys! What are you two doing here?” a familiar voice asked, humor lifting at the end of his question. My breathing stopped mid-pant, silently cursing whatever deity that would listen. Once my heartbeat was under control, I managed to stand up straight. Raising a singular eyebrow, I challenged our guest. “Well, Takeru, the last time I checked, this beach is open to the public.”

His blonde hair reflected the sunshine, a soft, golden glow haloing around him. As if I needed any more reason to fall in love with him. He laughed in good nature, smiling a boyish, toothy grin.

“You took our spot.” Miyako pointed out, arms crossed over her chest. Wrinkles formed between her brows, her effort to look more menacing. A pair of heart-shaped sunglasses shielded her hazel eyes, and I almost giggled at the thought of her trying to look domineering while wearing something so innocent.

“Who says we all can’t share?” he countered; blues eyes illuminated by mischief. Never one to back down from a challenge, Miyako stood her ground, “I don’t think so.”

Anxiety clenched at my stomach. As of late, being in a close proximity to Takeru made me nervous, especially when he was shirtless with little rivets of water trailing their way down his abs. He was no longer the cute little eight-year-old that sat with me by the campfire. Years of basketball practice had solidified his athletic figure, and two summers ago, his growth spurt had him towering over his own brother. Seeing him in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks did not help my flushed state.

“It’ll be fine, Miyako. We can just squish our towel beside his.” Rolling her eyes, she begrudgingly pulled out her Hello Kitty! themed towel, spreading it haphazardly on the ground. “Let’s just get in the water. That’s where all of the cute guys are, anyway.”

Takeru, for his part, pretended not to notice the hostility in her voice. He was as used to her moodiness as I was. Standing there awkwardly, he only made the move to leave as we began to strip down to our bikinis. “I should probably go find Ken and Daisuke. I’ll catch you both later,” he stammered, eyes intently focused on the granules of sand that had clung themselves to his hands.

Looking at each other, Miyako and I burst into a fit of giggles. She had a twinkle in her eyes as she wiggled her eyebrows in my direction. “No, absolutely not.” I deadpan, knowing exactly where this was about to go.

Her glossed bottom lip poked out, her attempt at a puppy-dog look. In my opinion, she looked more like a Kardashian, and when I told her exactly this, the lip was sucked right back in.

Though it was still pretty early, the sun was high in the sky. My cheeks were warm, and my shoulders had turned a light shade of pink. “We need to put some sunscreen on before we fry.”

“Nah, I’m good. I need to work on my tan anyway.” Miyako’s high-waisted bikini bottoms and halter bathing suit top suited her figure, the cornflower blue color complimenting the slight tan she had already developed. She raised an eyebrow at my pink one-piece, but I just shrugged. Shopping for a skimpy bathing suits had never been one of my priorities.

Neither of us felt comfortable oogling guys when our friends were here and apt to make fun of us, so the though of swimming was abandoned. I smeared sunblock on any bit exposed skin, using the technique a toddler would when icing a cake: all hands on deck.

The pair of us sprawled out, Miyako’s body covering most of the cartoon cat. My pale legs claimed Takeru’s towel as my own. His blonde hair had disappeared in the throngs of beachgoers, and considering that he wasn’t the sunbathing type, I figured he wouldn’t complain.

Rays of sunshine encapsulated me, and the muscles in my shoulders slowly unwound. Eyes closed, I only half-listened to surrounding conversation. A child begged his mother for ice cream while some teenaged girl made her move. A nearby volleyball game was in full swing, both teams shouting at one another. The summer air was stagnant, smelling of sunscreen, sweat, and salt.

We laid around, soaking in the sunshine and the freedom that came with summer vacation. Those last few weeks of school had been stressful. Between taking pictures for the school paper and studying for any upcoming exams, I had been ready to lose my mind. Takeru had also been acting strange, flip-flopping between avoiding me at all costs or never letting me out of his sight. It had all be so intense that I was grateful for Miyako’s distraction, even if it meant waking up at the ass-crack of dawn.

“Psst.” I whispered. I rolled onto my side, doing my best to ignore the way iced coffee moved around in my belly. In our haste to get to the overcrowded seaside, we had forgone any breakfast, hoping that caffeine would be enough to fuel us throughout the day. The rumble in my stomach proved otherwise.

Miyako groaned, peeking at me through her ridiculously long lashes. Note to self: interrogate her about the brand of mascara she uses.

“Psst, Miyako.” She ignored me once again, opting to rotate like a rotisserie chicken.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll go find food on my own.” I stood up, dusting invisible debris off of my legs. Sure enough, I had my friend’s full attention. Anything that involved eating always got her going. In a flurry of purple hair and sand, she was up on her feet, eyes searching for the nearest snack source. A laugh bubbled out of my throat. Miyako tended to do all things with a theatrical flair, making even the most mundane tasks enjoyable.

Once, in middle school, we were both sentenced to lunch duty. Our job was simple: serve food to our peers. Dishing out food was easy; just ladle the mystery meat on a plate and voila! You were finished. It would have been simple enough, had we not had to wear hairnets and white smocks that made us look more like a middle-aged lunch lady than we ever wanted to. Miyako was never the type to wallow in self-pity. She ignored the looks of sympathy other girls gave us and found pleasure in the odd slurp sound the food made when hitting the trays. Soon, it became a competition of who could create the best squelch, testing out different flinging techniques until we were satisfied. By then end of lunch period, our smocks were littered with oil stain, and our cheeks were sore from smiling.

Miyako channeled her inner lunch lady food-flinging abilities as she practically pushed innocent bystanders out of her way. God help those who stood between Miyako and, well, whatever it was that she wanted. Her ponytail navigated through the crowd, giving me no choice but to follow. Her legs lead us to a slushie cart, manned by a woman who was all smiles and sticky syrup. It might not have been solid food, but I wouldn’t deny myself a sugar high.

A small line had already formed, several children tugging on their parents’ sleeves. My bathing suit clung to my skin uncomfortably. I tried to shift in place, but the air was thick with heat. Aside from seeing my childhood crush half-naked, waking up early hadn’t been the best idea. The sun was high in the sky, my morning shadow disappearing.

The line moved quickly, and before long, the pair of us stood at the front, pondering our choices. Finger resting on her lip in faux-concentration, Miyako made a show of deciding on a flavor “Could I have a mix of wild cherry and blue raspberry, please?”

“Why pretend to chose when you get the same thing every time?” As a woman of few pleasures, I found a great joy in calling Miyako out. Her flush of embarrassment was a rare sight. Turning towards the employee, I order the first flavor to have ‘strawberry’ in its name.

A few minutes later, we found ourselves walking along the shoreline. The waves lapped at our bare feet and we slurped on our slushies, rambling on about anything that came to mind.

“You know,” I said, disrupting the natural lull of conversation, “The last time I drank a slushie like this was before I even met you.”

By now, Miyako’s slushie had melted into a dark purple, the last remnants of red dye staining her lips. “But slushies are, like, a summer staple. What’s up with that?”

I twirled my straw around, savoring the last bits of pink ice that had collected on the bottom of my cup. “Well, my brother would probably make fun of me. He already gives me a hard-enough time about my ice cream addiction; he says sweet things are for children.” Switching voices, I lowered my pitch and curled my arms, much like an ape would at the zoo. In a horrible attempt at mocking my brother, I continued, “ ‘Hikari, sweets bad, protein good. Eat more meat.’”

I took a few more steps before I realized she was no longer beside me. Turning around, I barely had time to register the shocked look on her features before she cried out: “Slushies are not just for kids! Fuck him!” Apparently, my friend took summer treats very seriously.

If her passionate outburst hadn’t of attracted attention, her colorful language sure did. Quickly, I grabbed her arm, hastily pulling her towards our belongings. Embarrassment colored my cheeks as I attempted to dodge the gazes of judgmental bystanders. “Miyako, you can’t just say things like that,” I whispered to her, clenched teeth giving my tone a pinched quality.

“C’mon,” I thrusted her towel into her arms, “let’s get out of here before we get kicked out.”

Pulling on her shorts, she cast me a sideways glance. “I’m sorry, Hika, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Sighing, I held both of her hands between mine. “You said what you did because you care about me, and I can’t fault you for that.” I gathered up the rest of my own belongings before continuing. “Besides, you forgot to feed me today. I’m thinking we get some McDonald’s. Your treat?”

She laughed, hands now busying themselves with her shirt. “Isn’t McDonald’s for kids?”

Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I turned around and winked. “Fuck society.”

#miyako inoue #hikari yagami #digimon adventure 02

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wisteriamoons · 4 years

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Pinky Promise AU

Summary: Kotoha Lives AU! This is called the Pinky Promise AU. In a oneshot I wrote called “Pinky Promise,” Kotoha managed to escape Douma’s cult and live in a Wisteria House with an older woman named Himari. Shinjuro and a group of demon slayers stay one night a month later and Kotoha is given a final push to become a demon slayer and, eventually, a Pillar. You can just refer to this summary or feel free to look up “pinky promise au” tag on my blog(Lowkey scared to link it as ya’know posts with links tend to not show up in tags)

Also if you are not fully caught up on the manga DO NOT PRESS ON unless you don’t mind spoilers!!

-Kotoha spends five years training in an undetermined breath at first, however, she finds it hard and wants something to fit her own feelings, so she makes her own breath style; Bell Breathing

-Inspired by the one-hundred and eight rings of the nearby Buddist bell on New Years Eve, she decides to make the style. She wants to inspire people like bells do, with a balanced form set and sweet, comforting sounds

-Kotoha took to the bell motif seriously, even making a bracelet of small suzu bells and wearing it around her dominant wrist. The balls inside that make the bells ring are removable, making stealth missions easier

-Kotoha’s Nichirin Blade is colored a sort of pastel shade of yellow, and has aesthetic-only empty bell shells tied with a red ribbon on the end of the hilt. The guard is bell-shaped, naturally.

-Her blade forager was in fact Haganezuka, being one of the few people who stuck around even with his more rather… extreme personality. She’s one of his first clients, and they have a fairly close friendship-- she always has mitarashi dango for him when he visits or when she visits. She hasn’t broken her blade thus far

-Her uniform is the usual one but with a under-the-knee-length skirt like Kanao’s. She wears yellow tabi with zori underneath. She has a dark blue haori with yellow/white suzu bell designs all over it. She also wears her hair in a tight bun with a comb kinzashi with purple flowers and blue ribbon--she considers it a good luck charm. She also wears a bird masquerade mask and a cloth to wrap her hair in to cover her identity when on slaying missions, because,

-Kotoha is mainly into undercover and stealth missions due to her flexibility and natural beauty, making her fit in just about anywhere. She wears a kimono and more plain haori when out on such missions. No one suspects such a beautiful and gentle woman!

-Inosuke loves the sound of bells while growing up ‘cause they remind him heavily of his mother. He starts collecting various bells at the age of seven, keeping them in his room in the Hashibira Estate. Tanjiro finds this sweet while Zenitsu laughs at him for being so rough yet has such a soft hobby. Inosuke might’ve whacked him a couple times because of this

-Kotoha is a mother first, demon slayer second. Never changes, even after she becomes a Pillar

-Speaking of which, it only takes her up to a year to become a Pillar. She kept on insisting to take jobs, so her demon count rose very quickly. She also mastered Total Concentration within weeks with Himari and her mentor’s help

-Her and Inosuke have a very very close familial bond. They tell each other almost everything with no hesitance and do many things together. They might have one argument every few months, but it’s usually over something silly and it’s resolved quickly

-Hell, Kotoha even offered to teach him Bell Breathing but he refused, having already started to develop his own technique (which would be obviously Beast Breathing)

-Kotoha is without a doubt one of if not the first Pillar to trust Nezuko. She trusts her son unwaveringly with every vein in her body, and if he trusts her, then she does too

-Because of her Pillar status, her Estate is close to the Butterfly Estate and she has a close relationship with the Kocho sisters. She cares a lot for them, and mothered them a lot, seeing them also as daughters she never had

-She also has a close relationship with the Rengoku family, Shinjuro being an older brother to her and Ruka like a sister, and Kyojuro and Senjuro being nephews. Though they also saw her a second mother on occasion. Shinjuro helps Kotoha get used to being a Pillar and gave her advice before his wife’s death and subsequent alcoholism. Their relationship becomes strained after this, for obvious reasons

-On a lighter note, this means Inosuke is much closer to Kyojuro and Senjuro, having grown up with them, he sees them as brothers--making Kyojuro’s death a little more harder :)

-Speaking upon Inosuke, Inosuke has his original personality and abilities intact, but with more… class?

-He still likes to be competitive and has a stupidly high temper, but he’s also not constantly headbutting people and has slight more consideration of others. Also doesn’t have his boar head, and wears the normal demon slaying uniform (though has a habit of discarding the upper layer, and usually doesn’t wear a haori unless it’s winter). Still dumb as rocks though

-He also still prefers his swords chipped, but his original swords being chipped was from training too much with normal swords and found that when they’re chipped they cut better to him (plus lets be real he likes how they look) When he deliberately chips his new ones Kotoha does scold him for it for disrespecting his sword and sword maker, though admittedly found it just a tiny bit amusing

-He also adored animals as a child, finding boars especially to be really cool and studied their movements a lot along with other animals, which influenced him in many, many ways

-Inosuke can’t help but perhaps sometimes feel a little inferior compared to his mother. Don’t get me wrong, he loves her with every goddamn breath and won’t hesitate to tell her, but sometimes he feels he can’t match her skill. Kotoha tries to treat him equally but sometimes her constant mothering and protectiveness can be grating

-Kotoha holds a heavy grudge against Douma for basically fucking with her, and it only grows deeper after Kanae’s death. She’s in on Shinobu’s poisoning plan, and while she’s against it she knows she can’t stop Shinobu. Makes Shinobu’s death hard on Kotoha because she knows she should’ve been more assertive, but also knows it was what Shinobu wanted

-Inosuke still has a tight platonic bond with Shinobu, though he sees her more of a sister than a mother for obvious reasons. He also has a soft spot for Kanao, and while she’s older than him he still treats her like a little sister anyway. He was probably the first person she met around her age after being adopted into the Kocho family. Inosuke wasn’t too close to Kanae, but was also saddened and angry after her passing by a demon’s hands

-Inosuke is also on pretty decent terms with the little sister trio (they like to play with his hair, he lets them while he eats usually), though has a sort of tough relationship with Aoi since they both tend to clash heads. A bit of a crumb for you AoIno(?) shippers, but the two are on decently friendly terms, finding each other tolerable enough, they’re just both stubborn

-Kotoha also never tells Inosuke, at least not at first, why they lived in a Wisteria House and why Himari wasn’t his real grandma despite thinking she was. She fears it might bring him trauma or nightmares, big plus she doesn’t want him going after Douma

-It was a slight bit of a hassle for Inosuke to make his mother agree to making him a demon slayer too; she was obviously worried for his safety, but eventually wore down, but made him promise he try to be as careful as possible. This is obviously not followed through for many reasons, but we already know them so I won’t go into too much detail

-Treats pretty much almost everyone younger than her like her children in some way, shape, or form. She’s a heavy mother figure to everyone and wears this with pride (even if she sometimes doesn’t realize it)

-In fact, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, and Mitsuri are big offenders on accidentally calling her mom. It’s less accidental for Kyojuro as he knows he sees her as a mother and has been doing it ever since they met (‘cause children do that, it’s just grown to be a habit at this point, and plus Ruka never minded so it doesn’t bother him) though he’s more likely to call her “Aunt Koto” around others by now

-She’s close to Mitsuri and they sometimes swap feminine advice and cook together, and Mitsuri isn’t as embarrassed by calling her mom now than she was the first time she did. They have a tight bond and Kotoha sees her as the daughter she never had, exchanging secrets as well

-Zenitsu has an unclear past, so I hc that his parents were probably neglectful or died by the time of his debt. So, Kotoha becomes the mother figure he hasn’t had/never had in a long time. He def didn’t realize it at first and became heavily flustered and mortified. Kotoha found it adorable. Inosuke isn’t a big fan of this btw aksjasj but he tolerates it a little more as time goes on

