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#crudely cuts her hair short as to not be bothered by it when working
venusvity · 2 years
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정윤아 … …  (  VENI, VIDI, VICI.  )
You wouldn't leave till we loved in the morning. You'd learned from movies how love ought to be and you'd say you love me and look in my eyes, but I know through mine you were looking in yours.
CHARACTERS :  JUNG YOONAH  . . .  SON JINHWA  
WORDS : 3.2k
WARNINGS / NOTES : Mental break downs. She cuts her hair off aggressively idk. Depression. Low self esteem. She’s mentally ill. Smut. Age gaps ( 23 + 38 ). Boss and employee relationships. It’s not too heavy of a piece so just read with caution !
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Yoonah sniffles as she leans over the sink, hands holding tightly to the edge. She doesn’t know why she’s crying, when she started crying, or when she’ll stop crying all she knows is that she’s crying and it won’t stop.
There’s this unbearable weight on her chest, on her shoulders, on her back––Everywhere. Everywhere is heavy. It’s such a numbing weight that feels like her body is caving in on itself, muscles collapsing, bones breaking, and organs spilling out of her. She’s disintegrating right in front of the mirror.
Yoonah shuts her eyes tightly, a pathetic sob leaving her lips as she hangs her head. Her tears drip into the sink. She wonders if she can fill the sink with how hard she’s crying. That’d be so funny, she thinks as she lifts her head to look into the mirror, staring at her reflection with wide wet eyes.
Her long dark hair is cascading over her shoulders, hanging in front of her face, framing it in a way that others have said is beautiful. She doesn’t feel beautiful, she feels like a monster. An unlovable monster with a pretty face that doesn’t even feel pretty anymore. Her face feels like a messy conglomeration of broken glass doll faces, each broken piece belonging to a different doll, being glued together crudely to create her face. 
She hates it. She hates everything about her reflection.
With quick moving hands, she opens the cabinet behind the mirror, grabbing the pair of scissors Chloe keeps in there for her bangs. With a rushed shut of the cabinet, she’s back facing herself, pulling her hair down harshly and bringing the scissors to them, cutting without a second thought.
She keeps cutting and cutting and cutting until her hair rest just slightly below her jaw, a dark puddle of hair around her feet and decorating the sink. Her crying has stopped, only sparse sniffles leaving her lips as she stares at the unrecognizable face in the mirror, blinking a few times.
She’s looking at a stranger. Her fingers rake through her short locks, taking a deep breath at the way the hair ends a lot sooner than she plans it to. It’s oddly freeing, making her feel a thousand times lighter. Yoonah slowly smiles at herself, dropping the scissors into the sink to wipe her eyes with her shaky fingertips.
Her hands take her cheeks into her palms, squeezing her cheeks together before pulling the skin to the side, eyes watering once again as she rubs her face, pressing hard and dragging her skin in various directions as if to remold her face into a new one. When it doesn’t work, he hands drop back onto the sink, full lips forming a tight line.
Yoonah runs her hands through her hair again as she slowly pushes herself away from the sink, turning towards the door. She doesn’t bother cleaning up the floor or the sink, she leaves the bathroom a mess, knowing Chloe will clean it because that’s what Chloe does best.
“Oh,” is the first thing she hears when she steps out of the bathroom, causing her to look up and her eyes to narrow. It’s just Aki, so Yoonah doesn’t pay her much attention. Even when she begins to ask if she’s okay, Yoonah just brushes past her and into her room, shutting the door behind her with a slam that echoes through the dorm.
She’s in the stylist’s chair the next morning, Jinhwa standing beside her with crossed arms, displeased.
“What is your problem?” Jinhwa asks, clearly annoyed with this stunt. Yoonah looks at him through the mirror, eyes tired and bloodshot. There’s silent contempt in her usually soft eyes, it makes his jaw tighten.
“You.” She deadpans. The stylist stops working for a second, stunned by her cold response before beginning to run her fingers through Yoonah’s freshly styled hair.
Jinhwa inhales sharply, snapping his fingers at the stylist. She looks up with big eyes, following his silent command that she leave, putting her styling tools on the table and rushing out.
Yoonah swallows, looking down at the ground as she feels his hands rest heavy on her shoulders. She swallows, putting her hands in her lap and keeping her gaze on the floor. She doesn’t know what Jinhwa is going to do next, he’s just watching her through the mirror, squeezing her tiny shoulders.
“I do so much for you, Yoonah,” Jinhwa starts, causing her to roll her eyes already. When she does his grip on her shoulders tightens. She doesn’t care. “I take such good care of you. I always have, haven’t I?”
Yoonah swallows, nodding slowly as she looks up to look at his face. Her eyes wide yet unreadable.
“And you still act like this…I don’t get it,” He sounds so sad when he asks her that, making her chest ache. She bites the inside of her cheek, feeling his hands lift from her shoulders and begin to run through her straight short hair.
“I don’t either,” She says honestly, letting their eyes lock through the mirror. She feels heat flash behind her eyes and bottom lip quiver. “I get so overwhelmed with all these emotions I don’t understand and-and,” her hands move in the air as if she’s trying to grab onto the words so she can say them, “And I do things I wouldn’t normally do. It’s so scary,” She tries to explain, sniffling quietly as she looks down again, pressing the heel of her palm against the waterline of her eyes.
Jinhwa gives her a sympathetic look, walking around so he’s in front of her, kneeling down to be at her level. His hands rest on her knees, rubbing the flesh softly with his thumbs. His eyes study her outfit, the simple black slip with white lace trimming. It’s just a bit too nice looking to be considered casual, but not enough of her is covered to be considered classy. 
Jinhwa likes it though, he likes everything she wears. He’s always thought Yoonah was beautiful, still is beautiful, he could stare at her for hours if she let him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Yoonah whispers, reaching out with one hand and resting on his shoulder, holding tightly onto his shirt as she wipes her eyes with the other hand. 
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Yoonah,” Jinhwa whispers, lifting his hands up to take her face into his and wipe her tears with his thumbs. Yoonah leans in his touch, taking his face into her hands. “I always said I would take care of you,” He pulls her face forward, pressing their foreheads together. Yoonah swallows at their closeness, breathing slowing down at the way their noses brush together.
They’re so close. It makes Yoonah’s heart beat faster, tilting her head slowly.
“I love you, Yoonah,” He tells her honestly, making her smile with watery eyes, laughing softly with a nod. “You have to let me help you.”
“I love you too, Jinhwa,” She says without hesitation, meaning each word. She loves Jinhwa, always has and could say it with ease. There’s always been love between them. Yoonah believes their souls are intertwined, tied together with a thick red string that keeps them together. Jinhwa gently tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling fondly at her features.
“Gonna miss the long hair though,” He teases, causing her to laugh, looking away from him with a shake of her head. Jinhwa smiles at her, leaning in and kissing her cheek, causing Yoonah to blush.
She can’t remember the last time she’s actually blushed because of a man, turning her head back towards him with wide eyes, blinking in shock at him before her eyes flicker to his lips then back up at him.