-Zenitsu has had such a big helping of respect women juice because of Kotoha that he is less flirtatious and weird about girls, though his love for Nezuko doesn’t waver in the slightest

-Tanjiro also sees her as a mother, heavily reminding him of his own mother in fact. He respects her a lot, and even has platonic affection for her, especially after she so quickly accepts Nezuko despite her hate against demons

-She smells like freshly baked bread and flowers, and has a calming presence. She has a sweet sound to her, like suzu bells, as Zenitsu puts it

-Also she teaches Tanjiro how to properly take care of Nezuko’s hair and the like so Nezuko’s hair isn’t always a rat’s nest when they come back to the Estates

-Nezuko, speaking of, like Tamayo sees Kotoha as her own mother. Thus, Nezuko always feels calm around her and lets her wash her clothes and brush her hair

-Sanemi and Genya have subconscious drawings towards her, as the pattern keeps going, they see a lot of their own mom in her. While neither of them have called her mom ‘cause it’s painful to even think about, there’s no doubt they’ve had fleeting thoughts about her being a mom to them

-Muichiro also subconsciously sees her as a mother, with his memories gone he has no qualms about it but he doesn’t let it slip out loud. Likes it when she brushes his hair though. After his memories begin to return he doesn’t regret thinking of her as a mother

-Giyuu doesn’t have many maternal feelings, finding her protective nature to be a bit overwhelming, however he doesn’t hate her. In fact, Kotoha doesn’t hate him at all and loves him a lot. I think maybe he might see his sister in her a little actually

-Uzui has zero maternal feelings towards her as well, in fact he probably flirted with her a little. Nothing huge or meaningful, just harmless, it’s who he is. She never really realized it anyway, seeing him as just being nice, and cared enough but not enough to see him as a son. Saw her techniques as flamboyant, of course, and she was saddened by his departure from the Pillars

-Obanai feels a little… indifferent? Towards her? Like, he doesn’t hate her, but I don’t think he’d quite see her as a mother figure either. He does admire her drive though, and she cares about him enough to make them good partners in combat if need be

-Gyomei doesn’t have maternal feelings towards her either, since they’re extremely close in age, same for Kotoha. But he still does also admire her, tbh I can see them being more like just good friends and confidants. Being the two oldest Pillars they have much in common

-Kotoha and Ubuyashiki have a typical follower/leader relationship, considering he’s much younger than her she doesn’t see him as a father figure, but she does admire him a lot and is extremely loyal to him. She also finds his kids to be adorable and is friendly with his wife (Edit: I realize Kotoha most likely met him when he was 13-14, so yeah, def doesn’t see him as a father figure or anything. Probably thought he was adorable too aksjaksj)

-You want to face off both mother and son? Don’t.

-Seriously, don’t.

-You’ll regret it.

-See, they’re both ferociously protective of each other, and bounce off each other so well it’s fuckin bonkers! They go hand-in-hand, easily matching their breaths and everything. They’re like a machine together in battle. When they’re on their own they do well but when they’re together they do exceptionally. It’s both amazing and downright terrifying

-Need advice? Need a shoulder to cry on? Kotoha has your back

-Also, at least once a month all Pillars and any visiting demon slayers are invited to a feast at Kotoha’s, cooked by the woman herself and occasionally with the help of Mitsuri and Shinobu. The Ubuyashiki’s are always invited, but they never really make it. It’s still one night without any worry, just bonding time and fun, and that’s what matters

-Mother and son constantly write each other letters when apart, no matter how many miles are in between them, and give them to their crow to deliver. If one party doesn’t reply after the given time, the other is instantly going to look for them no matter what

-Also, I hc that Inosuke has ADHD and social anxiety. Kotoha is very patient with him and helps him through the daily struggles they bring, and he’s so grateful for this.

-While I don’t have any ships in mind for this au (except perhaps KanTan and ZenNezu, maybe AoIno if you squint), if anyone wants to take this au and mold it to their own ship (within reason--if I find you use this au to ship pedo/incest I will find you) I give you full permission. However, if you find yourself shipping Kotoha with anyone, I would like to note that she has a few walls put up due to the abuse she suffered, and it isn’t too easy for her to fall in love

Bell Breathing and it’s Techniques/Forms

-Bell Breathing involves a lot of speed, along with agility and grace. Kotoha became more flexible and obviously more quicker, along with some muscle. It involves many parries, quick strikes and counters.

-Kotoha developed this with her newly gained strength and her natural swiftness in mind, along with her warm personality

-There are currently six forms, three mainly defense and three offense.

-First Form: Voided Ringing- The user steps out of range of an attack before replacing it with their sword, slashing in an upwards motion at whatever the enemy was about to attack with

-Second Form: Suzu Dance- The user advances on their opponent slashing their blade in swift, shallow motions, aiming mainly for the arms

-Third Form: Crotal Advance- The user blocks their entire body with their blade, using all their strength, and then they twist the blade to slash whatever is attacking them

-Fourth Form: Chiming Deflection- The user deflects attacks in a circular motion with quick succession

-Fifth Form: Quiet Ringing in Winter- Much like Blessed Rain after the Drought, this move is used when an enemy surrenders, making it a swift and painless death, making a soft sound like jingle bells during Christmas--or, rather, like suzu bells during a Kagura dance

-Sixth Form: The Death Bell Tolls- The user goes as fast as possible, quite like they’re dancing around their opponent and then strike from the air, going straight for the neck in one swift round motion, making a sound like the ringing of a bell

Extra: I made Bell Breathing without one breath in mind as I researched different sword techniques and looked at all the breathing styles, and while I’ve been leaning towards Wind, Thunder/Sound or Water, but if anyone has an idea I’m open to hearing it

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kotoha hashibira #inosuke hashibira #pinky promise au #kotoha lives au #gonna repeat myself i refuse to believe kotoha kept her husband's last name much less gave it to her son #so her last name is hashibira #kny spoilers #kotoha becomes a pillar weehee #i am no expert on making breathing styles which is why i studied each one + irl sword techniques closely before thinking on bell breathing #so sorry if there seems to be any weird overlapping #i had TOO much fun making this au i really want to write more for it actually #sorry it's super long too but i like. i just had to get EVERY thought out

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leeholtwrites · 4 years

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Magical Girl Reunion Tour - C3

Shonda

Bright and early, Shonda's alarm went off. The older she got, the more tempted she was to just roll over and hit the snooze button. Instead she rolled to her other side and kissed her husband on the cheek. "Good morning, George."

George snuggled against her, his close cropped facial hair rubbing against her cheek. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. "Don't make me get out of bed. I like where I’m at."

Shonda giggled, something only he could ever get her to do. "I would like to stay here with you, but I have work and children to get ready for school."

"Tomorrow then?"

She played along, rolling her eyes. They played this game every morning, and after sixteen years it had never gotten old. "Maybe."

He chuckled and kissed her again before they both slid out of bed. About a half hour later, George headed down the stairs to begin breakfast while Shonda started pounding on doors. Nothing had prepared her for what deep sleepers teenage girls could be, including once being a teenager girl herself. Shonda had been like the rest of her friends, early to rise with good grades and hygiene despite what they were going through.

Jessica poked her head out, rubbing one eye the other half closed. She was Shonda's youngest, and the easiest to wake up. At fourteen, it was obvious she was going to take after her father's side more.

"Mom, where's my dark jeans?"

"They're still dirty. You're going to have to wear something else."

Jessica groaned and shuffled off to the bathroom.

Shonda banged on her oldest's door again. When there was no response, she threw it open. Maria dragged her covers over her head. "Mom, come on. Give me ten more minutes for once."

"So, what was it this time?" Shonda said, picking up a discarded volleyball jersey. "Friends or homework?"

Maria sat up. Every morning it startled Shonda how much she looked like her at fifteen. "I've got this paper for English. With practice, I didn't get to start it before last night." She slid out of bed and stretched. "Did Jessica beat me to the bathroom again?"

"What do you think?"

She sighed and left her bedroom to go barter with her sister over the bathroom, their usual morning ritual.

Shonda watched her daughter go before taking in a deep breath. Out of the five of them, Shonda had been the only one gifted with the ability to smell magic. When she first realized this, she had been more shocked at the actual smell of magic than the fact that she could smell it. Magic, of all things, smelled like strawberry body spray. It was cloyingly sweet, and obnoxious enough it was hard to miss. She was lucky she didn't have any respiratory issues, or she was pretty sure all the magic fights she endured would have put her in the hospital.

Nothing. She sighed in relief. Then she looked down at the volleyball jersey in her hand. Should she be sure? Should she even see if she can smell magic through the teen sweat?

Just as she considered raising the jersey to her face, Maria walked in. "Mom, I would like to get dressed. Can you leave?"

She turned around and left, half in a daze. How could she even consider sniffing her daughter's sweat stained sports uniform? Was she really that terrified that Maria would get the call, be a chosen one?

Shonda buried the thought deep. It was too early to suffer such thoughts, and she hadn't had her coffee yet. On her way down stairs, she dropped the dirty jersey in the basket in the laundry room, forcing herself to ignore how she almost buried her face in the sweaty shirt.

Breakfast was almost well and truly done by the time she reached the kitchen. Shonda was lucky to have the kind of chef for a husband who loves to cook no matter when or where. She still remembered when he was going to culinary school, staying up late, perfecting each technique. George wanted to be the best then and that still hadn't changed. She pecked him on the cheek before beelining for the coffee maker.

Eventually their daughters arrived to eat the carefully plated slices of frittata. The sat and chatted and ate as they did every morning before Shonda loaded her daughters in the car for school. It allowed George some time for chores and rest before he had to show up at the restaurant.

Shonda dropped off Maria and Jessica in front of the school. Maria was more than excited to be able to drive herself so she didn't need to catch a ride home with their neighbor, but Shonda would miss this.

Work was as she thought it would be. Putting out fires and keeping her team happy was now her normal since she was promoted to Project Manager. Shonda missed sitting down and coding for hours, figuring out puzzles, making things she put together with her own hands work. Now she was responsible for a team, something deep down she had to admit she didn't want. But the money was good, and she wanted to send her daughters to good schools.

Traffic was horrendous on the drive home, but like every night she never really had to cook, just come home to a pre-made George meal Maria had pulled from the freezer and heated up. Shonda and the girls discussed school and sports and anything else on their minds as they sat around the dinner table. Then they cleaned up the kitchen, and the girls disappeared upstairs to finish their school work.

After putting on a set of comfortable pajamas, Shonda slipped on her slippers and a cardigan. She had almost forgot it was trash night. She gathered up the kitchen bag and stepped out the backdoor. The trash can was pushed up against the side yard fence next to the gate. She was glad she put the cardigan on as she made her way around the side of the house. The pacific northwest was chiller sometimes than she liked.

As the lid of the trash can dropped back down, a flash of golden light came from the front of her house. Shonda wanted to tell herself she didn't know what it was, yet even though it had been almost twenty years, she knew by the way the gold light had glittered one of her team had arrived.

She sighed and tried to tamp down the dread growing in her stomach as she lifted the latch on the gate. She followed the path to her driveway. Standing in the street was a barefoot dark-haired woman holding the pink staff, a white cat wrapped around her ankles. No, not a white cat. Viridian.

"Maggie?" She whispered as loud as she dared. That flash had been bright and her neighbors nosey.

The dark haired woman hurried in her direction, barefeet slapping on the ground. She cursed, probably from stepping on a rock. "Shonda? Is that you?" she whispered back as she neared.

When Maggie was close enough, she grabbed her by the arm and started dragging her toward the backyard gate. Anger rose in here. Anger she hadn't felt in almost fifteen years. "After all these years, what the hell are you doing here?"

Once they got through the gate, Maggie tore her arm out of Shonda's grip. "You think I want to be here? This asshole showed up at my home less than an hour ago to tell me Omira is back," Maggie responded, indicating Viridan as he slinked through the gate before Shonda closed it.

The dread in Shonda's stomach grew heavy. Omira, a name she never though she would hear again. If her old life reappeared, she had assumed it would be a new threat come to conscript her daughter. That was apparently not the case. "Come with me."

Shonda led Maggie back around the house to her porch. She waved toward a plush outdoor couch near her back door. She dropped down onto it and patted the cushion. Maggie joined her without word, the pink staff in her hand still glowing with a gentle internal light. Viridian stayed on the ground but sat, his tail curling around the front of his paws.

"So, you say Omira is back," Shonda finally said, keeping her voice low. "It figures an impending apocalypse would have to happen to bring you back, Maggie."

"Look, I don't like this either, the evil witch thing, but I have to at least tell you. I don't want to deal with this shit again either. We dealt with it for three years, and now dickhead here decides to tell me about Omira from my coffee table."

Another sigh, this time filled with frustration and anger. She stared at Viridian. "And what would you have me do?"

Viridian puffed out his chest. "As I told Maggie, we need you to take up your wand again and use your skills to defeat Omira. There are no other options, but Maggie does not seem to understand that. She does not want to save the world. She used quite colorful language to make her opinions clear. That is why we bring this to you, Shonda. You have always been the voice of reason."

Anger and dread still churned within her. She didn't want to do this. She loved her husband, her children, her life. She loved her job, for the most part, and she was good at it. The relief she felt that Maria wasn't going to become a magical girl soldier was replaced with the fear that she would lose everything not just to the threat of Omira, but to the time it would take to defeat her. It took them three years last time. Her mortgage would not understand.

"Well, shit." She ran her hand over her face. "Stuff like this can never be convenient, can it?"

Maggie snorted. "Of course not."

"We can't hash out the details now. How does your schedule look?"

"I'm off tomorrow. I have to drop off my dry cleaning in the morning, but I'm good after ten."

"Okay. I'll take a day of PTO to see what we can figure out tomorrow. You obviously haven't spoken to the others yet." Then under her breath she said, "I don't know what I'm going to tell George."

"Your husband?"

"Yeah."

"The same George you met after high school?"

Shonda nodded.

Maggie's mood changed, something darker settling over her. "Sorry I missed the wedding."

Without waiting for Shonda's response, she stood. Maggie's grip changed on her staff. "Come on, Viridian." Then she turned back to Shonda. "I'll see you tomorrow after ten. My place. That way you can keep this whole mess out of your life as much as possible."

Maggie straightened and closed her eyes. A golden flash, and she was gone.

Shonda settled into her seat and leaned her head on the back. "Fuck."

#magical girl reunion tour #magicalgirlreuniontour #female protagonist #women protagonist in their thirties #original fiction

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misssunflowersandsangria · 4 years

Text

Roses

Chapter 2- Yellow Roses

Hello lovely readers! The first chapter was posted in my ficlet collection for SaiIno Week. I'm excited to continue the story. I hope that you enjoy it. A few notes, it does feature a professor/student relationship but they are of age. They also have a history that I'll explore as the story continues. Also, some of the future chapters will contain smut (I've been wanting to write some for them for a while now... hehe...) I’ll let you know when it starts. Each chapter will have some sort of flashback to give you some insight into their past relationship.

I hope you enjoy!

Summary: They had history, but their lives and paths took them from each other. Now, they had to face this new reality and change in their relationship.

Yellow Roses: The symbol of a yellow rose represents friendship, joy and caring. These beautiful sun-colored roses can also convey warmth, delight, gladness, and affection, as well as say good luck, welcome back, and remember me.

Chapter 2- Yellow Roses

Flashback

“Sai….” He grinned to himself knowing that voice, she wanted something. He looked at Ino amused as she flopped onto his bed.

“Yes?”

“Do my art homework work for me, it’s hard and it keeps coming out looking terrible.” He smiled at her attempt to draw a fruit bowl.

“You’re right it does look terrible.”

She pouted snatching the paper away. “Hey be nice!”

“I’m always nice to you. Come here, I’m not going to do it for you but I’ll help.” Her eyes brightened in the way that he loved as she placed herself in his lap. She’d always been affectionate towards him that even now this wasn’t out of the ordinary. Other than the fact that his poor heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Taking a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil he placed his warm hand over hers to draw quick simple strokes.

“What are you going to do without me?”