It feels weirdly right like this was supposed to be happening and they were meant to be where they are right now. Her heart starts beating faster as she leans closer. Jinhwa feels like the apple she shouldn’t take a bite of, the forbidden fruit she should stay away from but he’s so tempting she can’t help it.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Yoonah?” Jinhwa asks, hand resting on the back of her neck. She nods quickly, not even hesitating. Her eagerness makes Jinhwa smile, humming softly as his thumb strokes her jawline. 
“Can you say it?” Jinhwa purrs, holding her by her chin as his lips hover just barely over hers. “I want to hear you say it.”
Yoonah practically melts on the spot.
“I want you to kiss me,” Her voice is quiet, pitching at the end of the plea, holding a bit tighter onto his shirt, hoping to pull him in. Jinhwa groans quietly, leaning in and colliding their lips in a deep kiss that’s been years in the making.
Yoonah moans against the man’s mouth, taking his face into her hands to keep him close. Her lips move feverishly against his, desperate for more at just the smallest taste. Her whole body is so warm, slowly growing hotter and hotter the more her hands explore wherever they can reach. Jinhwa pulls away with a smack, hand still holding onto her jaw to keep her looking at him.
It’s not like she needs the guidance. Her eyes always go to Jinhwa no matter where they were, no matter who’s in the room, and she knows he does the same. It makes her smile, staring into his eyes with heavy lidded ones. His hands slide down her neck and shoulders to her waist, causing goosebumps to cover her body, making her bite her bottom lip when the tips of his fingers graze over her thighs.
“I’ve always wanted to touch you like this,” He whispers, kissing her lips softly again as his fingers wrap around her thigh, squeezing the flesh softly before pushing them apart. She easily complies, letting her legs part slowly for the man, moving towards the edge of the seat so he could touch her more. 
She wants more. She wants to be touched. She wants to be loved.
“You always could’ve,” Yoonah whispers, letting him pull her panties down and off. Their foreheads press together, she can feel his breath on her lips as their noses bump together. “I would’ve let you.”
“You weren’t ready,” His fingers slide between her legs, finally, making her release a shaky sigh, eyes shutting in bliss at just the softest touch. His digits slowly sink into her, her hands digging into his biceps as a small moan is pushed out of her.
She wants to argue, tell him she’s always been ready, but nothing can come out of her mouth except small moans. It feels like she’s watching a fantasy of her’s play out not actually living it. Her brain lit alight by something she’s wanted for so long finally happening.
“Gonna let me eat your pussy? Hm?” Jinhwa coos as his fingers fucking into her faster. The wet sounds that come from between her legs borders on humiliating, making her cheek bright red. She can’t remember the last time she’s gotten this wet this fast, it borders on embarrassing but she doesn’t care. Jinhwa loves her, he’d never judge her.
“Mmm, I know you taste so good,” He groans, leaning in and colliding their lips in a messy and uncoordinated kiss. His fingers curl inside her, making her gasp against his lips, digging her nails into his arms.
“Need it. Need you,” She pleads against his lips, tugging on his shirt to show how desperate she is. She wants him to know how desperate she is, how badly she needs him, how badly she wants him. 
Jinhwa slowly drags his fingers from her heat, rubbing a few small circles on her clit just to watch her body stutter and her eyes flutter shut. She’s such a sight to see, beautiful as ever as she keeps her legs spread wide as she sits on the edge of her seat, hips hanging off and silk slip bunched over her hips. It’s a sight that will forever be burned in his mind.
Yoonah takes a sharp breath when the cold air from the air condition hits her wetness, making her eyes fall down on the man in front of her, her finger slipping in her mouth. She wants herself occupied in some way, biting the tip of the digit with a small whimper. 
Her other hand grips her bunched up dress tightly when she sees the man’s dark gaze, stomach knotting in anticipation.
“So pretty, baby,” Jinhwa gushes, leaning in to kiss the top of her thigh before kissing the inside of muscle, lips pressing firmly to the soft skin. “Everything about you is just so pretty, hm?” he nips gently at the skin he just kissed as he places her legs over his shoulders. 
Yoonah feels like her body is on fire, filled with a light she hasn’t felt in months. It makes her arch against the seat subtly, taking a deep breath as her hand falls from her mouth to run through his black hair.
As if both their patience ran out simultaneously, Jinhwa licks a stripe up the length of her heat. Yoonah juts forward at the feeling, whimpering helplessly at the sensation as Jinhwa groans at the taste, licking another stripe up eagerly. “Such a sweet little cunt,” he mumbles, voice gruff, repeating the action again, holding Yoonah’s thighs to hopefully still her so he can work with ease.
The feeling is one Yoonah knows she’ll never find words to explain, pleasuring slithering up her body and straight into her brain. Her head falls back against the leather, swallowing thickly as her eyes fall down to watch him in awe, panting quietly before a high moan spills out of her when the tip of his tongue under the bud, rolling it around.
“Oh my god,” Yoonah gasps, eyes shut tightly as her thighs immediately squeeze around Jinhwa’s head but his hands are quick and hold them open, continuing to work his tongue against the bundle of nerves until Yoonah dissolves into a squirming and whimpering mess.
“I–I–Fuck, it feels so good,” Yoonah whines as one of her hands tangle into Jinhwa’s hair tightly, things trembling under his grasp when he moans against her. He’s sloppy with his tongue, rubbing messy circles into the swollen bud. 
It feels like decades since someone cared about her pleasure like this which only makes her brain become more useless, not a single coherent word stumbling from her lips. The only thing she can focus on is the warmth of Jinhwa’s tongue working against her clit like his purpose in life is to make her feel good.
“Oh my god, I love you so much,” Yoonah pants, head falling back to hit the chair as her hips roll against his face. Any thought that runs through her head comes out her mouth at this moment all Yoonah can think about is how much she loves Jinhwa and how good he makes her feel. 
Jinhwa licks at Yoonah’s pussy like he’s starved, leaving her nerves shot and stomach knotting tightly. All Yoonah can feel is the heat spreading throughout her body, lips parted and nothing but whines and short breaths leave her lips.
A loud moan is punched out of Yoonah when she feels his tongue drag down and pushes inside her. She slaps a hand over her mouth as if it’d make a difference now. Anyone who walked past the room they locked themselves in knew what was happening in there.
“So good, so, so, so good,” Yoonah gasps, licking her lips as her eyes flutter shut, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please keep going–” 
Yoonah can feel herself beginning to come undone, palm pressing harder against her mouth to try and silence herself but it’s a futile effort. Her volume gets louder and louder the longer she teeters on the edge before finally a squeal leaves her lips, muffled by her hand, falling over the edge. Her back arches  as her hips jerk against Jinhwa’s tongue desperately, fingers tightly so tight onto his strands, he groans at the burn of his scalp.
Yoonah’s body shakes against his mouth as her orgasm rolls through her, body vibrating and feeling like she’s on fire in the best way. A brutal wave of euphoria runs rampant through her entire body to the point where tears spring to her eyes and her hips twitch as rides her orgasm out against Jinhwa’s skilled tongue. 
It gets too much almost too fast, causing Yoonah to push Jinhwa’s head back with a whine. She hates being overstimulated, unable to handle it without crying. She doesn’t want to do that with Jinhwa, not now anyway. She pants softly as Jinhwa pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still on his knees for her.
“You feel good?” He asks as if it isn't obvious, making her laugh softly, shaking her head slowly, smiling.
“Yeah,” She nods, “Yeah, you could say that.”
He’s laughing now too, pushing himself to stand up. Yoonah’s heavy eyes look the man over, landing on the outline of his hard cock through his pants. Her eyes look up at his face, smiling coyly at him as she pushes herself up and reaching for the bulge but he shakes his head, taking her hand into his.
“No, no, it’s okay.”
Yoonah blinks up at him, confused.
“You’re hard,” She states, “I can make you cum. You deserve it.”
He shakes his head, bringing her hand to his wet lips, pressing them to her knuckles.
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. This was about you,” Her eyes watch his lips in slight confusion, never hearing something like this from a man before. Yoonah’s brows knit, looking at the bulge in his pants then up at his face again.
“Are you…Are you sure?” Yoonah can’t remember the last time she didn’t make a man cum let alone the last time a man didn’t let her make him cum. Jinhwa nods, patting her dress down for her. She swallows, watching him lift his hand and brush her hair back. It’s soft and gentle, it makes her heart skip a beat.
“Next time,” Jinhwa promises, his hand taking her cheek into his palm, smiling softly at her when their gazes meet. 
“Next time?” She wonders, tilting her head into the older man’s hand. He nods, still smiling at her, stroking her skin with his thumb.
“Yeah, next time,” Jinhwa raises his brows, “Only if you want a next time, of course.”
A future with Jinhwa flashes through her head, stability looks just in reach. It makes her smile, nodding quickly.
“I would love a next time.”
46 notes · View notes
masks-n-steel · 3 years
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What would the female version of Jason, Brahms and Michael be like?
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I’d imagine Jason would be a cottagecore homebody. Just soft and just a tad corny. Although she’d prefer to stick to the camp she’d tag along with you on your errands just as an excuse to spend more time with you
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shorkbrian · 3 years
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I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3
but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.
Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.
Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.
-----
You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.
“Are you alright?”
A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”
He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”
And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.
‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.
“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.
“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.
“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”
The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.
It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.
You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.
And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.
“You haven’t eaten?”
You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”
“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 
“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.
But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”
You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.
“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”
So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.
You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.
“How does everything taste?”
“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.
Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.
Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.
He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.
When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”
“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”
Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”
-----
The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.
Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”
You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”
It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.
“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.
“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”
“Why?”
“Why me.” 
“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”
You contemplate his answer for a moment. 
“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”
The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”
“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.
“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”
Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”
“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”
This is crazy.
And yet you accept.
The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.
Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 
-----
Months pass by.
You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.
Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.
You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.
Life is good.
Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.
The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.
And you’re more than happy to be that.
You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.
Until he starts acting weird.
“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”
“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.
“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”
He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.
So you move in.
“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 
Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.
It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.
“Oh, you really don’t ha-”
“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.
All you can do is stare at the back of his head.
“Could you pass me a spoon please?”
-----
Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 
At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 
Weird.
Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.
You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.
Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?
The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.
The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.
Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.
He seemed to notice.
“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.
“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.
Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.
You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 
But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.
He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”
You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.
Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.
“Too sweet?’
The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.
You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.
“You’re distancing yourself from me.”
The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.
He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”
The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.
“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.
But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.
Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.
“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”
Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.
Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.
“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”
Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”
Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 
“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”
You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”
“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”
Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”
A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”
The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.
“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”
You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.
-----
The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.
“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.
Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.
Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.
The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.
When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.
Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.
Someone was kissing you.
With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.
Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.
Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.
Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?
You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.
This wasn’t right.
Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.
“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.
His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 
Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.
Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.
You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.
“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”
“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.
“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.
“Wait-”
You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.
“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”
“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.
“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.
Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”
You couldn’t believe your ears.
“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 
You couldn’t believe how he was acting.
“Be nice.”
Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.
Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.
Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.
You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.
But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 
“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much
You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.
“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”
His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.
“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 
You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.
The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.
He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.
(You didn’t know, but neither could he)
“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”
You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.
But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.
It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.
“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”
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sinner-as-saint · 4 years
Text
My Favorite Kind Of Night - 4.
Camboy!Bucky x CEO!Reader
Part 4 of this series
Run-through: On Friday nights, you are punctual to your virtual meet-up with your favorite camboy over a streaming platform, for your private stream session. You’ve known him for a couple of months now. He goes by the alias of ‘Winter Soldier’ on the platform, which is perfect for the kind of man he is; brawny and drop dead gorgeous. Over the past few months, he has become your favorite kind of night. And secretly, you became his as well. You two get closer over time, and things get interesting when your real, professional lives gets intertwined.
Themes throughout the series: sex worker!bucky, smut, phone sex, fluff, language, dirty talk
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Sunday morning, Bucky received not so great news.
“Hi James. Uh… I hate to do this but we’re gonna have to reschedule that date. I completely forgot that I have to leave on a short business trip on tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. And I’ll be back by Wednesday. I’m sorry, it just completely slipped my mind and I blame you for that,” you chuckled. “But um, yeah I’ll make up for it when I get back, I promise. Bye, see you on Wednesday morning. Take care.” You quickly added, “And do miss me, will you?”
Bucky listened to the voicemail when he got back from the gym on Sunday morning, and lifted his head to glance at the clock. It read 11:39.
Well, you must be on your flight already. He had a slight frown on his face, he was so excited for your date tonight, but it seemed that he would have to wait a couple more days now. He quickly sent you a text saying it’s alright and he’ll definitely miss you.
Thing is, he just really wanted to make this work between the two of you. And for that, he wanted to be completely and utterly honest about the whole cam thing. Speaking of which, he thought of his favorite girl. And grabbed his personal phone and sent her a text as well.
You reply didn’t come right away, and he wasn’t bothered by it mainly because he was already thinking of ways how he could make this upcoming date with his boss lady extra special now that he had more days to plan for it.
-
You checked both your phones when you landed. James had texted you on your ‘work’ phone and Bucky on the other. You read both messages one after the other.
James: That’s alright, just come back quickly. And yes, I will miss you, boss.
Bucky: I still owe you a private sesh, no? Let’s do that soon.
You smiled at both texts, replied and went about your packed day.
A conference, a couple of meetings, countless emails and phone calls later; you were a finally free late on Monday night. Your flight back home was schedule at noon on Tuesday so you had quite some time to yourself. You were wide awake at almost midnight and you had nothing to do in your hotel room. You wanted to text or call James but you figured he must be sleeping at this hour.
So you decided to reach out to Bucky. After all, you two did decide to make up for that one session you missed. And he was up for it. And a few minutes later, he was livestreaming and your phone rang. You answered with a smirk and watched him smirk back at you through your screen. Half of his face was covered as usual.