“As if you’d ever leave me!” She replied with a laugh.

“I told you when we were five-“

“Yes, I know. I’m yours and you’re mine.” He cut her off repeating their well-known agreement. Her eyes sparkled at the words.

“Exactly.” She replied leaning back to rest her head against his shoulder.

“Come on no sleeping let’s finish this.”

“Oh, Sai let’s not pretend that you’re not doing all the work.” She smiled amused while he shook his head and nodded. His Ino was able to convince him to do anything.

“You’re annoying.”

“I love you too.”

End Flashback

“It’s not that funny”. They all paused before they continued to laugh.

“Girls! Help me.” Ino begged frustrated. She’d gone to Shikamaru and Temari’s place hoping for some advice or comfort. Chouji and Karui had come along as well because since they’d been kids everything they did was as a group. Instead of any kind of sympathy, they found her situation hilarious.

Temari took a deep breath trying to focus. “Fine, what’s the problem exactly? You were friends and now he’s your teacher, it's not a big deal.”

“Except for her massive crush on him.”

She glared in Shikamaru’s direction. “Shut up! I don’t have a crush on him.”

“Please you’re a sucker for those sad puppy dog eyes. You have been since we were kids. You still like him.” Shikamaru replied in that same know it all drawl that she hated so much.

She wanted to tell him to fuck off and that he was wrong but it wasn’t worth it. He’d known her for too long and about her embarrassing life long crush.

“Why did you wait so long to take art? I told you, you should have taken it when we were freshmen.”

“I had my reasons!” She yelled causing Chouji to scatter the bag of chips.

“It’s pretty hot if you ask me. Schoolgirl, hot older teacher.” Karui shrugged. These were the exact thoughts she was trying to avoid.

“Okay keep your fantasies to yourself please. This isn’t that at all, and he’s our age. Besides, he's too good and pure to even see me as anything more than the little girl that would follow him around all the time.” Unrequited love was a bitch. He still hadn’t contacted her and it had been days. He was avoiding her.

Shikamaru sighed. Did she seriously not realize how much Sai adored her. They were both so clueless and yet they judged his love life. “Look the way I see it crush or not you need this class and he’s a good teacher. Get through the semester then figure out whatever the hell the rest of this is. Don’t complicate it more than it already is.”

Ino just sighed but nodded. As much as she may still have feelings for him and how devastatingly handsome he’d become she couldn’t do anything. She’d never want to put his career in jeopardy. She always supported him that’s just what she did but her heart wanted so much more. How was she expected to just be in class with him all semester and act as if everything was fine? And pretend that he wasn’t a ‘hot older teacher’ as Karui described and as she’d heard a lot of her classmates say. Damn it! He was hers first!

Unbeknownst to her, Sai was also seeking advice from his childhood friends.

“You can’t avoid her forever.”

“I’m not going to avoid her, she’s my student and I will treat her as such.” The individuals in the room just stared back unconvinced.

“Are you really okay with that?” They were all friends but he had an obvious soft spot for the blonde.

“I have to be.”

Sakura chewed on her bottom lip annoyed. If they would just talk to each other they could move on from this mutual pining bull shit.

“Sai, we’re happy you’re back but you need to talk to her otherwise you’ll both be miserable. Just a conversation, she deserves at least that.” Sai was surprised at the blonde’s insight. They’d all grown up while he was touring the world. When they were younger they’d been his safety net, they gave him a sense of home and belonging. He kept up with them as best he could while he was gone but they still grew distant. Still, though being together like this as a group, it was like nothing had changed.

He wasn’t avoiding Ino per se he just honestly didn’t know what to do. He struggled most of his life with his emotions and now being here they were even more out of control. He was thankful that his friends were willing to help him but their advice was obvious and rational. He wasn’t looking for that. He knew he needed to talk to her and probably more than once but what do you say to the woman that you loved and haven’t seen in years?

Instead of addressing it he took the cowards way out and didn’t see her till class the following week. She was there on time towards the back. She smiled while she sent him a small wave and he just nodded before turning away. He felt his cheeks flush, she always did look incredible in purple even more so now. She still loved those damn shirts that showed off curves and skin.

The content for the day was easy enough as he began to assess all their initial skills and knowledge. It was as expected that most everyone was there as a requirement but some students showed potential. And Ino, well she tried. When they were younger she’d complain about how he had taken all the artistic skills that none was left for her. What she lacked in technique though she made up in effort and her ability to arrange colors in aesthetically appealing ways. This was from her experience working in her family’s flower shop. She had an eye for beauty.

He smiled at her work and left an encouraging note in the corner. He’d managed to keep his normal persona never lingering or staring at her more than usual, but his body was hyper attuned to the fact that she was there. She had a habit of playing with her hair and he had to physically stop from doing it himself.

“Come in.” He responded to the knock at his office door. He had office hours available so he was waiting for any students that may need some help.

Roses, he looked up as she sat in the chair across from his desk trying not to stare as she crossed her legs.

“Ino.”

“We need to talk.”

He nodded solemnly. “I know.”

“How long have you been back for?”

“Start of Spring?”

Her eyes widened hurt that he hadn’t tried to contact her earlier. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I...I don’t know..”

“So where do we go from here?”

“You’re my student. I will help you pass this class and we move on.” He replied simply.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” Her voice was starting to rise the way that it always did when she was upset.

“What more do you want from me?”

“Is it so wrong for me to want some answers from the person that was my best friend, that left for years only to see him again as my teacher. We made promises to each other when we were younger. Does that mean nothing to you? What the hell Sai!?” She stood up slamming her hands on his desk.

He stood up calmly meeting her intense gaze. “We’re not going to have this conversation here.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “Oh, you’re right. Nothing is more important than this job, even me. Fine, I’m sorry Professor I’ll be leaving now.”

“Ino, please.”

“No, I get it. Just ignore me, forget whatever the hell we had. I’ll be the perfect student and leave you alone.” He winced after the door slammed behind her.

This wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go, she didn’t deserve that from him. Regardless of who they were now, she had always been there for him and she needed more than what he’d given her. He’d lost her once, he didn’t know if he could lose her again.

Ino walked through the campus in disbelief at how he had treated her. She understood not wanting to cross professional lines but it wasn’t like she tried to seduce him into giving her a passing grade. She just wanted to talk. Why was he acting like this?

She looked down at her phone seeing a notification for a text from an unknown number.

‘I’m sorry.’

She wanted to ignore it, knowing that if she did it would really solidify that they were no longer anything to each other. But, she didn’t want that, she wanted him still. If it had to be like this it would be enough for now.

‘Let’s really talk tonight, our old coffee shop.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Ino stared up at the sky hating that her heart lightened a little knowing that she was going to see him.

They were right, she was always weak when it came to him.

Today was a tough day for me and alot of people. Writing is a great escape. If this helped you disconnect for just a little I'm thankful. Hug everyone you love a little tighter tonight. If no one has told you today I love you and I'm happy that you're here.

*Till the next one

Roses:

Chapter 1: Roses

Chapter 2: Yellow Roses

#saiino #inosai #sai x ino #ino x sai #fanfic

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 5 years

Text

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Two)

Words: 2306

A/N: A lot of people liked the last one, so I decided to continue and see where it leads. I have no elaborate plan for this series, I just hope that I continue to have the energy and inspiration to finish this.

Warning: Usual JW-verse violence

It was after your first mission, your first kill, were you officially initiated as an assassin. Your trainer, Sasha, gifted you with what seemed to be modeled after a vorpal blade. Floral and viney patterns covered the metal surface, a deep black colored covered handle with a grip that fits perfectly in your hand. It was your favorite weapon to use. Being that most, if not all, of your targets being larger than you, you preferred stealth than guns blazing. Taking them by surprise, sneaking up behind them and stabbing the blade to their throat, a gloved hand muffling any sound.

You had dropped that blade on the night you tried to escape, right next to Sasha’s body. You wished you had picked it up, but would it have changed the results? The Instructor had seen the doubt in you, that you were growing rebellious. She had seen her fate and wanted to cage you even after death.

Now within the Bowery King’s underground empire, finally away from the hovering sharp eyes of the Instructor’s people, you had to relearn how to function without their strings again. The Bowery King welcomed you, allowing you to rest and find your bearings using their resources whether you agreed to their mission or not.

As it was a backup to their Soup Kitchen base formerly used as a homeless shelter, they could only give you a tiny room with a stiff mattress and a scratchy blanket, but you weren’t complaining. It helped that John’s dog took a liking to you and would keep you company in your room. John didn’t mind it much, though he should really name him.

It took a while to get back into action but John helped a lot in sparring and running simulations with you. The muscle memory was still there and John managed to teach you new techniques as well. Watching him in action was mesmerizing and terrifying. His movements were smooth, calculated, and systematic, so there was no wonder how he’d survived in the business that long.

Still, you shouldn’t be staring at him that long or get distracted when he’s pressing his large body against your smaller frame, his body heat soaking through his clothes and his scent filling your senses. The Instructor would have punished you for not focusing on your training, although you had been infatuated with one or two trainers and fellow trainees as you got older. Such emotions were frowned upon but you were only human, even if John Wick seemed like he wasn’t.

You were sitting against the cold wall of a small training room after a sparring session with John when John’s dog padded over with a smile. You giggled, putting your water bottle down and reached out for the precious pitbull. John sat down with his dog in between the two of you. He pushed a sweat soaked lock of hair away from his face, watching you interact with the pitbull.

The dog lunged forward and licked your face, making you laugh. You turned to John, a genuine smile on his face that made you almost forget that he was The Boogeyman. You turned away, using the pitbull’s head to block your face from his view to hide your heated cheeks.

You cleared your throat, sitting up straighter and played with the pitbull’s floppy ears. “You should name him,” you said.

“His name is Good Dog,” John said with a straight face.

You rolled your eyes. “No, it’s not. You’re lucky he loves you. He’ll listen to anything you say no matter what name you called him.” You held the pitbull’s head between your hands and looked into his puppy eyes. What would be a good name for him, you thought.

John stood up and started towards the door, his loyal dog trailing behind. You frowned, reluctantly grabbing your things and followed after them. Conversations between you and John became more frequent, but they were often brief, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you that he got up and left. Though, you sensed that he was delaying on naming the dog for a reason.

“So have you considered our offer?” The Bowery King asked you after John left to gather intel. “You help us take down the High Table and we can help you start a new life somewhere else.”

You nodded. “I have nothing to lose,” you said, “My family is gone and I have no place to go back to. I’ll help you guys.”

“Good,” The Bowery King said with a nod, “Very good. I assume after being out of it for so long, you’ll need a crash course on what you’ve missed in the Underworld.”

“Yes, please.”

He had you follow him around the building as he caught you up to speed of what happened in the last five years, John’s dog padding along quietly at your feet. Being in hiding from the High Table meant that he couldn’t bring you to his pigeons on the roof anymore and both of you were growing restless staying underground.

He also told you about what had brought John Wick back into the assassin life, from the death of his wife, the death of his puppy and his car being stolen, the Marker with Santino, to Santino’s death within the Continental walls. Rules were rules, and with the bounty that was still on his head placed by Santino, the High Table was also after him and anyone that he was involved with.

“So how do you take down the organization that pulls the strings?” The Bowery King asked you expectantly.

You paused and said, “You cut off the strings or the hand that holds them. Without the strings, they have no control. Without their hand, they can’t use the strings… until they find another way to pull them.”

“Exactly, but with the High Table, it’s more of a web,” he said, “Killing the spider won’t do anything if another spider takes its place. Even with the most complex of webs, there are always the key strands holding it up. When it falls apart, they’ll have to start from scratch.”

“We just need to figure out who or what those key strands are,” you surmised, hands on your hips. “Surely there’s another way to get more information.”

“I’m glad that you’ve mentioned it,” he said with a grin, stopping in front of a wide room with dirty barred windows, a worn but functional wooden desk with circuits, wires, soldering tools, miscellaneous repairing and building tools, and various scrap metal pieces.

“What’s all this?” you asked, inspecting the components.

“John Wick’s pension for storming through buildings with a couple of guns isn’t going to simply cut it when it comes to the High Table, no matter how skilled the man is,” he said, “I’ve heard you were good quite the tinkerer.”

You shook your head. “It’s been a while. I’m still getting my memories back,” you said, picking up a screwdriver and poking your index finger with the tip, “if it’s anything like my training, maybe if I fiddle around with these stuffs and study some machinery, I could get back into it again.”

You put the screwdriver back down and ran a finger across the dusty surface of the desk. You hummed, wiping your finger on your pants, then turned back to the Bowery King. He was watching you closely, a grin on his face as if he could see the outcome to their ambitious operation.

“Better start now, then. We’ll try our best to get you anything you need.”

“How about a clock?”

He laughed at the sudden request. “Any preference, Miss (Y/l/n)?”

“Both analog and digital should be fine.”

He nodded, already getting the attention of one of his men. “We’ll get you those clocks.”

The Bowery King turned on his heels and left to speak to some of his people that were coming back from the usual corners of the street and to send a couple of them for supplies. You looked back at the desk, then down at John’s dog who tilted his head as you let out a long sigh. You’ll need to clean the room up first.

After your new little office had been cleaned and rearranged with some proper equipment, you quickly got to work, reacquainting yourself with circuitry and machinery. John’s dog lied obediently at your feet facing the door, his ear twitching at every loud noise outside.

You tried to keep your eyes opened as timed pass without you realizing it. You blinked and suddenly the natural sunlight was replaced by the dim street lights outside. A yawn escaped your lips, louder than you intended, causing the dog to jump.

“Sorry, boy,” you muttered, petting his head when he stood up to check on you.

“You should rest,” came a familiar low voice from the doorway.

The dog quickly left to greet the man, his tailing wagging at an impressive speed. John stooped down to greet his loyal companion then turned to you.

“What do you have so far?” John asked, leaning down to look at the messy blueprints sketched out on scratch paper and the circuit board you were working on.

“Just something that I’ve thought of recently,” you said tiredly, “Not sure if it’ll work, but it’s worth a try. I’ll show it to you once I get the first working prototype finished.”

“Can’t wait,” he said, impressed by your sketches, leaning closer to look at your progress.

From the short conversations and how he behaved, you figured he wasn’t much into using technology this way. He was more of a physical person, going out and getting things done by his bare hands. You’re not surprised that he had stormed a building filled with enemies, using only a gun.

You turned your head to look at him, the light of the desk lamp illuminating his features. How the hell can he be that good looking while having cuts and bruises on his face? You quickly turned away before he could catch you staring again, working on covering up the exposed wiring and putting your tools away.

“Had a small errand to deal with?” you asked casually, gesturing to the minor injuries.

“Yeah, I had to meet up with someone,” he said, standing up straight. Your eyes immediately checked the rest of his person for any visible injuries. “Nothing too serious.”

“Right.” Your eyes flickered up and saw him watching you.

He held out his hand, like he had done at the flower shop. “You should get some rest,” he repeated.

You nodded, taking his hand and he led you to your small room without another word. It was only when the two of you reached your door when you realized that you were still holding hands. It felt warm and grounding and pleasant, but you knew you had to let go at some point.

“You should get some rest, too,” you said, delaying the inevitable for a short while. “I, uh, I hope you don’t mind when your dog stays by me at night.”

“It’s fine. He seems to like you,” he said, petting his dog with his other hand that’s missing a finger as he sat quietly at John’s feet.

“I feel like I wake up better when he’s there,” you continued, your hand still in his.

“Don’t you mean sleep better?”

You shook your head. “Nightmares and flashbacks seems unavoidable no matter how pleasant my waking moments had been. At least when I awake, I’m not alone and there’s someone to comfort me.”

John nodded. “I know what you mean,” he muttered, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

That was another thing that set John apart from the other assassins, there was a vulnerability to him that he’d show every now and again. It made you think that he trusted you enough to let those walls down around you.

You opened your mouth, then shut it, suddenly remembering about his wife. Of course. He didn’t have the proper time to grieve yet. He couldn’t even catch a break now with almost every assassin going after his head. The thought made you even more determined to help him.