“Hi soldier.” You chirped.
“Hi babygirl.” His reply came through both your computer and your phone. He inched closer to the camera, “Missed me?” he asked. You felt the same tingles at the sound of his words. You put your phone on loud and settled in your comfy bed.
“I did,” you responded. You did miss him to some extent. But not quite like how you missed James. “You have quite a lot to make up for.”
He chuckled, and yet again you tried to ignore how dangerously familiar that laugh of his sounded. “Yeah? Bet you’ve been desperate and needy for me since we missed our last session, huh?” he spoke and stood up to gently lower his sweatpants. So seductively, you almost choked on your own spit. You wondered for a split second, would James ever be that filthy in bed?
“Hmm,” you hummed. “I have.” You said, lying a little because that night you spent with James satisfied you completely. You shook your head slightly and cleared your head. Don’t think about James right now.
“Well then what are we waiting for, babygirl?”
Fuck…
 You were leaning against the headboard, clothes thrown on the floor, your phone right beside you; one hand pinching and twisting your nipple while the other toyed with your clit. Bucky had been edging you for the past few minutes and it was absolute torture. But you couldn’t complain, not when he looked like that.
Naked and sat in his seat with his legs spread apart, his cock in his hand and a vibrator wand moving up and down his length. He moaned and grunted through the screen as well as through the call. You were surrounded by the sinful sounds he made and you shamelessly liked it.
You whined, unable to take it anymore. “Buck… please.” You begged.
He chuckled. “So needy,” he whispered. “Okay babygirl, touch yourself for me. Fill your little cunt with those pretty fingers.” He spoke and stroked himself and moaned wantonly. Oh he was so sensitive as well. “I want you knuckles deep inside yourself while you think about what it would be like to be filled with my big cock.”
You shivered at his words and pushed two of your fingers deep within you. You were dripping, and he could almost hear how wet you were. He growled and stroked himself gently.
“Fuck… I can hear you fucking that wet little cunt, babygirl.” His crude words made you clench around your own fingers. You gasped and kept your eyes focused on him on your screen. “Wish I was there to fill it up.”
Bucky heard the notifications go off multiple times, signaling that he was being tipped generously. 
You whimpered as your fingers moved in and out of you rapidly, your arousal trickling out of you and smearing all over your inner thighs. Bucky kept talking, making you feel more and more lightheaded. “I bet your cunt tastes so sweet, doesn’t it babygirl?” Bucky’s voice was barely above a whisper, so low that your stomach flipped.
You moaned out loud and gasped as your fingers brushed against a sensitive spot inside you. Oh… all you could think about was how deliciously James’ cock had stretched you out multiple times the night you had sex. How thick and big he felt inside you.
“Please…” you begged, fearing that you might blurt out James’ name.
Bucky chuckled, then moaned as he stroked himself faster and pressed the vibrator to the tip of his leaking cock. “Yeah? You wanna cum for me, doll?” he scoffed, and groaned. “Not yet… not yet babygirl. Keep fucking yourself with those pretty fingers, let me hear you moan.”
You whimpered and sped up. Your body was damp and your mind was foggy and the only things you could focus on was your pressing need to orgasm, and James. You whined and begged. “Please… please,” you managed to keep your eyes on him. And how hot he looked when he just touched himself like that… all for you. Would James ever do the same?
“Fuck…” Bucky growled. “I wish I was inside you, babygirl. Deep inside you…” he groaned and pumped himself faster. “Feeling your walls clench around my cock, milking me… gripping me,” he grunted and you let out a loud moan; upon hearing which he cursed under his breath.
“You’d be so good to me, isn’t that right babygirl?” he spoke and it took you a moment to register his words because your mind was foggy and all your senses could focus on was the hot, burning need to come undone.
“Bucky… I’m-,” you cut yourself off by moaning wantonly. You were so close… so close.
“Faster, doll.” His deep voice rang in your ears and you obeyed. You fucked yourself faster. You gasped and thrashed around; moaning loudly, unashamedly. “Good girl.” He whispered again and stroked himself.
You watched him as he stroked himself faster. Moaning, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down rapidly as he took himself higher. Bucky swore when he heard the wet sounds as you fingered yourself at his request. You were gasping and moaning and taking yourself higher and higher…
“Cum for me, babygirl. Cum all over your pretty fingers for me…” he gasped and groaned as he felt his own release approaching.
You whined, slipping your finger in and out of your wet hole rapidly. Your own touch took you higher…and higher… and you were on the edge; right on the edge…
Bucky threw his head back and sped up, he was so close…
And then the two of you finished together;
“Oh fuck… James!” you cried out and came all over your fingers.
“Y/N… fuck!” Bucky came; gasping and moaning.
Then both of you realized what the other said. And you both froze. Did he just-
 Bucky was quiet. Chest heaving and mind a little hazy. Did he hear that right? Did you just-
 “What did you say?” you both asked one another simultaneously. And you both froze again.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Bucky moved quickly to end the livestream and you shut your laptop at the same time then hurried to end the call. And you sat there in bed, naked and hazy from your orgasm. Your face felt hot.
What the hell just happened? And why did Bucky panic as much as you did? And how did he know your name? Or was that just a coincidence? There could be other Y/Ns in the world, right?
In the back of your head, you sort of figured out what was really happening, and what had been happening all along – but you were in denial. James couldn’t be Bucky. Right?
But the long dark hair, the same laugh… no. It couldn’t be, right?
So the hot employee of yours which you were beginning to catch feelings for, is also the hot sex-god you’ve been having private cam sessions with for months? How was that possible? Also, instead of being embarrassed; why were you lowkey excited?
 -
Bucky was equally confused. He sat there in his seat with confusion all over his face. His cheeks flushed and his mind going a mile and hour. What the hell just happened? Maybe you knew another ‘James’. He sort of figured out what was going on as well, but he refused to believe it. Not because it was a bad thing, but it was just too much to handle at the same time.
So, his boss lady that he’s been crushing on and falling for is also the hot babe he’s been having filthy, sinful private cam sessions with for months now? How?
Bucky found himself somewhat smirking. This wasn’t so bad, was it?
-
The rest of the night, you got no sleep at all. You threw both your phones as far away from you as possible and curled in bed; thinking, and thinking some more. How on Earth would you face James, or Bucky, now when you get back to work?
Would he ignore you? Or would he want to talk it out? Would it be weird between you two from now on? Then again, you’ve already slept together – multiple times in one night recently.
 Meanwhile Bucky was in the same state. He had the same questions you did. Would you distance yourself from him now? Would the fact that he’s a camboy be a turn off for you? Because it’s one thing to derive pleasure from one, and it’s another thing to date a sex worker, he thought.
But he was already falling for you. Good God, what a mess!
---
You couldn’t believe how quickly Wednesday came around. Before you knew it, you were in your car and on your way to work on Wednesday morning. You did think of just not going to work today because you weren’t ready to face James. But then, you’d have to eventually.
Besides, he hadn’t called at all. Nor messaged. It was radio silence on both your ends, which made it even more frustrating. If you at least knew where he was at with this situation, you’d know what to expect when you inevitably do see him at work today. But you didn’t even know what to expect and you hated the suspense more than anything.
Luckily you didn’t see him in the elevator. Because you didn’t what to do if you were enclosed in such a small space with him. God, this is going to be one weird day…
-
Bucky was just as nervous while he was getting ready for work that day. What if you fire him? No, you wouldn’t do that. He wondered, would you still like him the same after this? Things were going to be messy in the beginning but what about after that? Fuck… he hated this suspense.  
When in the cab, he wanted to get to work and face you as soon as possible and figure out where you two stood now. But he also wanted to run. But he knew had to face you and talk this out.
He took the elevator up, and luckily you weren’t in the same one as him so that gave him a few more minutes to prep himself before he came face to face with you later, inevitably.
 Bucky was on his way to his cabin when his work phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was a call from you. Instinctively, he lifted his head up and looked in the direction of your office. And there you were, leaning against your door and your phone pressed to your ear. And you were looking right at him.
He couldn’t read exactly what the facial expression you had on meant, but it definitely gave away that it was nothing negative. He answered the call quickly, and maintained eye contact with you as he spoke.
“Hello Y/N.” he watched how you smirked right when you heard his voice. Fuck… his heart raced as he looked at you. You looked good.
His breath hitched in his throat upon hearing your words, “Hello soldier.”
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savagenutella46 · 3 years
Text
Standing Here With You
A valentine’s day gift for @thecaptainhelm lm. (By the way, I love you so much and you’re amazing) I hope YOU have an awesome eventful day filled with lots of love because you’re such an amazing writer and I love you!!!!!!
Also, @eat0crow , who is moderating the gift exchange! Thank you for all you’ve done!
Everyone has a soulmate. 
It's not a notable deal. Though it's something many people cherish and look forward to, it's just as much an ordinary fact as primary color mixing: that's just how the world works.
Blue and yellow mix correspond with each other to produce green; soulmate A and soulmate B each have tattoos to correspond with one another, completing either tattoo on the skin of their other half.
Marinette will be damned if she finds anyone to match her tattoo. She'd loved it as a child, sitting through boring classes with a pout and jittery knees so she could rush home and admire the strange tattoo that covered the length of her inner forearm.
But now, she couldn't find a single thing to be more ashamed about. 
Even as she moves halfway across the world from taunting bullies and mind-controlling sociopaths, the damage is done. 
Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not want a soulmate.
She does not want to disappoint, to never live up to her soulmates expectations, because, "Your soulmate wouldn't like those pigtails, Marinette." and, "How could someone want a bully like you?"
Marinette does not want to relive her lycée experience, covering her mark every chance she could get so that Lila Rossi wouldn't antagonize whoever was on the other end of her soul line.
She’d watch as other people’s—normal—soul marks started to glow, indicating the one thing soulmarks are responsible for. Marinette witnessed on the sidelines as everyone she knew and had learned to love and lose found their other half, and left her in the dark. Watching, seeing, but never to experience what it was like. To find your soulmate.
Her mark. A white rose hanging upside down at the epiphysis of her radius, petals spread wide against each other, some looked as though they were flowing freely in the air, and some looked as though they were stuck to one another.
A deep red liquid spurting out of the center, running down the limp rose and glazing its petals as it oozes from the center bottom and down the sides of her arm, creating for a unique, yet concerning mosaic upon her forearm.
"Is that blood?" They'd asked, some looking curious, and some looking downright disgusted at the mere sight of her mark. Something that was supposed to be naturally celebrated, not hated and sneered upon. They were convinced she'd be a menace to her soulmate, like soulmates were anything other than fate.
Marinette did not know if it was blood, obviously. There was no superior entity whispering to her at night, informing her of every single petal's weight in grams. Instead, it was easier to have a friend pick apart the dubious meaning of such a cryptic mark, unlike so many others, hers was not so simple.
Kagami, especially, had a great eye for these things. The meticulous thought that girl compartmentalizes for the sole topic is unbelievable at first glance. It's only when you see much more of her, do you understand why she even bothers with soulmarks.
"You wouldn't believe the meaning behind such marks, Marinette. It's only when you start to break the first barrier, do you know." Okay, so, Marinette had no such way with words as the world-class fencer, but she was pretty sure the girl was saying that marks represent people the way names represent their spices.
Salt, for example. You can just tell the flavor of salt by it’s damn name.
“You’re the epitome of innocence, Marinette,—“ Marinette begs to differ, she’s read fanfiction. “But it seems you’ve been hurt, aged more than what a white rose will represent for you. That’s where the blood paints over you, like a parasite.” Marinette furrows her eyebrows at Kagami, a reoccurring gesture that will give her wrinkles by the end of the year, she knows, but it’s Kagami.
They’re sitting in their apartment, high above the Gotham smog and litter they’ve learned to acquaint themselves with, and looking out over the city from their ratty second-hand couch.
—Because Marinette wants to live with someone who will break her finger and then call her stupid and put a cast on it for whatever reason, you feel?
Another twig, green leaves still growing out of it—though, probably not since the severance—blows by their window, spurred on by a lone gust and back down to the ground, plummeting to an unfortunately placed puddle on the pavement.
“Stop moping.” Marinette makes a face.
“I was not moping.”
“You were making that sad face you make when you see a puppy walking by itself on the street. You’re moping. Why?” Marinette huffs in annoyance, and turns to look at her friend, who’s already staring with an exasperated quirked eyebrow.
She flounders for words, making exuberant gestures with her hands as she tries not to look Kagami in the eye.
An audible exhale from the woman. “You’re worried about, what, your soulmate, for whatever reason?” 
Marinette looks down at her mark, it’s entrancing rose petals glowing brightly against her skin, almost alike to the glittery sheen of highlighter she so often brushes onto her cheekbones.
“It started glowing last night, Kagami.” Marinette worries her lip and continues to stare at the now pulsing, almost obnoxious glow of her rose, the red liquid that spurts from its center taking on a glamorous shine.
“That’s wonderful. Right?” Kagami adds, when she fails to find a response. 
It should be. She knows that. She should be joyous right now, jumping ecstatically and rejoicing at the fact that she might find her soulmate sooner than later, but the ever-impending doom of, ‘what if’ continuously pops up in her brain, muddling any chance of happiness she might’ve had.
Marinette’s psyche is aged. She’s been through things. A lot of things that most people haven’t been through. Deaths, loss of loved ones, reoccurring terrorist attacks, and so much more that puts a haunted look in her eye and a deep hunch in her shoulders. She couldn’t bear to see the look on her soulmate’s face.
Kagami seems to read her mind and makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “Let’s go to the zoo.” So spontaneous, it almost makes Marinette do a double take.