You squeezed his hand then slowly and reluctantly let it go, stepping towards your door. “Night, John.”

He gave you another nod. “Night, (Y/n).”

Two figures pushed Marion onto her knees in front of their leader, a hand yanking her hair so she could face him. Their leader grimaced, shaking his head in disappointment at her failure. She let the asset get away right under her nose. His sister held the asset highly and gave strict orders before she was killed by John Wick.

“How could this have happened, Marion?” The new Instructor asked slowly, daring her to try his patience.

“It was John Wick, sir,” Marion grunted, her neck aching from the angle that she was forced in.

The Instructor nodded at the two figures and they let her go. She gasped, rubbing her neck to sooth the pain. He walked around his desk and leaned down, using a finger to lift her chin up.

“Does she know?” he asked.

Marion nodded. “I think so, or at least, she’s beginning to.”

The Instructor cursed, standing up again and sitting at his chair. “Usually a mistake like this would warrant you termination, but seeing that it was John Wick, I’m feeling gracious enough to give you a second chance,” he said, folding his hands on the desk, “Find them. I hear there’s a pretty price on his head. Come back as soon as you find them. If I hear that you acted alone or lose them again, there will be no hesitation to terminate you, if… they don’t do it themselves. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Taglist:

@venusgothic

@weappreciatepower

@anita-e-taylor

@mikaneonox

#John Wick #john wick x reader #john wick imagines #keanu reeves imagines #Persephone p2 #I had to delete and repost because it wasn't showing in the tags #and it wasn't tagging anyone #smh tumblr #Keanu Reeves

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rksecretsanta2019 · 4 years

Photo

Merry Christmas to @rkxminhee | from @rksxngyeol

The Executioner’s Queen || A HyukHee Royalty AU (Princess x Pirate) ||

There stood a large castle overlooking the sea and the town below. Behind the stone walls, lived a young princess. She was fifth in line to the throne and even that got further and further away from her with every marriage of her siblings. Soon her turn would come, and she would go and live in another castle as the wife of some foreign prince. For now, she was still free to explore the castle as she wished but she wasn’t allowed to go outside. Her brothers stated that it was because she was a free spirit and that life behind the palace walls was safer, but that’s all Minhee ever wanted. She just wanted to go outside the palace walls and explore the village below. Her father tried to keep her in the castle since there had been pirates terrorizing the neighbouring towns and kingdoms and he just wanted to keep her safe for as long as he possibly could. “But I can handle myself!” she would exclaim.

“The pirates are dangerous… especially their captain… “the king stated. Minhee was very hesitant but she listened to what she was told and stayed in the castle.

On the seas during this time, a ship rolled along the waves. The Executioner was a grandiose ship, suitable for the tastes of their captain. Taken from the Royal Navy and redubbed a new name, the galleon sported black sails and a blag flag with the skull and crossbones. Of course, when they were in port, the Executioner looked like a normal merchant vessel because the captain knew how to hide in plain sight and he often encouraged his crew to do the same, but they never did. They stayed on the docks, in the taverns, while their captain made his way into the town and close to the castle. What would the foolish king do when he found out that the dreaded pirate captain gallivanted outside his walls while his crew took pleasure in ransacking the docks? “Captain, when do we sail again?”

“You have a few days. But remember on your best behaviour…I value my neck,” Minhyuk stated looking at an expensive necklace. When the seller turned around, the necklace went into Minhyuk’s jacket and a few coins lay in place. “We keep a low profile while we restock and then we shall set sail again…Relay my orders to everyone else,” he added, walking off into the depths of the town. His first mate nodded and ran back to the docks to relay said command. Minhyuk watched him and hoped that this visit wouldn’t be as uneventful as always.

The young princess finally after so long saw her chance to see the town and escape the palace walls. She would enlist the help of one of her close friends and hopefully he would cover for her. Of course, the brunette male was very hesitant at first but acquiesced to his friend’s request. “Alright, I’ll cover for you. I’m sure I can spin some sort of tale.” he stated, crossing his arms and letting her borrow one of his costumes.

“Thanks, Jongsuk. You’re doing me a great favor!” she exclaimed, getting changed. Jongsuk simply pursed his lips and huffed in an annoyed admiration. “Be safe.” He added. She nodded and ran out the side door used by the servants. It was a rather steep incline down to the town, but she managed down it easily. The incline went down to the market and the princess stood there to admire the hustle and bustle of the market. Everyone was there, selling and buying their goods, and crafts. It was all so fascinating and so new to her. She was glad that she persuaded her actor friend to help her out. Of course, she could have absolutely persuaded him so much earlier, but she was young when her desire to go beyond started. Now that she was older and more mature, she could handle herself with ease and grace.

Everything seemed so nice and shiny at first glance, but she could see the struggles some people had. There were elderly people trying to support themselves, but thieves would just steal everything. The royal guards patrolling very street. Wanted posters for criminals graced the empty spaces where should have been a beautiful mural of some sort. Minhee hadn’t realized that this was so bad. She wondered if her parents or siblings ever left the castle. Surely, they did, and surely, they knew.

As she wandered the market, she heard snippets of conversations. However, she had zoned out in her wanderings and didn’t realize that she had run into some bad people. She looked up and went to apologize, as one would, but the leader, a big burly man with an eyepatch and knives all over his body, grasped her wrist and brought her close. “Look fellas. A pretty bird fell into our trap.”

“haha, what should we do with her, boss?”

“What we always do. Kid-”

“Let me go! I demand you release me at once,” Minhee exclaimed, placing a well aimed kick towards her captor. She began attempting to wriggle out of the grasp, but even the kick didn’t seem to phase the big leader who simply held on tighter. “Ah…” he began, wincing in pain from the kick, “she’s a feisty one.”

Minhee kept struggling and kicking, since she figured might as well delay them the satisfaction and even with all the noise she was making, she hoped that the guards would come, and recognize her and save her. But alas, her savior came before the guards with the sound of a pistol getting cocked. “The lady said to let her go. I won’t hesitate to blow your stupid brains out,” she heard and blinked in shock. That was rather macabre. The big burly captor turned with her in still his grasp. He laughed. “Who are you to tell me what to do, boy?”

“I’m the man who currently holds a gun to your head. Now, shall we play a game? There are three bullets, five spaces. Is it empty or a bullet?” he said. Minhee took this chance of banter to analyze her supposed savior. He was tall, brunette and very handsome. She almost would have mistaken him for royalty, was it not for the many braces adorning his wrists and the dual swords peeking out from the jacket.

“How dare you attempt to play games with me?!”

Her blonde savior leaned close to the thief leader and whispered something that made all the color drain from the other’s face. Minhee wanted to know but she hadn’t had the time to ask, when she was rudely let go of and her captors ran away. Before she could fall back from the sheer effort of the push, she was caught by the brunette savior. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I should thank you for coming in when you did,” she said. “May I at least have your name?”

“Yeah. I’m Minhyuk.” He stated, grinning at her, setting her on her feet. “I’m glad that they didn’t hurt you too bad. The town is a bad place as of late for a noble lady like yourself. There’s pirates and thieves and murderers….” He said, trailing off. Minhee took a deep breath and she straightened up. “I could have handled them,”

“I did see your kicks. Well placed. Good technique,” Minhyuk laughed, in agreement with her. Minhee fell into step with him as he continued his walk through the market. “So, what do you do, Minhyuk?” she asked.

“I sail. Come into port to restock and then off to the seas again. I could have stayed home as a kid, but nah, the sea called me, and I just took the chance, hopped on a ship and never looked back.” He said, with a proud tone to his voice. Minhee wanted to know how that felt.

“Was it easy?” she asked.

“No. It wasn’t. My parents weren’t very into the idea. And leaving the comforts I had grown up with…well, that was the hardest adjustment. But it’s been a few years and I have no regret.”

“I wish I could do that,” Minhee started, hiding more in her coat. “But I’m not even sure where I would even go or start,” she stated. Minhyuk stopped and looked at her. “Come with me, then. My captain will be good to you and I’m sure the crew will love you as well.” He said, holding her hand. She pulled it back and shook her head. “I can’t.”

“If you change your mind, we sail the day after tomorrow. And then we’ll probably come back in a few months.” He stated. “The offer is always open.” They talked for hours on end after that and Minhyuk found himself falling for the girl he saved but god, how to tell her without ruining everything.

At this point in the conversation, Minhee had realized that it was getting late and she had to rush back. She bid her farewell to Minhyuk who demanded to know her name. “It’s Minhee!” she exclaimed. At her reveal, Minhyuk’s eyes went wide as he realized that he had just been walking with the princess. He made it a point of knowing all the nobles and royal families in the area since he was often on the seas. He went back to the ship to check on the status of the restock. They could probably set sail almost right away, but he had promised his crew a few days, so they would sail in a few and he may dream and wish that the princess he met would join, although that was highly improbable. He settled in his quarters, feeling safe on the slight rocking of the ship.

How had she fooled him? He could have kidnapped her himself but that wasn’t his way. He gazed towards the castle with a smile. Had she known everything? Would she come?

Meanwhile, Minhee had rushed back to the castle through the same way that she had left it, meeting Jongsuk at the door. “You were gone a while.” He just said.

“Well, I explored a bit and met someone. He seemed nice and invited me to sail away with him.” She stated, grinning at her friend.

“And?”

“I can’t. I have responsibilities, a life and family!” she exclaimed, aghast that her friend would even suggest such a thing. Sure, Minhee found the other man attractive and charming, but to run away, that wouldn’t be too good. Her father expected things of her and she had to adhere to her social norms. She just couldn’t run away willingly. “I think it’s all rather romantic,” her friend voiced as she got changed back into her formal dress behind a screen.

“Well, you would!” she laughed.

Jongsuk took the disguise dress from her. “I’m sure you have time still to be wild and free, and I think someone asking you to run away with them is terribly romantic. It’s like Romeo and Juliet without all the death,” he stated, teasing her. Minhee blushed and sighed.

“I’m a princess. Can’t do anything about that,” she stated. Jongsuk clicked his tongue and left her to her thoughts. Her friend did have a point. It was terribly romantic, but she just couldn’t run away with someone she barely knew. That simply how it wasn’t done.

The next two days passed without incident. Minhee stayed inside the castle and studied more and Minhyuk plotted a new course. Maybe he’d go south for a change. Minhee studied more and often got lost in her thoughts staring out the window.

“We’re ready to set sail, Captain.” Minhyuk nodded and exited the captain’s quarters. He looked back to the dock, awaiting the princess for a moment. “She’s not coming, is she?” he asked, almost sad. His first mate shook his head. Minhyuk headed up to the helm and began barking commands. “HOIST THE ANCHOR! RAISE THE SAILS!” he exclaimed. The crew immediately took to commands. “Where are we going, Captain?”

“South. Maybe we’ll come back…” he stated, looking at the compass and taking his spot at the helm. Navigating the ship with ease out of port. The black flag went up. “Let’s go do what we do best…” he stated. Maybe it will help his heart as well, since what chance did he ever have with a princess? After all, he was just a pirate.

Minhee almost left the castle that day. She almost came to the docks. Almost. Everything went against her that day though. Her maid slept in. Her governess demanded that she make up for missed classes of languages and history. Her father insisted that she stay in for her safety. But Minhee almost ran away. Almost followed the stranger to the seas. Almost gave up everything.

Maybe it could have been more.

If only they had more time. If only they met in different circumstances. She was a princess and to her knowledge, he was a sailor. The king would never approve. An advantageous alliance it was not. That was all she was meant for, she had realized.

She had almost become a queen, unknown to her. If only she had come.

#rkxminhee #christmas 2019

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caffeineaddicted-tragedies · 4 years

Text

A Second Coming

The world was on fire, and God was drinking her tea.

Jasmine Green Tea, with a droplet of honey and just a small squeeze of lemon for emphasis and taste. The boy sitting across from her, with messy brown hair and a broad nose and, she had to say, the ugliesteye color she had ever seen, was, to the contrary drinking a straight black cup of coffee. No cream, no milk, no sugar, just crushed beans and water. She refrained from commenting on it, needing to keep a good impression, but honestly, black coffee? Nothing sweet? He couldn’t have been much older than 13, and yet he was drinking coffee, of all things.

The world continued to burn.

“Some weather we’re having, huh?” Time finally spoke, taking a small sip of the disgusting bean juice.

God hummed in agreement and took one of her own drink. “Not like it wasn’t forecasted, though,” she said, thinking about the chanting fates and the whispers spoken, echoing through the halls of heaven and hell, thousands of years before. “Still can’t believe it came so fast.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Two more sips of the still hot drinks.

They looked outside, in to the endless silence. Or, it was silent now, neither having anything to say. Even the fire, a bright blue sulfuric monstrosity, was silent in its burning. Time started humming an old song, and God frowned. “Really?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“The apocalypse is happening right outside our door, and you’re singing that song?”

“Burn, baby burn,” Time continued, “Disco inferno.”

“Stop.”

He sighed, but paused the song, and fiddled with snowy white hair that replaced the former brown. “You’re no fun,” he said, a slight pout gracing his timeless (no pun intended) features. He finally looked up as the hair (which it suddenly occurred to God could have a mind of its own) morphed into longer curls, which barely brushed his shoulders. “I suppose we should address the elephant in the room.”

“The what--”

“It’s a saying, never mind.” The snowy curls shook with Time’s head. “It means something big that nobody is discussing or avoiding.”

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose there is an elephant in this room, then,” she said, taking a long sip. “Heisn’t here.”

“If he was here, then they would have stopped screaming.”

God looked outside. “Yes, they would have when the fire started. It’s taking too long without him.”

The world was on fire, and no one was dead. Apparently, this didn’t make God, who had always constantly preached peace, and love, and acceptance, was unhappy with this. There is a too badly lack of it, She had said, when the two had asked some time (yes, also no pun intended) before, I will give them time to correct their mistakes. Maybe take the best of them, the kindest, most moral abiding and bring them up there and rebuild with them.

It had been a swell plan, really it had, it was sure to work.

Except for the fact that hehad hated it.

Hehad told them at least twenty times, complaining about any possible thing that could go wrong. “You tried that last time, remember,” hemoaned, as hemassaged the bridge of his nose. “With the giant flood? Paper work for decades!” or “It didn’t even work! People are still sinning!”

This would have been fine, if hewasn’tan integral part of the plan. God started the fires, Time sped it up so they wouldn’t have to actually sit there and watch as nearly several billion people and animals and anything living burned right outside their door, and hemade sure everyone died relatively quickly and not in too much agony (even God had a heart apparently). However, now hewasn’t here, and now they had to deal with the aftermath.

Without hishelp.

“We could check outside,” Time finally suggested, finishing his coffee. “He might have gotten caught up in one of the fires.”

“You wantto go outside in thatmess?”

“I was talking about you, Almighty Creator!”

Bickers and insults went back and forth between the two immortal and (despite their infinite knowledge) considerably childlike beings, and the barista behind the bar cowered, watching the exchange and praying--wait, she couldn’t do that (also, she couldn’t believe Ariana Grande was right: God was a woman). She hopedthat neither noticed her, and if they did, it was for another drink, and not asking her to go outside and fulfill the task that neither wanted to do. Of course, she was also busy trying to figure out who the other was. The woman was God, based on the title of “Almighty Creator”, however the one with the white hair, who apparently liked incredibly bad disco music, remained a mystery. Him being human was off the table, humans weren’t supposed to be able to change their features at a moments notice (and more importantly they weren’t supposed to change on their own whim), so he couldn’t be a time traveler or someone who had gotten incredibly lucky. He didn’t look like the Devil or a demon. Maybe an angel? But weren’t those supposed to be beautiful? Which he was, but by God, those eyes—

A loud slam interrupted her thoughts, and she dove back behind the bar. “Are you kidding me?!”

Slowly, the barista peered over the bar and looked at the Almighty Creator, the One who had flooded and set the world ablaze, tipped back into Her chair wheezes that could barely pass as laughter escaping her throat. “What is it with the eyes?!” Time groaned into the table, which his forehead rested on with his hands threaded together and on top of his head. “They. Are. Brown. Just brown. What is so wrong with that?”