“You? Want to go to the zoo?” She stares at Kagami, the latter unwavering with a borderline determined look on her face that says, ‘Nope. No fighting me on this one.’
“Distraction.” Is all she says, and for once, Marinette agrees that, yes, maybe a distraction is in order.
The Gotham City Zoo proves to be a great distraction, in between the hippo exhibit and the jungle-themed building just for showcasing snakes, Marinette finds a rather warmth in her heart.
Marinette grins widely at the crocodiles lounging across various rocks, seemingly not a care in the world is thrown around in between her and the fenced crocodiles, and she harbors  a sort of piece standing alone. (Kagami had ditched her at the zebras for the lions.)
Distantly, she hears what sounds like two people fighting—or, bickering. 
“—over here, got bit by a crocodile.” An erupt of laughter from two different voices, one distinct with a low raspy laugh, and the other, who starts hacking nastily in the middle of it.
“Those cigarettes do not benefit you, Todd. This is not a laughable event.” A third voice juts in, and she has to turn her head, locate the source of whoever said that.
Three men, one looking younger than the other two, stand slightly to the right of her in front of the crocodile exhibit, the two older men seem to be laughing at the younger’s expense—how do you even get bitten by a crocodile? She decides to not judge. This is Gotham, after all.
And, oh.
The guy they seem to be laughing at has the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen. Ink black hair frames his face beautifully, as he sneers down at the other two. The stranger doesn’t seem to notice her stare, but it’s cut short anyway by the sudden immense throbbing of her forearm.
Marinette winces, and slowly pulls down her sleeve to see her soul mark is—
Finished. It’s glowing, glowing far more than it had been over the course of the past two days, glowing so much she can barely squint to see that buried deep in the middle of her rose, a pristine dagger.
Marinette’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but make an incoherent sound that fights its way up her throat.
A tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see the boy she was shamelessly staring at is right in front of her, and, woah, he’s tall. Marinette cranes her head up to look at the boy who so quickly grabbed her attention.
He also has the prettiest blush on his face, his eyes darting in between her and his companions, who seem to be laughing even harder, and in the distance, she hears a crude nickname being thrown at him.
“Holy shit, Demon Brat actually has a soulmate—“ a sentence cut off by more wheezing laughter, so she turns her gaze back to the boy in front of her.
“I’m Damian, you’re...soulmate.” The last word comes out wonky, like he couldn’t believe his own words, but she understands. He’s staring at Marinette now, bright green gaze fixed so intently on her, and she can’t help but blush, herself.
“Marinette. I figured, actually, when my arm started to sting like a bitch.” She says, once her mouth finally aligns with her brain and she gets the courage to say something relevant to smart.
Damian cracks a small smile, and she finds herself following the gesture with her eyes. It’s a beautiful movement, one she can tell is foreign to him, a shame.
And she doesn’t feel jittery. More at peace, looking at the equally aged look deep in his eyes, and the mark right in the middle of her forearm, she can guess he’s been through a hell of a lot, maybe more than she has.
Marinette will spend a lifetime learning what lies behind his exterior, looking at him now.
She supposes this soulmate thing won’t be too hard, after all, even as the two men behind them keep bickering and laughing at their predicament in front of the crocodile exhibit.
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A little written-in-the-middle-of-the-night Loki fic snippet that just grew another leg. TVA Loki + Lokane. Rating T.
(First part is here)
Shine a Light, part II
The tempad feels hot and slippery in his palm as he stalks down the hallway, quickly putting distance between himself and the hunter he left unconscious amidst overturned chairs and tables in the canteen.
The mess had already been there, leftovers from workers rushing panicked to man their stations. He had simply added one more touch.
Tiny droplets of sweat bead his brow and blood has started seeping though the tear in his crumbled shirt.
The fabric is clinging wetly to his bicep, but in the mayhem unfolding around him, nobody gives him a second glance.
For the first time, he is thankful at least to be wearing the anonymous uniform dictated by the oppressors.
He reaches the kill me kind of room again and shuts the door behind him.
You were meant to cause suffering and death.
You’re a cosmic mistake.
You were meant to die at the hands of the mad titan.
Lies.
All lies.
Still projected on the wall is the paused image of a lost memory of his unfulfilled fate.
He sees himself, Thor and her on the barren planet with the black soil. The man he never became is lying on the ground, Thor cradling him.
She watches them both in shock.
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It resonates in his bones. He has to go there.
He has to reach his brother at this precise, excruciatingly rare moment of heroism. His act of heroism.
Before the scheming and deceit poison their bond once more in an endless loop of disappointment.
In this moment, all is forgiven. Thor will listen and help. A different path will branch.
And he has to go to her.
It is ludicrous, this riddle, yet the truth of it presses hard on his chest.
On the grainy roll of film, he saved her life and her eyes bore into his with such intensity, his acute need still reverberates like an echo between the walls of the kill me kind of room.
The smell of lilacs lingers.
What will happen when he faces his own self on the timeline, he can’t imagine. Also, he gives it little thought at this late stage with universal logic already suspended as it is. Hopefully he can reason with the man he was meant to be.
He has had quite enough of being his own past, present and future selves’ worst enemy.
And so he pushes the buttons on the tempad.
//
Something is very wrong.
The sky is too blue, the distant sound of waves lapping calmly at a shore is misplaced.
He has emerged from the door onto a quiet gravel road lined with tall grass and low pines. A single, white wooden house stands to his left, surrounded by a lawn dotted with wildflowers. The sun is warm on his back.
This is Midgard, he is sure of it.
How could he shoot past his destination so spectacularly?
He is about to scroll down the list of numbers and names on the tiny screen of the tempad when he notices a man approaching. Old, walking leisurely with a round, short-legged dog much the same white color as the mortal’s own wispy hair.
The latter starts a little when he spots Loki.
And then he does the most unexpected thing and speaks his name.
Loki’s name.
He almost drops the tempad (no! Not again) and the old one grins good-naturedly. “Hold on to your fancy phone there. Far away, were we?”
Loki only just about stops himself from shaking the man by his shoulders. His fists clench uncontrollably.
“What year is this?! How do you know my name?”
His voice sounds shrill, feverish, and unsurprisingly the eyes in the lined face before him go wide with puzzlement and … something else.
“Loki, what on Earth? Are you quite alright?”
Shock washing over him, Loki staggers back. H-how?
But the man is closing the gap between them, oozing concern. “Have you - are you drunk?” he asks incredulously.
He reaches out.
What is happening?
Loki shies away from the touch, his mind spinning.
Forcibly gathering his composure, he straightens and wills his words to come out steady. “No, I’m okay. Apologies. A bad joke”.
He smiles reassuringly. It takes more effort than parting an ocean.
The dog is sniffing insistently at his ankles.
The man looks him over with suspicion but the worry is subsiding. “Okay, then… no harm, no foul. You know, sometimes these peculiar ‘jokes’ of yours can make a neighbor all kinds of slightly worried”.
Neighbor?