Electing against joining in on the laughter coming from the other, the barista listened quietly as the boy ranted, his hair growing longer and darker, his skin changing to fit the second as well. His eyes remained the same. “It’s soridiculous—honestly, thisis what you find so funny, oh Mighty One?”

The roars of laughter which had shook the coffee house only moments before changed to small giggles. “Yes, indeed. I find it to be quite hilarious.”

The boy pouted silently as finally all sound from God vanished, as she only shook her head and wiped tears of former laughter from her eyes. “You’re finally done?” He asked, with a slightly raised eyebrow. He finally finished up his drink, and said, “Back to the issue at hand. They’re still not here.”

As he said that, God’s face became serious. “Yes, they’re not. It’s an issue.”

“Oh, you don’t say. Where could he possibly be?” He tossed the cup away over his shoulder and the barista snatched it from the air before it hit the wall, quickly setting to work on a new cup of coffee. “And if he isoutside, which one of us is going outside to find them? Hint: it’s not going to be me.”

“For My sake-“

“Don’t you start-“

A voice rang out suddenly, “You could both go!”

Both heads turned over to the voice over at the bar just as the barista clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing a fraction of a second what she had said too late. It quickly occurred to her that she should drop to her knees and start profusely apologizing and begging for forgiveness, and hope that the Bible hadn’t exaggerated how forgiving God was. But some small part of her stopped, as She asked an incredulous, “What?”

Gulping, the barista squeaked out a small, “You….you could both go outside. Together. And….and look outside for that….that person, that you’re looking for….?”

The boy’s skin and hair shifted again, changing from one look to another once or twice before finally settling on brown hair, closely cropped to his scalp this time, and skin so pale that it seemed to shine as it clung closely to his bones, his former bulky figure now jaunt and (dare she say it) near sickly. He blinked several times, as though the suggestion was hard to process. “Go out. Together.”

Nodding quickly, the barista dropped back behind the bar as God made a sudden move with Her hand, but, to her gratitude, she wasn’t smited instantly. There were a few quiet murmurs between the two (Two with a t?) before there was a shuffle of feet and a booming, commanding, “Rise.”

It wasn’t a question of if rising meant that she would join the others outside or not, because her body seemed to move without her permission, her joints wincing as she moved, with small crackles and pops, to stand up. The boy began to walk toward her, investigating his nails and pushing some dirt out from them nonchalantly, looking almost like another customer. It suddenly occurred to her as he got closer that he was really was spectacularly short, even for someone his age (or, the age he looked like, she had no idea how tall immortals were supposed to grow to be).

Finally, he was standing right in front of her, and now, he was looking directly in to her eyes. Was this an intimidation technique? Some way of terrifying her and making sure she knew her sin before landing right at Hell’s throne? A way of getting back at her for accidentally commenting on his eyes, by making sure they were the last thing she saw?

He spoke.

“Coffee.”

The barista (that’s right, she reminded herself, that’s what she was) blinked rapidly, keeping her contacts in place after staring for so long. She reached out to the side, feeling the heated cup in her palm, and handed it to him. He grabbed it staring into the dark brown, nearly black without cream or milk, coffee, and for a moment she thought he was going to splash into her face. But he didn’t. “Thanks for the drinks,” he finally said as he walked to the door, followed closely by God, “And the suggestion.”

The latter nodded, but otherwise said nothing, as She filled her cup up by Herself, using some amazing divine powers, most likely outside the realm of mortal comprehension. She stirred it as She walked, spreading the honey evenly, and waved over Her shoulder as the barista finally called out, “Come back soon.”

The door closed, but they didn’t burn up in the fires still raging outside, moving in an instant to appear in the sky as they flied in search of their missing “friend”. The barista didn’t really think that they were “friends”. In fact, she highly doubted it. She would know.

The barista gave them a moment or two to make sure that they weren’t coming back for anything and that the café was outside of God’s mind before hopping over the counter and making a beeline for the door. The locks moved quickly, all 7 of them, and with a snap of a finger, the windows changed, the fires lowering, changing from a violent, sulphuric blue to a softer, yet oh so vibrant collaboration of rose, periwinkle, camellia.

Customer service had always been quite frustrating, and it apparently had applied to both living and dead customers. Too many had been so damn infuriated about not making it to heaven, or, even worse, loved ones hadn’t made it to heaven. The latter had always raised hell outside of Earth, and she had been asked one too many times to speak to a manager and, when begged from help from Her Royal Highness, been met with the typical “yikes” face and a shrug that had said that She was not getting involved.

So Death truly believed that God deserved this. Just a little bit.

Pulling out the shears, from the top shelf, Death hummed quietly. Her Highness had never learned about the garden, too busy constantly tending to her own or dealing with issues that arose on the ground level. Death estimated that it would take Her a century, maybe two to figure out where it was, and in the time that it took to find her, She would probably fix the little burn-the-world-down issue through some mass miracle. Then maybe Death would come out and hope she wasn’t smited.

Until then, she could lay back and catch up. Sitting down in the cushy swing chair and setting down the shears on the table right beside it (for later, Death promised herself), she opened the lengthy book and rested her head against a pillow, and began to read.

#my writing #mine #creative writing #prompt based #short story #creative short story

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zebraslovescupcakestoo · 5 years

Text

A Brother’s Promise

It was mid September when they decided to throw an unexpected surprise party at the Disney company. Oswald himself was told by his charismatic little brother, Mickey, to help them set up. It didn't bothered him too much since he's going to be making most of the snacks like seafood and other buffet variety stuff. As long as it was healthy and that he had help.

Except that Mickey never gave his answer about what is it about and he just said 'It's a surprise!' and he has to wait along with the other staffs at their father's company.

No matter what people say about their father, Mickey and Oswald where actually well respected. They were actually the ones who made their family's name much better than their old man himself. They don't believed of getting their high positioned jobs through 'please, daddy' and they have it with a beautiful red bow. No no no! They even insisted that they worked FOR it and earned their keeps to achieved it.

Mickey was their best animator at the company aside from Ubbe Eert Iwerks. Unlike most cliche boss’s kid attitude they all thought he would have, he was very optimistic, hard working, colorful and very kind person. He was just like his cartoon counter part and Disney's iconic mascot. Everyone who worked with him were always happy.

Oswald was his older brother and the head mechanic of the new Disneyland maintenance team. It was a quite a surprise for them when he was an inventor of a sort and even more when they learned that he was a five times champion from Chinese boxing tournaments. Not even his size was estimated by bigger guys you could meet at the night bars. He was similar to his brother's optimistic mind but more realistic. He was mature, calm, smooth and can sometimes be intimidating if he catches someone being disrespectful to his brother or to another person. (Or if one of his staffs being lazy without putting a descent amount of work first too.) Nevertheless, he was very well respected and liked.

Both were at the presence once the big night have arrived. The party was inside their studio due to a thunder/rain storm and the room was like one of those school prom but with their animator's team, the maintenance’s team, even their janitors and their three, old maids from their 'old' home that took care of them since they were little aside their mother when she used to work as the secretary.

Oswald was just standing alone, leaning at a naked wall that wasn't covered with a curtain or piled up with chairs. He was wearing his favorite blue vest with a dragon on, along with a white rolled up sleeves, black gloves, black dress pants and knee high boots. He didn't do much with his twin tailed hair aside he groomed it very well. He was observing everyone and just listened whenever he heard something interesting. He also had a punch cup in one of his hand.

He always was shown as a 'second' best compared to his popular brother, but he knows better that it wasn't his brother's fault that he has that certain charm and that his brother will always there for him. Even at his worst one time...

He then noticed that his brother was emerging from the crowd as he was attempting to leave them for a moment. He was wearing his signature rep carpet night outfit. He had his black suit with his matching red bow tie, white shirt, yellow gloves, red dress pants and his best pair of black dressed shoes. He finally arrived with a big plate full of a variety of delicacies that he made most of them that was enough for two.

“I figured you wanted something to eat. I haven't seen you at the buffet earlier.” Mickey started their conversation. “I was just thirsty at the time.” Oswald stated, but he did took some vegetables off his plate. “You looked good tonight.” He complemented his little brother. Mickey flustered at this sudden unexpected praise. “Oh! Er, Thank you! You look handsomer- er, I mean, more handsome! Like, you look great too!” He fumbled his words as Oswald chuckled a bit at his brother's little goofy moment. “Ha ha, thank you.”

They took a couple of minutes of silence to watch over among their workers as they all socialized as they much on. Oswald then broke off their silence. “It's still amazing that even with what's been going on in the world, I'm glad that there's some good times like these.” Mickey tried to think of another subject. “Say, how's that new role with that martial arts movie they've been working on?”

“Where have you heard that?” Oswald raised an eyebrow. Did his little brother still kept an eye out for him, even with his busy schedule? “You know I've been keeping up with what's going on with the movie sets, you can't hide it from me. I know you'll be great with that leading role of martial art vigilante.” Mickey smirked with a wink. He knew that his big brother will be well suited for this role and a great opportunity for him to stand out from their shadows. “I know you deserve it.”

“I doubt it would be successful. It's been a while since the industry made those kinds of Chinese influenced films and most were barely recognizable here in the states.” Oswald stated. “Don't think like that! I saw that part of the shoot and I think it would look great on the big screen once it's done! I bet that more people will love to see it once they noticed your awe inspiring fighting techniques!” Mickey tried to cheer him up. “Or maybe IF it flunked like you'd said, you can always try for a cooking show special.”

“You already beat me at that.” He said. “Just a dessert special, but you can still make a pretty good Eastern meals like the ones you've made tonight. They're very delicious just like mom used to make-!” Mickey then realized that he brought up a bit of a touchy subject. It wasn't offensive, it just that she passed away almost a decade ago. They both loved their mother and they reminisces of how they used to be as a real family. “I.. know she would have been very proud of your cooking skills if she was still with us today.” Mickey said what he think their late mother would have said to his older brother. “True, but I think she would have said your desserts were the best tonight first.” Oswald tried to be more realistic. “Not exactly! Mom was-*Sniff sniff* Do you smell something amazingly familiar?” Mickey asked and then he too took a sniff. They then both took a good silent whiff until they realized what it is. They then turn on each other with sparking stars in their eyes and spoke with a smile. “Chocolate!” They said in union.

No matter how much of a heath conscious, young men they were, they both love chocolate sweets, especially Mickey.

They noticed that they've just put a chocolate fountain along with a variety of fresh cut fruits. If Mickey did knew about it, Oswald would have noticed it sooner. “I'm going to get a bunch! I've saved my sweet tooth for this!” He then rushes to it. Guess that leaves the rabbit in charge of their drinks.

It didn't take him long for him to get milk, but he can't say the same thing about his little brother. Getting their fruits and chocolates were easy, it's the crowd that's keeping him 'captive.' Oswald was thankful that he didn't have to deal with that kind of attention. He would have laugh it off for all the times he wished he was more popular, now he was just thankful for having his little 'privacy' time.

It may took a few minutes, but Mickey finally made it. He was a bit short of breath. “So sorry... They... wouldn't... stop asking... for everything.” “Here, let's take a seat before you drop and create more attention for yourself.” He said and suggested to their seats behind him. They immediately started to clean up their plate and chocolate dip. Occasionally, there was someone who came up to Mickey for a small talk and that leaves Oswald for more samples that he took advantage, but he did leave some for Mickey and the last one. He finished it off and then admittedly said. “Sometimes, I envy your personal time alone.”

He was surprised at that. “I wouldn't say that. You have what most people want to be these days in this movie or animated industries.” Mickey wanted to corrected that confusion. “I'm not saying that I don't like it, it's just... I get a little overwhelmed sometimes and... I get a little tired sometimes too.” He then rested his head on his shoulder to emphasis it. Oswald may not know all what's going on with Mickey's celebrity life style, but he can see behind that mask he puts up in front of everyone that he gets tired, in more meanings than that.

He then noticed their father, Walt Disney, and one of their top animators, Ubbe Eert Iwerks, entered and they made quite a commotion. He also saw Ubbe holding a large envelope which he's guessing it might contain some sketches for either a cartoon or a new park ride. He bets it's for a cartoon cause if it WAS for a new park ride, he would know it way before anybody! He nudged his shoulder to wake him up. “Hey, dad's here.” Mickey grunted a bit and snapped his eyes opened once he realized it. “Ah! Finally! Quick Ozzy! We need you to be there before he announces the big surprise.” Oswald was confused but before he said anything else, Mickey quickly grabbed his wrist and dragged him to their father's side.

Oswald was curious of why he was needed when it was just a cartoon promotions. It was usually his brother's spotlight moments for those occasions. He did have those kinds of spotlights too for a new attraction or mechanics ideas. Why the sudden switch?

He was then placed on his father's left side and everybody looked at them. Walt then spoke. “I would like to start by saying thank you for everybody that has made it tonight's celebration of the return of a once beloved character.”

Oswald raised an eye brow. Surely it wasn't supposed to be Mickey in his spot? He looked at his little brother and he was just pumped up with excitement with little hops. Seemingly that it's a surprise that involves him and he had something to do with it.

His father continued as he was doing that. “Years ago, back when Ub and myself used to work for the Universe Studio animations, we've created a cartoon character for the company that we used to think that it will become one of the most beloved character for children of all ages. Along with other animators, we've made about twenty-six shorts before... an dispute for a proposal. Despite that it was our creation, under their contract and agreement, we had to leave that character behind. That character is also named Oswald that my late wife and myself gave to our first son.” He then placed a hand on Oswald's shoulder. He was surprised just as much as almost everybody else in the room.

He knew that he had a vague memory on the cartoons he used to watch that had a similar name and that he knew that his little brother was named after their company mascot, but he would NEVER imagine that he was too, named after another character his father created even BEFORE he founded the company.

“After many years, Ub and I wanted to bring back that lucky rabbit back to the animated family.” His father replied and then it was Ube's turn. “We did many times to negotiate a few, but ended with no results until Mickey came for one more try.” Then everybody turned to Mickey as he just waved a bit. “To be honest, I don't really exactly know what he did to convinced them, but somehow he manage to have them hand over the rights of the character. Now that it's official, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit is now welcomed in the Disney Animation Studios. We might say that he's like the older brother like ours is.” Ube lightly complimented him as he opened up the envelope and showed the rabbit character that was singed by Walt and Mickey themselves.

Then everybody was in cheers and clapping gleefully. Oswald was blushing but feel extremely happy on the inside and smiled a little. He then got surprised as his little brother picks him up with his usual bro hug with a big grind on his face. Which on the side note, he's ridiculously strong despite his size. “Eeeeeee! I'm so proud of you! Now we both have characters as true brothers!”

“Yeah... Thanks... can't... breathe... Mickey.” Oswald spoke while trying to catch some fresh air from his little brother's binding hugging arms.

Then suddenly the joy was interrupted with a loud thunder clapping and a door burst opened. Everybody looked at the direction of their front exit door as Mickey then puts Oswald down gently.

There were two individuals. One that was a bit higher and bigger than the average person and the other one was about the same height and size as Mickey. But this isn't just random people they don't know. It's actually the people they knew very well from their debut as the CEO's of Joey Drew Studio the Third.

Bendy DeMon and Boris Wolfenstein. Bendy had the signature white tuxedo with a black floof from his red carpet debut while Boris had on his overly large fur coat with his black fedora and matching tuxedo suit holding the umbrella.

Everybody was in shock as they came in to 'greet' them. They all whispered among themselves. Some were nervous, others were a bit bitter from the fact that they knew him a bit too well when they used to work under them.

“Why... It's Bendy DeMon.” “The newest chairman of that notorious Joey Drew Studios?” “Did the Disneys invited them?” “No, I don't think so.” “What does he want here?” “I preferred the thunderstorm's company over them.” “Shh! They'll hear you!”

Despite all the whispers they 'might' have heard, both of them weren't fazed at all. They then reached to Ube, Walt, Oswald and Mickey.

Bendy spoke. “Well, quite a glittering assemblage, dear Waltz. The animators, the mechanics, the janitors, the maids and...” He then sees the brothers and chuckles “How quaint. Even the rabbles.” Mickey tries to protest, but Oswald holds him back.