“Most understandably, won’t happen again. Sorry to have bothered you”. Loki cuts him off smoothly. “Have a nice day”. He nods and turns before hysteria can creep into his voice.
“In case you need it for your punchline, the year is 2016”, the man calls over his shoulder as he shuffles away, pulling the reluctant dog after him.
Loki’s blood runs cold. 2016. Oh, this is so wrong. Three years wrong.
Did he hit another button at the last minute? He had been clutching the tempad so hard the edges cut into his fingers.
He curses his own impatience. Tech savvy indeed.
Holding up the blasted piece of TVA wizardry, he tries to enter a new series of numbers when his name rings out again.
And again, he almost jumps. But this time, his heart stays in his throat.
//
“Loki? What are you doing out here? I’ve been looking all over for you”.
Her voice reaches him from the porch of the white house. She is skipping lightly down the steps, the screen doors left open behind her. Music drifts into the garden from somewhere inside.
She is crossing the lawn. He is no longer breathing.
Her long auburn hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she is wearing a light blue summer dress. Her feet are bare.
Absurdly, he notes that she looks more tanned than the last time he saw her through the visor of the destroyer in the desert. A year and a lifetime ago. To him.
His grip on whatever reality he’s been clinging to since New York is seriously faltering.
She is beaming. He cannot move a muscle.
She comes all the way up to him and without pause wraps her slender arms around his neck. He can feel the warmth of her body through his shirt, smell the perfume of her skin. She smells of … -
“Where did you go, handsome?” She smiles playfully.
“Pepper called earlier to say that she actually got Tony out of the door on time, if you can believe it, so they’ll be here any minute. And her and I agreed that you two hotheads are going to play nice tonight, okay?”
She is teasing him but he hardly understands the words she’s saying. It makes no sense.
And then, before he can begin to form a response, she stands on tiptoes and kisses him and the world falls away.
Reflexively, he puts his arms around her, drawing her close to him. She moans happily. He leans into the kiss, not knowing what he’s doing other than that he never wants to stop.
Her mouth is soft and warm and new and familiar all at the same time, and the way her fingers curl in his hair sends electricity shooting down his spine.
It should be all anguish and tragic confusion, like before in the castle beyond time, but it is not.
It feels more right that anything he can remember since before his fall from the Bifrost, more real and yet more magical than his recent journeys into mystery.
Then it’s over all too soon and she draws away.
His arms are suddenly much too empty and he almost reaches for her again, craving her touch.
For a fleeting heartbeat, his soul had no longer felt torn apart to the point of forgetting he’d ever been whole.
The chaos had crumbled in on itself like a bad dream.
He is surprised he still knows what peace of mind feels like after what has happened to him since arriving at the TVA.
But now she looks at him with alarm in those beautiful brown eyes and he is crudely reminded that he is an intruder in her reality.
What she thought she saw, she clearly no longer recognizes.
It takes him all of three stupidly long seconds to remember that she said his name. That he’s wearing his own face and not a disguise.
That she knew him immediately, just like the old man.
She kissed him.
Too many impossible possibilities and the thunderous sound of his own heartbeat (surely she can hear it too) blur his vision.
He’s only vaguely aware that he is stepping towards her, trying to say something without the faintest idea of what’s going to come out of his mouth.
If it’ll even be words.
Her eyes dart over his clothes, his face.
“Loki, what - Why are you dressed like that? Have you been gone? Is that … blood?”
She retreats further, fear building.
“Jane, I-“
Her name rolls of his tongue with a sweet-tasting intimacy like he has said it a thousand times before.
But he doesn’t get to dwell on this, nor gather his thoughts to say anything else before something abruptly lifts him off the ground and hurls his body across the road.
“How dare you touch her, beast?!”
Immediately as his back connects with the rough gravel, someone is there, a knee pushing him down, fingers closing around his throat. A sharp object presses against his chin.
There is a dangerous, unhinged growl as his attacker breathes hotly in his ear. “You will die for this!”
The man is strong and somehow blocking Loki’s own magic, but he still manages to twist his head -
And looks right up into his own eyes, nearly black with rage.
//
“Speak! What are you??”
The man with a face exactly like his presses the tip of his blade closer to Loki’s left eye. “You will show yourself right now or -“
Gathering his magic tightly around him (focus!), Loki pushes back, hard.
With a surge of energy, their bodies are separated, and the other version of him lands heavily in the middle of the road some meters away.
Both of them are on their feet with the fluid movements of two panthers ready to pounce, the other now in full armor.
He has to leave, right now, even if means leaving her which is a catastrophe that might either kill him or make him try to kill his other self if he stays here another minute.
This timeline is clearly not his own.
It cannot be.
Arm outstretched to ward off his furious twin with a shield of magic, he tries to work the tempad with one hand.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
A booming voice above their heads.
“You know, when Jane pressed the panic button just now, I thought we had an actual emergency. Not that you were preparing a little dinner show for us, Reindeer Games. Gotta be honest though, this doppelgänger stunt was never my favorite -“
“Stark!”
The variant - for he must be a variant - angrily interrupts the man in the metal suit hovering in the air.
Of course, Loki remembers him all too clearly.
What has it been, less than a week since he threw him, or a version of him, out the window of the glass tower?
“This is not my creation”, the variant hisses with venom dripping from every word. “I caught him assaulting Jane. Kissing her”.
“What?!”
Stark focuses all his attention (and one of his iron fists) on Loki. A metallic humming rises steadily from inside the suit.
“A man on a suicide mission then. Boy, did you smooch the wrong wizard’s baby-mama. He may look all domesticated and cute now, but I assure you he’s still all kinds of crazy. In fact-”.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“I know it’s asking a lot, of you in particular, Stark, but could we possibly save the personal insults till we have dealt with this right here?”
Wait, just wait.
Damn it, he can’t tap in the destination on the tempad without looking at it.
Green smoke is swirling around the hands of his other self. He knows what’s coming.
“This is your last warning, devil! I will not have you hiding behind my face as I -“
“This is my face! I’m you, you fool! Bigger things are at large here and-“ Loki falters, his silver tongue failing once more with rising predictability within what seems a disconcertingly short period of time.
Although he honestly can’t tell anymore.
“Please, take a minute -“
He can’t help but shout, sounding hopelessly desperate.
In another life, he might have felt humiliated, but letting pride dictate his emotions is no longer a luxury he can afford to indulge.
Still, the silence that follows his outburst is not nearly as long as he needs it to be.
The variant stares blankly at him, mouth slightly ajar, but Stark recovers easily, his voice now icy.
“Yeah, dude, that one might have worked better if you’d put on a clean shirt. Time to fess up real quick or we’ll have to-“
Drawing what might become his last breath, Loki looks away and down at the tempad. He presses the button. No more time to double check.
“What the?!”
Both Stark and the variant visibly flinch as the door appears.
He quickly makes for it. “I - I’m sorry. Truly, I am”. He looks to their stunned faces before turning to his exit.
Out of the corner of his eye, he registers the variant move (he has to be a variant). His mouth twists in an ugly snarl and two familiar daggers are appearing by his sides.