It was no secret that both Mickey and Bendy had a sour history between them and behind the curtains. Nobody knew how it all started and barely knew how it ended. The only things for sure is that Mickey doesn't like the way Bendy treated his animators poorly, despite how well they were paid and how he acted like a stereotypical, celebrity jerk with a big ego.

Bendy despise Mickey due to the fact that he was the complete opposite of him and that he was just like his animated counterpart. They think that the reason is that he was probably just jealous of his humble reputation and he was a well respected individual.

Nevertheless, they both have a rocky relationship and that they both once agreed to keep it 'just between themselves.'

Bendy kept his classy demeanor in the presence of his 'enemy's territory.' “I was surprised to noticed you we're all having a humble peasant party. I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” He responded as he took out a cigarette and fumbled in his pocket for a lighter.

“You weren't wanted and this is a no smoking zone. Do it outside if you had to!” One of their animator's spoke up against him. “Not wan-!” He was surprised and dropped his cigarette from his mouth. Everybody turned to the guy who had protested. “Tony! What are you doing? You're going to get in trouble!” His friend who was next to him said.

Under 'normal' circumstances, Bendy and Boris would have made... arrangements for mouthing them off. But since this isn't their territory, they can't do it, but they can 'intimidate' and provoke.

Bendy took a shot. “Tony? As in Tony Teebits? That lousy, wannabe animator who proposed to me months ago with a new cat character? And then he was fired with a farewell gift of a half a box of raisin muffins? HA ha ha! Don't tell me Nickel Mousey and his pops hired you here.” He mocked him off.

But the guy surprised him with agreement. “Yes they did! And their treatments were much better than your pays!” That made him grumbled and showed his gritting teeth. Bendy then mumbled. “You better pray that we don't found out where you live, tick flea!” He then cleared his throat, turns around to the Disney family and resumed his classy speech. “Oh dear, what an awkward situation! I've noticed it from someone and stopped here out of curiosity. What kind of children party is it?” He asked teasingly to Walt.

“It's a celebration of the return of Oswald the lucky rabbit character. I'm sure you've met my elder son before, right?”

“You mean Oddball the forgettable rabbit? Hardly knew him.” He disses him and that angers Mickey as he was holding in.

“Maybe this will help you jog a memory. The design is still a bit out dated, but I think it will suit him well once we start a new animated shorts.” Ube showed him the rabbit character and he was overly exaggerated with his disgusted expression. “Ugh! Oh, I wouldn't ask the devil himself to take him! Too old school and no appeal. What a horrid, corny, rabbit rip-off!”

Mickey then defended at that point. “You shouldn't judge a character base on their looks! Give him a chance in the spotlight!” Walt then jumped in for a calmer conversation. “Mickey has a point. We're doing a storyboard of the first few episodes. He'll be like a co-star character like Donald Duck or Goofy and we're also planning on making a few merchandise along the way.” Oswald then pulls his brother away as Mickey still giving him the angry stare.

“You mean you haven't made this 'publicly' yet?” Bendy asked out of curiosity. Everybody raised an uneasy suspicion. What does he mean? Ube then told him. “Not quite. We've just reveal our reclaim and that we'll announce it in public in a few days.”

He then maliciously smiled and took out a check book. “If it's not made in 'public' yet, I'll buy it from you right now. Just name your price, old chap!” He then set it on the table that was a free space of the varieties of desserts.

Everybody was in shock. But then Mickey marched up to him and said. “Bendy! You can't just buy him off! We worked really hard to have him back and I can't just hand him off over a check!” Oswald followed him up afterwards for protection. He knew that Mickey and Bendy were popular in their 'public image,' but there's another side of them that might get ugly.

Bendy tsked at him. “You think I was talking to you? You're just a measly animator under daddy's work. I'm talking to the REAL boss here!” He shows no sing of respect to him as he took out his pen. “Hey Walt! How much for that rabbit?”

“I'm afraid you've asked the wrong person. In actuality, Mickey was the one who have the rights of Oswald and in any future events that something happens to me, so will his animated character.” Walt explained.

Bendy was shocked. “What? You're telling me that his guy is going to be in charge one day AND who I'm supposed to be 'nice' with?” Boris the calms him down. “He does have a point.” He just tsked at Boris and then spoke to the crowd. “Don't make me laugh again. He only worked 'officially' for three years and you all treat him like he was some sort of an idol of a cult.”

Ube tried to reassure him. “He might be young but he is just as responsible as a successful animator.” Everybody was agreeing with him. Except for the two uninvited guests.

Bendy then had another idea. For an insult. “That I agreed. Once this place is bankrupted, he'll be selling his kindergarten pictures for fifty cents each, while his 'big bro' will be recycling old cardboard boxes for their new houses. AH hahahahaha!” He mockingly laugh it off while Mickey and Oswald frowned at that and crossed their arms.

They were used to Bendy's mockery of their art and mechanic skill receptively, but they still weren't impressed of his idea against their humility and compassion to the people around them.

He then proceeds to write in his check book after he cleared his throat. “Now really, enough of this childish games, Mousey. I'll pay you twice of what it's worth.” He started to write a bit. “Come now! I'm really being more than 'generous' here for an 'old friend.'” He then realized that there was no ink coming out of his signature pen. He then shook it violently as he said. “Blast this custom made pen. Blast-this-wreched-F#-KIN-PEN! BLARGH! *Gasped! *” He was surprised at the end when the ink splattered out and sprinkled at the front. Only to be stained on Mickey's signature soiree tuxedo as he shielded it from getting on Oswald's favourite white and blue dragon vest.

Everybody was shocked when it happened. They we're expecting a heated argument at any moment, like most people would do if they've ruined a lovely suit, but Mickey didn't. Despite that happened, he still has that angry expression, remains calm and dust off invisible dusts. Oswald was surprised of his brother, he knew that he would be there for him but not at this level.

Bendy then chuckled nervously, but he then continued to write again as if that never happened. “Oh... well. At least you still have that old black suit. Now then! How much do you want and when will you hand over the rights? Tomorrow? Three days?”

It was just then Mickey had enough. “Never.” He would say in a rare tone that he would use to anyone unless it was serious. Bendy was taken aback and then looks up to Mickey. “I'm sorry, has my request left you confused? Let me simplify: I will buy Oswald the Lucky Rabbit from you by twice the worth you've paid.” He then glared at him with a menacing smile. “I understood you and I said 'Never.' I am not selling that character. Do you understand?” Mickey wasn't budging from his position.

He knew the real Bendy before he became a famous CEO of Joey Drew Studio. He has a few ideas of the real 'reason' why he wanted to own the rights of his brother's cartoon character he was named after. He knew that he would make him the butt of the cartoon Bendy's jokes and if one day they wanted to get rid of him, they would burn all of the character models and proof so that he or someone in the Disney family wouldn't get the chance to have him back again. He knew that would not only insult his older brother, but to anger him personally!

Bendy raised an eyebrow and then turned to the crowd with a playful act. “Did anyone heard this? Is he rally serious about missing a chance of cash opportunity over a little character? I... Ha! I really am confused.” He then tore a slip from his check book and then Boris tried to say that he seems serious until he then cuts him off. “Oh Boris, he MUST be joking.” He then handed out the check to Mickey, but he still refused. “No, I mean it, Bendy. You are not getting Oswald.” He tighten his fists besides him.

Bendy then persisted and kept his mask under pressure as he demanded again. “I said. I. Want. to. Buy. That. Stupid. Rabbit.” He once again flashed his check in front of him, but he still refused. “No matter how many times you'll say it, I will not change my answer. You are not getting him and that's final!” Mickey put his foot down as it encouraged some of the other people in the room.

“Yeah!” “You tell him, Mick!” “Oswald deserves better!” “He's your brother!” “He's not a loser!” “He's better than this!”

That made Bendy angrier and then he spat. “Are you people serious? You expect that faith, trust and pixie dust crap thing will help you with your futures, finances and all that sh!t? Nobody barely knew this rabbit and you think that he will be just as popular as that Nickel Mousey HE was named after with just a few episodes?” He then pointed at Mickey.

Oswald had just about enough of him and decided to 'escort' him out before it escalated. However, Mickey raised his arms to block him to prevent him of doing so. “And just how can you be so certain that it will not succeed if he hasn't given a chance? If he's not as popular as you say, the he will be at least on the same level as Goofy and Donald Duck! Just wait and see what we can do with our hard work and creativity!” Mickey protested and then the whole room cheered with him.

It was by then Bendy started to loose his temper. “Why you- Bunch of- Lunatics- Happy-” He then decided to tore up the check. “Alright, Mickey! You win! Keep that rodent forgettable character for all I care! Do whatever your animators wanted to do with him! Roast him at Easter supper!” He then threw the pieces up in the air like confetti. “But if you're begging on the streets, don't you ever come near me asking for help. Boris!” He shouted him as if it was a signal to leave. “I'm through with all of you! You amateur animators! You rusty mechanics! You house maids toilet cleaners! The old Farts!” He then decided to display his bitterness by throwing an uncut whip cream pie to the crowd while he said his final piece. “AND THOSE BRATTY, RODENT BROTHERS MICKEY AND OSWALD F#CKING DISNEY!” The whole crowd was surprised as the pie was flung rapidly across the room and even more shockingly, there was a person who caught it with such ease as if it remained intact. It was Mickey. He then held it with his right has and rest his fist on his hip as he then glared back again at Bendy as they left the building.

The whole room was silent apart there was a faint sound of ripping tire that can be heard from outside, indicating that they must have left in fury. Mickey then took a deep breath and then spoke. “I'm sorry. It was me that he was really after.” He then placed the pie back on the table. But the old maids spoke out. “It's not your fault, Mickey!” “Flora's right. He wasn't supposed to be invited.” “Bendy is just jealous of you and Oswald solely cause you both work really hard to get where you are now!”

He then smiled at them. “Thank you, Miss Flora, Fauna and Merrywheather. It seems that this unfortunate event has put an end to this party.”

“Oh, that's not entirely true! We're really happy for you two!” One of the animators said. “The ladies are right! Oswald, the cartoon rabbit, is back to this rightful family! The foods you both prepared is delicious and you showed the 'real' brat that he can't get away with anything!” Then it was one of the mechanics team who said it. Everybody was saying the same thing along with Ube and Walt.

“I think you need to take the rest of the night off. We can all take care of the rest here.” Walt told Mickey. He knew that he was soaked in ink and that moment he stood up for his brother had took quite the energy.

“I can take him home.” Oswald told their father. “Oh! thank you, Oswald. You're very thoughtful for your little brother. I will see both of you soon.” Walt was then now at ease knowing that they will be fine.

Both of them were excused for the night.

---- Time skipping on a Hawaiian roller coaster ride! ------

It took a while for Mickey to get some of the ink that flung on his skin by Bendy before he came out of the bathroom with his PJ's. It was just his regular outwear of white shirt and red pants. He went to their living room to tell his brother that the bath's free until he caught him seeing one of his sketches. He quietly walked over to see that it was the ones he was making with his counterpart character and his brother's.

“Do you like him?” Mickey asked him. He looked at him with a shocked reaction and then regained his composure. “Ah! Mickey! You've surprised me!...” He then looked at his character again. “I... know that it seems a bit outdated, but I did tried my best to be as close as it can be to it's original and it's similarities.” Mickey explained to him with honesty. Despite that most of their Disney characters had a major makeovers over twenty years, Oswald still had his original looks but a bit more... brother's look a like similarities. “Nah... I think he looks great as a 'half brother' for him.” Oswald smiled at it.

“I did manage to have almost three episodes done. So I hope once they've been release, he's going to be famous just like mine!” Mickey cheered himself up. “That's pretty, overly optimistic, even for you. I... I'm just really happy that I too, had a character that I was named after... Although I did remembered that it was from that Universal Studio animations and it was from more than a decade ago...” Oswald sighed.

He couldn't say that he never 'knew' about this character. In fact, he actually heard this story from about a decade ago, in one of those father and son moments when it was just him and Walt. He remembered that he say one of his father's early sketches from his old animation jobs. He remembered of the early depictions of this character that had a similar name to his. He remembered that he and Walt had a one on one chat about the truth of this. His original characters, the heated exchange between him and his boss and how he had to make a difficult choice to leave him behind. He remembered that it was one of those moments that he can see in his father's eyes that he was sad about the whole thing and that he wished that he could have done better for him...

“How did you discovered about all of this? Dad was very secretive with his old sketches, even with us.” Oswald asked him. He had an idea on one detail he also remembered. As much as Mickey tried, he's an awful liar. “I, er... was... looking for a, er, pencil or something dad wanted me to get, and er, yeah. He might have absent, mindlessly had it out in the open at the time!” He smiled nervously, thinking his brother might buy it.

Which it didn't work. “Funny, cause I knew you were peeping me and dad from the door. I can see you from the slightly open door frame almost ten years back.” Mickey gasped. “Oh, and while we're on that subject, this isn't the first time you've been following me.” Oswald smirked and gave an impression just like their mother would have made if she knew what they've been up to.

Mickey frantically responded. “Me? Following you? Why, I knew you disliked me being around you and with everybody-”

“You've used dad's old clothes to disguise yourself at any events I would be. Chinese Boxing tournaments, drag racing and even at one time, an invention expose when I was fifth-teen.” Oswald cuts him off. Mickey's expression was dumbfounded. But then he finally admits with hands up. “Alright, fine. I admit. I did went to see you compete and also that time with dad. I knew that if I'd made myself public wherever you were, people will take attention away from you and the competitors. You'd always hated that, but I just wanted to be supportive of what you do and your career. So I hid myself for that and I wanted to let you know that there's people who appreciate you for being, well, you. Not me, not dad or even our family name!” He played with his fingers. “And... I do look up to you.”

“What?” Oswald said in disbelief. He, Mickey, looks up to someone like him? Someone who's spend more time in the family's shadow than he does at the junkyard for invention parts?

“I mean...” Mickey timidly confessed to him. “You're always been so more... mature than most people. Apart from when we fight and nobody's around... But you've always been more in independent than I am. You've practically made enough to live on your own, not to mention you're a better fighter than I am, you solve problems better than I could have done or at least less damaging, and you've got that 'cool guy' thing that stands out when it's your turn to shine like Dean Martin!” He then got sadder, which was rare even from him. “Compared to me... behind my public mask, I'm probably too optimistic for my own good. I'm almost nothing like you and yet...I felt you're not being appreciated enough while I'm...” He struggles for the appropriate things to say as he bow his head down.

However, his big brother knew what he wanted to say and he steps in. “Mickey... You don't need to go that far for me. Remember when I was eleven around Christmas time that I was very ill?”

He looks up to him again. “Yeah... You were so sick that you had to be hospitalized. I cried almost every night you were there.” It was one of the most painful moments for him. He and Oswald were inseparable and they both shared everything, even when they've had different ideas, they both usually find a way to work thing out.

“Remember that I was so ill that I wouldn't be able to watch the Christmas parade that included dad's float that year?” He added. “Yeah... Dad wanted me to be on it with the mascots, but... I escaped. At the time, I was so mad at him for not caring for you and that he cared more about the float than your well being.” Mickey was a bit ashamed at this early childish actions.

“After you ran off, I remembered from what dad told me that he and other people was looking everywhere for you until he had a good idea of where you'd be. He found you sleeping with me with that Winnie the Pooh book that mom used to read to us.” Oswald said. “He was a bit angry at you, but it wasn't for ditching, you've worried him just as much as anyone else who was working with us at the time.”

“I... didn't meant to cause that much trouble. I was just upset that dad and the people didn't cared for you except me.” Mickey then got an unexpected surprise from his 'cool' brother.

Oswald was hugging him with one of his hand on his head. “Did you remembered what you've said after dad ranted on your 'actions?'” Mickey was still silent for a bit. Oswald then gave his answer. “You said that you didn't cared for whatever Christmas specials and what the company had provided, you just wanted me back. That... really made me feel special enough and why people respected you much better than Bendy. You cared. You're kind, optimistic, helpful, even considerate for people's feelings. You've put more efforts in your work just like any other senior animators and they love to chat or hang out with you. Even if you had to put your foot down on those times like you did with Bendy earlier, you were standing up on our beliefs and what really mattered. You don't need to change that, not even for me.”

That made him teary and hug him back. “Ozzy...*Sniff * That was one of the nicest things you've said to me.”

“Don't start the water works. You'll get red eyes in the morning.” Oswald told him as they settled down for the night.

----Author’s notes-----

I KNOW! I KNOW! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fanfic here!

It’s like I’ve been a bit busy with work, watching shows and gaming. I did wanted to write but when I do, I get writers block!

Anyways! I did made a few scene combo references from 101 Dalmatians, Sleeping Beauty and Frozen along with some Disney’s character references.

I imagine from one point that Mickey and Oswald were once good friends with Bendy until a certain event happened that made them ‘very’ bitter.

The only reason why they didn’t lash out in a blood bath is was to maintain their ‘public’ image... Who knows what will happened behind those masks.

I also imagined that Oswald had gained some sort of independence and set himself apart from the animation family for his mechanics and that Mickey really does look up to him for that. (which made him self-conscious of his independence and work his way to the top too!)

But this is just a fanfiction, please tell me of what you think! Love is welcome!

The Bendy Before the Ink Machine AU and humanoid characters belongs to Marini4. Disney references belongs to the company itself.

#bendy before the ink machine #bendy #mickey #mickey mouse #oswald #oswald the lucky rabbit #humanoid #humanized #OC #Disney #fanfiction #marini4

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trulymadlysydney · 6 years

Text

The Boy Next Door

Of all the things she could’ve ordered, it had to be a sex toy. And of all the people who could’ve been her neighbor, it just had to be coffee shop Harry.

Helloooo my loves, this is part one of my college AU story!!! I was going to hold off on posting it, but what can I say? I’m incredibly proud of it and wanted you guys to share my excitement. This all started as a request from a lovely anon, and my brain took the request and spun it into this huge, long, college AU that I’m so excited and nervous for you guys to read. Enjoy!!! xx

***PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION**

It isn’t that Nova Leary is shy, necessarily. It’s just that she’s the type of girl who enjoys keeping to herself and remaining anonymous.

The fact of the matter is that anonymity feels like a rare thing to have nowadays, living in Los Angeles. And anonymity is the one thing that Nova seems to cling to above all else.

Having grown up in a small town in North Carolina, she’d never faced the struggles of a Californian until she’d come here for school. She hadn’t needed spare change to park her car. She hadn’t needed to purchase a bus pass, because ultimately her car could’ve taken her anywhere with minimal traffic.

But now-- now she struggles to balance 19 credits a semester, because, as her mother would say, “You’ll never get a good job just by coasting along, Nova Gene. Challenge yourself.” (Her mother, bless her heart, had a PhD in astrophysics-- because of course she did-- so Nova couldn’t help but feel the pressure to measure up her entire life.

So challenging herself was the only option, really. And it isn’t that Nova minds all that much. Entering her third semester of grad school, she feels accomplished. As though she’s achieved more in her 23 years of living than most people her age. Sure, maybe Los Angeles may not have been her first choice. But hell, it certainly wasn’t her last.

Currently she sits at her dining table, one leg tucked up under her and the other dangling so that her toes just loosely graze the wooden floor of her apartment. She absentmindedly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and types something into her laptop, chewing at the inside of her cheek when the results of her search appear fruitful.

“What are you looking at?”

Nova nearly jumps out of her chair when her roommate’s voice breaks through the silence. She quickly switches tabs over to her e-mail. Her inbox hasn’t received anything new since the last time she’d checked it, which had been four minutes ago when she thought Jessie was coming into the room. For the sixth time.

“Nothing,” Nova says, dismissively. “E-mails. Homework.”

Jessie is 29 and works for a law firm. Which sounds much cooler than it actually is, Nova thinks. All Jessie does is answer phones and file paperwork every now and then, and she gets to wear the heels she likes everyday so all in all, no one complains. (Except for the days when Jessie does, in fact, complain about every little thing that goes on in the firm and behind the scenes. Nova thinks she knows a lot of these people’s stories better than she knows her own, which is saying something.)

Jessie looks at Nova incredulously, and scoffs. “You cannot possibly have that much homework.”

“I do!” Nova says, pushing her glasses up on her nose and clicking the “compose e-mail” button. For what reason, she doesn’t know, but it makes her look like she’s doing at least something.

Jessie groans, clomping in her heels across the hardwood floor and over to the kitchen. She opens the fridge and bends down, which reveals a little too much of the pink lace she’s wearing under her short dress. When she straightens up, she’s got a beer in her hand. “Come on, kid You’ve gotta have some type of plans for tonight.”

“It’s Thursday.”

Jessie rolls her eyes, rummaging through the nearest drawer until she finds the bottle opener. “Have you never heard of Thirsty Thursday?” She takes a huge swig of her beer and hums in delight before holding it out in Nova’s direction. “You want one?”

“No thanks.” Nova smiles, because Jessie really is a sweet girl. She means well. It’s just that she and Nova are two incredibly different people. Which works out, really, because 95% of the time, Jessie is gone and Nova gets the apartment to herself. That isn’t to say Nova doesn’t worry about the older girl, but usually she’ll receive a call or, at the very least, a text from Jessie to let her know what her plan is for the night.

Nova settles back in her seat. “Where are you going tonight?”

“It’s Brad’s birthday,” Jessie says, and shoots Nova a look as if she’d rather die. “We’re going out.” Brad is Jessie’s sort-of-boyfriend, but he’s a dick most of the time. At least in the whole year and a half that Nova’s known Jessie, she’s hardly ever heard anything about Brad that she likes. Even when she’d met him in passing, he’d been dismissive and a bit arrogant and altogether unpleasant. Though, for whatever reason, Jessie’s been on and off with the guy for about four years now. So Nova figures she has to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“That should be fun!” Nova tries to sound hopeful, and Jessie smiles.

“I’m hoping so, but we’ll see. If he invites Steven I swear to God I’m leaving.”

Nova giggles and spends the next few minutes chatting with Jessie about Brad and his awful friends. Sentences like “you’re too good for him,” and “But Nova, did you see what he surprised me with last weekend?” are all that can be heard, and it’s a lovely distraction for both of them until Jessie’s phone buzzes.

She hops up from where she’s now sitting on the counter and swallows the last bit of her drink. “That’s my ride. You sure you don’t wanna come out with us? We can wait!”

“I’m good,” Nova says, shaking her head. “You’re sweet though.”

Jessie giggles, walking over to Nova and wrapping her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. She leans down and presses a heartfelt kiss into Nova’s hair. “I love you, kid. You work too hard.”

“Who, me? Nahhh.” Nova shakes her head.

Jessie grabs her coat and begins to head for the apartment door. “Don’t wait up for me, okay? I’ll be at Brad’s tonight.”

It goes without saying, but it still makes Nova smile that Jessie lets her know. “Sounds good,” she calls. “Be safe! Wear protection!”

She hears Jessie scoff as she leaves, and it makes her laugh. Jessie is a lot of fun to be around, when she is around. But Nova knows that if she were to ever go out with Jessie and her friends it would be awkward for everyone involved. Nova’s never been the going out type, and all the friends that she would go out with lived back in North Carolina.

She sighs, placing her hands on the keyboard of the laptop and typing into the blank e-mail.

Note: Make new friends.

Backspace backspace backspace.

Note: Make friends in general.

It isn’t to say that Nova is lonely, however. In fact, she appreciates her alone time quite a lot.

This reminds her of the task at hand, and her stomach flutters. Cautiously, as if she’s being watched, she moves the curser back up to the tab she was in prior to Jessie’s departure, and double taps, taking her back to the screen that had made her cheeks redden.

Row upon row of sex toys fills her screen, and it’s quite overwhelming, really, because how on earth is she supposed to know which one to pick? She doesn’t want to make the wrong choice and get one thats too big. And what if she doesn’t like the feeling of something inside of her? The thought makes her insides flip and her ears grow hot. She groans, clicking the arrow to take her to the next page.

She knows she definitely wants one of these, it’s just a matter of which one she wants. It’s a difficult decision to make, especially because, despite being alone nearly every day she’s never really taken the time to experiment with these types of things.

That isn’t to say she’s never gotten herself off, of course, but she definitely hasn’t tried any other techniques other than the one she knows. And now there are several toys in front of her, all different shapes, sizes, textures, colors, (do colors matter?), some of them vibrate, some of them don’t... there are just far too many options for Nova’s liking.

What’s worse, she doesn’t even have anyone to ask about these types of things. She’s sure that Jessie, more likely than not, has experimented with one, but she could never just outright ask her for tips. Plus, reading the reviews on every single one of these feels almost invasive, if Nova’s being honest. Like she’s creeping in on these people’s intimate alone time, as if to compare notes. It’s strange.

Its 45 minutes and a few squeals and facepalms later that Nova finally thinks she’s found the one. 5/5 stars, not too big. Vibrations are optional, but should she chose to use them, it comes with several different speeds. Plus the reviews, as strange as it makes her feel to read them, all agreed on one thing-- maximum pleasure with minimal effort. (Not to mention the one review from a woman in Texas, who’d said that it was her first one and it had worked like magic.)

Nova types in her billing information and the address to which she wants it shipped, praying that it comes on a day when Jessie isn’t home, and when everything is filled out correctly, she inhales as deep as her lungs can take. She examines her purchase one more time, shocked that this is actually something that she’s doing. God, her mother would disown her if she knew.

She lets out her breath in one quick puff and closes one eye. She tilts her head so that she’s not looking directly at the screen, and smashes her finger down on the mouse. When her laptop takes her to the next screen, she can’t help but shriek when she reads, in bold, bright letters:

Thank you for your purchase!

It’s a week later and Nova finds herself at the local coffee shop like every college student from the young adult novels she (not so) guiltily reads. It’s stereotypical, yes, but it’s her favorite place. They constantly have weird music playing through the speakers and it intrigues her every time she’s come in. Sometimes they sell EPs of local bands on the counter where you purchase your drink, and Nova usually can’t help herself but to buy one. She doesn’t always love the music she buys, but she loves the aesthetic of it all, so she continues to take pleasure in feeling like a fake hipster.

Today, the shop is crowded, which makes Nova curse under her breath. She curses a second time after she’s ordered a her coffee, when she realizes there are no available seats in here. She frowns, glancing around the room. When did everyone realize this place existed? Why are they taking over her little corner of campus?

She’s about to go ask the barista to put her drink in a to-go cup, because maybe she can go sit on the grass outside or something, when they call out her order at the counter. Fuck.

She takes it and mutters a thank you, and inside she panics while she scans the room. She can’t just stand there awkwardly sipping her coffee. Especially because she has her laptop in her other hand, and she’ll just look silly standing there with it. But she’s not about to go up to a stranger, for goodness sake.

She scowls without realizing it, and she hears a chuckle nearby. She’s about to just chug her coffee and go when she hears a voice.

“You can sit here if you want.”

Nova turns around to find who the voice belongs to, and she relaxes a bit when she notices a somewhat familiar face.

She’s seen this guy around campus a few times, although she doesn’t know his name. He’s cute. In fact, Nova would go so far as to say he’s sexy-- although he’s nothing like any of the guys she’s dated previously. She’s only seen him in passing, but he’s had a smile for her every time.

He’s got a mess of curly brown hair that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, with a long, stubborn curl resting on his forehead. He has a pair of glasses atop his head, and Nova wonders why he isn’t wearing them-- especially because he seems to be squinting at his laptop. One hand is wrapped loosely around a coffee mug, in which she spies just plain black coffee. How boring and yet incredibly intriguing.

Not to mention the deliciously thick british accent that seems fitting, somewhow, and makes Nova’s insides feel warm and fluttery.

He shoots her a friendly smile and nods his head towards the empty chair across the table from him. Right.

She sits quickly, setting down her own laptop and coffee mug and shimmying out of her coat. “Thank you,” she says. “I didn’t expect this place to be so crowded today.”

“Midterms,” he mutters dismissively, and Nova nods in agreement.

“M’Harry by the way.”

He watches her with amused eyes and it makes her feel small in the best possible way. She settles her coat on the back of her chair and grins at him. “I’m Nova.”

His eyes widen at her words. “No shit! Nova Leary?”

“The one and only.” She nods, and she doesn’t know how or why this guy knows her name. “How’d you know?”

“It’s not a very common name, for starters. But also, Mr. Shuff won’t shut up about you and how great your grades were.”

The statement alarms Nova until she realizes who he’s referring to. She furrows her eyebrows. “Rick?”

Harry snorts. “So you’re on a first name basis with the science professors then.”

Nova rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee. “No. Rick taught my favorite class last year. I asked my counselor if I could take it again because I loved it so much.”

“He says you’re the only one who aced every single one of his exams,” Harry continues. “Show off.”

Nova shrugs. “I love science.”

“Apparently so,” Harry chuckles. He takes a sip of his coffee and turns back to his laptop, and Nova thinks that the conversation is over, so she opens up her own laptop and starts logging in on the home screen.

“So, Nova huh? That’s a cool name. Very futuristic of you.”

Nova looks up then, absentmindedly tapping her nails against the keys on the laptop. “Thanks. Chose it myself.”

Harry eyes her for a moment, unsure of how exactly to read her sarcasm, and she rolls her eyes. “That was a joke.”

He smiles then, seemingly relieved, and laughs softly. “Oh. Cool. So Nova’s your real name then?”

“Yup.” She takes a sip of her coffee and considers her words carefully. She knows it’s a unique name, one that Harry’s probably never heard before. But she doesn’t know if he’s actually interested in hearing the origin story of her name, or if he’s just making polite conversation.

“Where’d it come from?”

“Hm?”

“Your name. Like, what made your parents name you that?”

Nova feels her cheeks redden, because duh. Of course that’s what he’d meant. “You’re gonna make fun of it.”

Harry smirks that damn smirk once again and his fingers trace the rim of his mug. “Try me.”

“The night that they think I was... conceived...” She says the last word softly, because damn, it feels weird to know the night you were conceived. “My parents were at a music festival. They looked up and swore that there was a supernova in the sky.”

Harry leans in, genuinely interested. “That’s sick.”

It’s Nova’s turn to smirk. “It was a music festival. In the 90s. They were on several drugs.”

“Oh.” Harry snorts at how blunt-- for lack of a better term-- she is. He takes another sip of his coffee and speaks into his mug. “I mean... you never know. There could’ve been a supernova.”

“There wasn’t.”

“And how would you know? Were you there?”

“Technically yes.” Harry nearly chokes on his drink and Nova beams. “Besides. The last supernova was in 1604.”

“Wow.” Harry finally relaxes into his chair. “Pretty and smart.”

“Comes with the name,” she says, matter-of-factly. “When you’re named after a type of star, you kind of have to know your stuff.”

“I see.” Harry smirks like he knows something that Nova doesn’t, and it intrigues her. He tugs at his bottom lip and watches her for a moment. She can feel the tips of her ears turning red, and she turns to her laptop. She hears Harry let out a soft, nasally laugh before he, too, turns back to his laptop.

She surprises herself when she speaks this time. “I like your accent.”

Harry smirks, but he doesn’t look away from his laptop. “Thanks. Chose it myself.”

Nova rolls her eyes. “What an original joke.”

Harry giggles-- actually giggles-- and it’s so endearing that Nova physically can’t stop herself from smiling. “M’from England,” Harry says. “But I moved here when I was 16.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“When my parents divorced, my mum got a job out here. And I was... I mean, ya know, I was a kid, right? So I just came with her.”

“I see.” Nova picks nervously at her thumbnail. “Sorry to hear about the divorce.”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. Still close with both of ‘em. M’glad, anyway. They drove each other fuckin’ crazy.” The way he pronounces the word “fucking” makes Nova swoon, but she refrains from telling him that.

He turns to his laptop. “Anyway,” he says again, typing away. “I like it here. A lot.”

Nova smiles, busying herself with her own work. “That’s good!”

They’re quiet after that, and Nova is actually able to go over a few pages of the notes she’d taken a week ago. She’d been studying for the past few weeks, of course, so she could recite this stuff in her sleep, but still. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

It isn’t even five minutes later, however, when he’s talking again. He’s asking her some question about Mr. Shuff-- Rick-- and his class, and next thing she knows she’s helping him with his study guide for the midterm. (The midterm she’d aced with flying colors, she reminds him several times.)

Harry is smart, despite science not being his thing. A lot of the concepts that come as second nature to her don’t quite click in his brain, but the way he talks about them, the way he asks questions, the way he perceives and listens and takes in everything she’s telling him is fascinating. (Not to mention the fact that he’s actually quite beautiful to look at.)

Nova hasn’t even noticed when an hour has passed, and she actually feels her stomach drop when Harry mutters, “Oh shit, I’ve gotta go.”

“Where?” She feels stupid for asking, but she can’t help herself.

Harry is already up and wiggling into his jacket. “I have to go to class. It starts at 3:30.”

Nova glances down at the clock on her laptop, which reads 3:25. Damn.

“Thank you so much for all the help, today, really. I feel like I kind of understand it now.”

“Anytime!” Nova says. “And you know, I’m here a lot, so. If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”

Harry shoots her a genuine smile, and she crosses her fingers (on both hands) under the table, praying that he’ll ask for her number. “Thanks,” he says, nodding. “I’ll see you around, Nova.”

And then he’s gone, and the shop already seems less bright. (A terrible metaphor but an accurate one nonetheless.)

Nova stares dumbly at the empty chair in front of her, and she lets out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. Looking back, she probably could’ve asked him for his number instead of hoping he’d ask her for hers. But still. Ouch.

Her laptop has gone into sleep mode and she wiggles her fingers against the mousepad to “wake it back up.” She’s hardly even glanced at her notes this entire time, and she doesn’t even care. She’d gotten to talk about something she loved with one of the most attractive guys she’d seen in AGES... and she had gotten no way of contacting him again.

She reaches for the coffee mug, which has been untouched for the last hour, and frowns when she realizes that the decent amount of coffee she had left is now cold. So she sighs, drinking it down anyway and then closing her laptop. She can do the rest of her studying at home, where she can maybe distract herself a bit and not think about those enormous, beautiful green eyes...

She stands then, slipping into her jacket and dropping her used mug off at the counter. (She knows she could just leave it on the table and someone would come clean it, but having worked as a waitress all through high school, she knows the drill too well and figures she’ll just make everyone’s lives that much easier by doing this.)

With one last nod and a mumbled, “thank you” to the barista, Nova straightens her jacket and heads out the door.

It’s two nights later, and Nova is impatient.

It’s a Saturday night, 9 business days since she’d ordered her package. And still, no sign of it.

Who is she supposed to call about this? She considers looking up the number for customer service on the website she’d ordered from, but then what would she say? “Hi this is Nova Leary calling, is this dildo support?”

There’s a reason she’s never done anything like this before, and this is it.

She groans, flipping upside down on the couch so that her head hangs off of the edge of it. She opens up her Instagram once more and goes to the search section. In her recent search history are several different variations of usernames containing the name “Harry,” and each time she’d clicked on one to find it wasn’t Coffee Shop Harry, she cursed herself for not asking for his last name.

It isn’t that she’s trying to stalk him, by any means. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. She just wants to see how he’s doing. See if he’s taken Rick’s test yet and how he feels about it. But she cannot find him anywhere, and she’s beginning to think that maybe its not meant to be.

She hears a knock on the door and groans. She expects it to be Jessie, because most of the time when Jessie leaves, she forgets her keys. (Although Nova doesn’t know why she didn’t just put her house key on the same keyring as her car keys. It’s such a simple solution.)

Nova rolls backwards off the couch and shuffles to the door. She expects to see Jessie, already kicking off her heels and holding her phone in her hand, with her mouth running a mile a minute telling Nova about tonight’s plans and how Nova should totally join her “just this once girl, pleeeease?” She expects to turn Jessie down, and she expects Jessie to ask her to curl her hair because “I can’t do it like you, kid!”

What Nova does not expect when she opens the door is Harry-- Coffee Shop Harry- standing in the hallway and holding a white box with that god-awful smirk.

“Well well well. If it isn’t the supernova herself.”

She rolls her eyes but she does smile. “Hi.” She can’t even begin to explain whats happening in her chest right now. He looks even better than he did at the coffee shop, if that’s even possible, Good lord.

“Where’ve you been? Feels like I haven’t seen you since 1604.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans, then nods at the box. “What are you doing here? How’d you know I lived here?”

“Well, turns out this campus is a lot smaller than you’d think. I live there,” he nods his head towards the next door over, “And this...” He takes a deep breath and his cheeks redden the tiniest bit when he holds the box out to her. “This was delivered to my place.”

It takes Nova a moment to register what he’s holding, and when she does, she gasps.

“Oh... oh my god...”

“Yeah... erm...” Harry shrugs awkwardly. “I was going to just leave it there and hope you realized but I figured...” The tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth once again, but he covers it and lowers his voice. “Figured you’d maybe want whatever’s inside of here.”

Mortified, Nova gulps and shakes her head. Promised Discreet Packaging, her ass.

Her fingers feel awkward and cold, but her face is hot and overall this feels like she’s experiencing the most intense out-of-body experience in her entire life. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, and thinks that maybe this is it-- maybe she’s dying. What she can feel of her body feels like its vibrating at a frequency unheard of by humans and most animals. When was the last known case of spontaneous human combustion? Is that what she’s feeling now? Should Harry get out of the way?

Harry clears his throat, drawing her from her thoughts and sending another heat wave up to her ears. “Uh...” she chokes. “Well... I... thanks.” She takes the box from his hands in what can only be described as slow motion, despite her best efforts to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

Harry hands over the box and his hands feel warm too. Possibly a little clammy. Or maybe those are hers. “Sure, yeah. Have a good night.”

Nova closes her eyes and wills them to never open, and Harry lets out a little “Ha-haa!” that crescendos in the most awkward and unnatural way. “No, that wasn’t... I didn’t mean... because of the...” He nods his head towards the box that feels like its going to melt out of her hand’s at any moment.

“Yeah,” she nods, willing him to please, for fucks sake, shut up before he finishes that sentence. “Uh. You too. Have a... good night.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them makes any type of effort to pick up their feet and move, although for what reason, Nova isn’t sure. Especially because neither of them will look at the other. And Nova wants more than anything to just close the door and evaporate into nothingness but her feet seem to be glued to the carpet.

Of all people who could’ve been her neighbor.

Harry clears his throat once more for what feels like the 80th time that night. “Right.” He nods his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, turning on his heels to head back to his own apartment.

(But not before Nova notices how beyond red his ears are.)

Nova closes her mouth after realizing that a) its been open this entire time, and b) she’s been watching Harry until he disappeared into his own apartment, and she comes back to reality slowly.

Fuck.

When she’s back inside the safety of her own apartment, she sinks down against the door. She allows the box to drop out of her hands and land with a soft thud on the carpet while she hides her face. Why did it have to be Coffee Shop Harry? Why did it have to be a fucking vibrator?

Why did this have to happen to her?

She wants to scream, but that, of course, would do her no favors. So she groans, long and loud until she runs out of breath. How is she going to be able to face this? She won’t be able to use this now, knowing that Harry knows about it. There’s no way she’ll be able to use it.

Except, that is a complete lie.

Four hours later, after Jessie has texted her and told her she’s going to be spending the night at Brad’s, Nova eyes the box that is now sitting in the corner of the living room. It’s remained untouched since she’d gotten it, but she’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t been thinking about it. How deliciously teasing it must be on its lowest setting, and how torturously good it must feel on its highest one. She’d also be lying if she said she hadn’t been practically aching to know what it would look like, covered in her wetness, when she pulled it out from between her thighs.

And, to be frank, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been imagining what Harry would look like from down there, holding the vibrator firm between her legs, and watching her come undone with lust in his eyes.

She doesn’t know why she has that thought, and it makes her cheeks turn pink and hot but she can’t even help it. He’s been on her mind since the afternoon at the coffee shop, and now that she knows that he lives right next door, her thoughts are running even more wild than before.

And so she gives in.

Soon, Nova finds herself half sitting, half laying on her bed, knees curled up and naked from the waist down. She eyes the contraption in her hands and lets out a shaky breath. She doesn’t need instructions on how to use this or anything, but goodness, its so intimidating in her hands that she can’t help but feel a little lost.

But she knows what to do. And she needs to stop putting it off.

She clears her throat and sits up a bit more, and with her thumb she flips the switch of the vibrator to the lowest setting. It hums to life, and her eyes widen just a fraction.

Holy shit.

Even on the lowest setting, its powerful. Her hand thats holding the toy is buzzing, and her mouth practically waters. She needs to get this on her right now.

She’s still nervous, and she lowers it down between her legs. Slowly, so as to build up the anticipation. She thinks she knows what it’s going to feel like, but she doesn’t fully know. What if she doesn’t like it?

And then she feels it. Even on its lowest setting, it sends a tingle up her spine almost instantly. Her jaw drops and she can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips. Her knee-jerk reaction is to pull it away, and she sits there for a moment, taking it all in.

She definitely likes it.

She presses the tip against her clit again almost hungrily and allows her head to fall back against the wall. Her eyes flutter closed as she sighs out a quiet “Ohhh.” It feels so good, especially when she adds a bit of pressure. Fuck, why did she wait so long to purchase one of these?

She uses her thumb to increase the speed and groans the minute she hears the buzzing getting louder. She tilts the vibrator to hit her clit from an angle and lets out a half moan, half gasp noise that she knows she’s never made before. With a giggle, she thanks her lucky stars that Jessie isn’t home tonight and she can be as loud as she wants. Because, oh god, does she want to be loud.

She swirls the vibrator against her clit with a little flick of her wrist, and moans loudly just because she can. It feels good, and its even better knowing that she doesn’t have to suppress that feeling for anyone. Although truthfully, she’s not even sure she could suppress it if she wanted to. Not with how good this thing feels.

She allows herself to fall into a steady rhythm of rocking her hips against the top, and she’s nearly drooling. Every now and then she hits a certain spot that makes her toes curl and her breath hitch and she makes a note to focus more on that spot. She revels in how good she’s feeling, and her mind begins to drift.

It starts small. She thinks about how she wants to do this every night. About what a shame it is that she’s missed out on making herself feel this good for so long. About how she doesn’t need a partner to make herself feel good, and how wonderful that is.

But then, she thinks about having a partner. Someone to hold this against her while they kiss her neck or lick into her mouth. Someone with long fingers that could curl up inside her while they use their other hand to continuously roll this against her clit. Someone with a deep voice, so that the words “You like this, baby? Hm? Feel good?” sound like honey dripping off their lips. Someone with shaggy hair, green eyes, a thick british accent...

Fuck, she’s thinking about Harry.

Her legs kick out and her back arches just a bit when she hits another particularly good spot, and without even giving it a second thought, she turns up the speed. She lets out a long, loud moan and involuntarily bucks her hips up against the vibrator. Her head hits the wall once more with an embarrassingly loud thud, but she doesn’t even care. She can’t be bothered to even begin to care; not when this feels so good and her mind is completely engrossed with thoughts of Harry.

She imagines what he would look like down between her legs, eyes trained on her face and bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Her cheeks turn red when she allows herself to whisper his name softly under her breath, but it feels so good. She starts to do it again, but cuts herself off when she hits her clit from a different angle.

Her whispers turn into a moan that almost sounds like a shout, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in how good she’s feeling, she’d be worried about the fact that the tail end of Harry’s name was completely audible. But how can she even think about that when she can hardly even think at all? That familiar tingle in her belly is beginning to blossom, and all she can focus on is getting there.

And so she bucks her hips with a bit more aggression this time, and completely releases any and all inhibitions. A chorus of “fuckfuckfuck” and “shit oh my god” and “yes holy shit yes!” pours from her mouth and echos off the walls of her all too quiet apartment. She doesn’t even have time to make the conscious decision to allow herself to cum, and its almost ridiculous how quickly she’s reached her orgasm. Especially considering how all she’s done with it is rub at her clit. Her free hand grasps and tugs at the comforter of her bed, and her bottom lip stings because of how strongly it’s wedged between her teeth. This is hands down the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced, and she didn’t even have time to insert the thing inside of her or switch to the highest setting.

She is loving every single second of it.

When the feeling passes, Nova is left completely breathless. She flicks the vibrator off and drops it onto the bed beside her, and then she just stares.

Fucking hell.

She gives herself time to catch her breath, and it feels almost like a struggle to keep her eyes open. It’s the loveliest, most intense thing she’s experienced in a while, and she feels herself slowly returning back to earth, one shaky breath at a time.

When she straightens out her legs, her thighs twitch repeatedly-- almost like aftershocks. Is that supposed to happen? She doesn’t know, but right now, she’s too tired to be worried about it. With a stretch, she curls and uncurls her toes, allowing them to crack and pop. It feels surprisingly good, because she hadn’t realized how hard she’d been curling her toes the entire time.

And in the midst of it all, her thoughts drift back to Harry. She thinks of how kind he must be during the aftershocks. How smug he’d be that he’d made her feel so good. And how hard his cock would be... how delicious it would taste...

Nova swallows when she realizes that she’s salivating at the thought of him, and she feels her cheeks grow hot once more. Another twitch of her thighs snaps her back to reality.

She can’t be fantasizing about him like this. Absolutely not. He’s her neighbor, and she’s only had one conversation with him. (Two, if she considers the one she’d had with him earlier. Which, she doesn’t.)

So why on earth is the thought of him using this vibrator on her so sexy, and why had it brought her to orgasm in under five minutes?

Suddenly, Nova feels embarrassed. Even more embarrassed than before. Which is stupid, because she knows she’s alone in the apartment and has nothing to hide. But still, she feels so vulnerable. Exposed. Naked.

Which reminds her that she is, in fact, naked from the waist down.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. She rolls off of her bed and her knees wobble ever so slightly once she puts weight on them. She tries not to think about her twitching thighs and how wet she feels. And most importantly, she tries not to think about Harry anymore.

Although she’s almost positive that he’d take care of her in these intimate moments after the intensity passed. He’d probably get her a clean pair of underwear and one of his hoodies, which would smell like him, and he’d probably help her clean herself off. Not to mention, of course, how good he’d probably smell....

Shut up, Nova.

She shakes her head and retrieves a pair of pink cotton panties from her top drawer. Nowhere near sexy, but they’re comfortable and that’s what she needs right now.

She bets Harry would love them.

With a groan she gathers up her PJs, as well as the vibrator, and heads into the bathroom. Her face feels hot the entire time she’s washing off the tip of the toy with a damp cloth. (Is that what you’re supposed to do? She’d read online that she needed to keep the vibrator clean, but is this correct? Why does this shit confuse her so much?)

Fifteen minutes later, Nova is in bed and the vibrator is stored safely and discreetly in her closet. She still feels awkward and giddy, like a little kid almost, and her thighs continue to buzz every so often with another little aftershock.

She’s fading fast, and its hard to even focus her mind right now. But what she does focus on is the one person who’s been her driving force behind nearly everything for the past hour or so.

She hugs her pillow closer and allows herself to imagine its him. Imagining the scent of his bare chest, the warmth of his skin, and the gentle thumping of his heartbeat. She imagines his fingers in her hair, trailing lightly down her back, and his thick accent humming and muttering her praises in her ear. “Such a good girl for me.” “Rode that so well.” “Look so pretty when you cum.”

Nova knows she’ll have to deal with this in the morning, of course. Or rather, not deal with it at all. She knows she’ll eventually see Harry again, and she knows herself well enough to know she will probably never make eye contact with him after tonights incident. (She has the fleeting, sleepy thought that tonight could be referred to as The Great Dildo Incident and it makes her giggle so hard that she starts coughing.)

For now, though, she’s happy. And warm. And sincerely exhausted after fucking herself to the thought of her cute british neighbor.

And so for now, that is enough.

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