Before the door snaps completely shut, Loki sees Jane run up to the man and grab his arm.
“Love, no, don’t!”
He sees the slight bump under her dress that he didn’t notice before.
And then the scene disappears and he’s gone.
Part III
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7soulstars · 3 years
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Emerging of Kalon
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Request: I need some new johnny depp fics in my life where I want a reader with insecurities and johnny reassuring her that he loves her the way she is.Maybe she is a bit more chubby than his past gfs and she has to wears glasses.Abd thanx so much for accepting it.
Yooo this imagine is soo important to me. As a person who had a lot of insecurities and has suffered through depression.It is really important for me to spread a certain message to others like me. I have this belief that you aren’t born with insecurities,you are made to have them.Don’t point out things to people that would make them uncomfortable in the long term guys it becomes quite scarring for them and it also makes you a damn bully. Also it is normal to have stretch marks, tummy rolls ,acne, scars ,body hair and all that stuff, Man or Woman or any other gender you identify as.That’s what makes you human.If people can’t accept you for who you are please cut them out of your life.Ya’ll beautiful and I love ya’ll. Hope you like this !!
................
Pairing : Johnny Depp x Reader
Warnings : TW,Nosy people who like putting others down for fun, Signs of depression,Suicide attempt,Angst,Swearing, Fluff, Johnny being the absolute sweetheart he is.
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Kalon ;Latin for ideal beauty in all, physical ,spiritual and moral forms
1.Instigation.
“I still can’t believe THE Johnny Depp went for you after his past ones”,said someone snapping her out of her trance.”Pardon ?”,she asked as if to confirm whether she heard him right . “I mean look at you....His exes were all supermodels weren’t they? Not a single flaw..”,the man guffawed.”Well you have have a micropenis why did your wife choose you?”,her bestfriend snapped crudely making her cringe.”Let’s go Y/N “, Y/BF/N said dragging she out of the restaurant .Well this wasn’t how I wanted college reunion to end up like,thanks Nathan she thought. “Are you alright Y/N ?”, Y/BF/N asked. “Of course”. No I’m not. “It doesn’t bother me at all.” It bothers me too much. “Nathan’s a dick .Don’t let it get to your head EVER”. But he’s right, his words are already in my head. “Yeah...”
2.The disquieting
“Hey glasses ! Looking ugly as always.”
“Look at her hogging like a pig, hey fatty you want more?”
“Darling why don’t you try going on a diet.”
“Don’t watch telly, you’re blind enough already”
“Jason what do you think of Y/N ?” “Damn man she was not even my type”
“Please Stop !”, Y/N woke up with a jerk, breathing in short gasps .”Johnny-”,she stops cutting herself off as she looked at the empty looked at the empty side on her bed. He isn’t in the country she remembered . Silence. She stared at the framed picture of them together on the wall. Plip. A tear fell. Plip Plip. Two more,before she couldn’t control it any more. The past wouldn’t change.She knew it would haunt her forever. But they had stopped for a while. But since Nathan ,it came back harder than ever. She didn’t tell Johnny, she’d never tell him , the last thing she wanted to do is to become a larger burden. So she cried herself to sleep every single day.
3.Repressing
Y/BF/N frowned as she looked at Y/N’s lunch. “Since when do you eat salads ?Hell,that isn’t even salad it’s just *ugh* lettuce....”,she says looking at the leafy stuff with absolute disgust. Y/N looked at her as if she did not understand what she was saying “I love salads,you know what? I’m not that hungry.....better get back to work! See you later!”,she said leaving as she didn’t even let the other speak. Starving, Hurting, Looking into the mirror and hating herself. The cycle continued.This was going to be dangerous in the days to come and she knew that too. 
4.Avoiding
6 missed calls from Mom
19 missed calls and 87 messages from Y/BF/N
40 missed calls and 150 messages from Johnny 
3 notifications from Twitter. 
No one had seen her in 4 days .The telly changed channels at Johnny’s apartment .Things scattered around as a trembling hand set down the remote . Fat tears dampened the pillow as her eyes read the news headline. ‘Johnny Depp at a dinner date with ex wife Vanessa ? Is he finally done with his simple girlfriend ?’
5. Falling
This was it.She ended up the way she predicted she’d end up 10 years ago. Weak,Tired,Empty and Lonely. She stared at the bathtub as it filled itself until it was overfilled,water spilling out of its sides as it splashed onto her feet. She didn’t flinch at the coldness.She stayed robotically still, looking down at her palm. A blade. Without hesitating she got into the tub,the tap still running. She didn’t think anymore,tears wouldn’t fall even if they wanted to. She closed her eyes as she let her self go ,ignoring the frantic ringing of her phone and the banging on the apartment door.
6. Alerting
To say Johnny was concerned was an underestimation.Y/N wasn’t picking up his phone since several days .He was distracted, couldn’t concentrate and worry filled his entire existence.He didn’t know what to do,even going as far as asking his ex wife for advice.He decided to go back ,back to his girlfriend’s loving arms.
The moment he stepped back into the city he took his time.Picking out her favourie flowers ,the chocolate she always loved and a little something of importance. He ignored the notifications is phone was chiming with, his mind only full of thoughts of her....The thoughts were short lived , disturbed much to Johnny’s dismay by Y/BF/N’s call. He ignored once,ignored twice but after that he knew something was wrong.”Johnny !”, panicked voice spoke through the phone. A frown replacing the man’s smile “Did Y/N text you that absurd note too?” “No,wait Y/BF/N let me check”,he put the call on hold as his eyes skimmed over the words displayed on his screen. His phone now dropped on the car floor he wished all of it was a dream.They stopped as he stormed out, back to his apartment. He knocked wildly on the door but not a voice came nor a cackle. He threw his body on the door several times ,”Goddamitt Y/N OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR DON’T PLAY WITH ME RIGHT NOW !”.In his panicked feat he had forgotten he had the keys until they dropped out of his jacket pocket.He didn’t wait a moment as he fumbled it into the key hole ,kicking the door open as soon as it opened.
Silence. 
Splosh . The sound of water hitting the ground from the bathroom echoed in the whole house.
“Y/N ?”, Johnny softly whispered as he pushed open the bathroom door. A horrific scene unfolded before him.
7.Mourning
It had been two days and Johnny wouldn’t budge.He saw red that day and the site still wouldn’t leave his thoughts alone.He would neither eat,nor sleep as he sat beside his beloved girlfriend who lay on a hospital bed. Dark Enough by Amanda played on the radio. The text message, and the talk with Y/BF/N replayed in his head as if war replayed in a retired soldiers dreams. “I didn’t know you were hurting that bad”,he whispered, tears threatening to fall again. He place his head on her stomach as he let the silent tears fall,until her hand fell on top of his head.
8.Resuscitation  
Johnny jerked up ,his eyes as wide as saucers, as he froze with eyes full of pain and hurt.Y/N did not dare meet his gaze.She felt ashamed and disgusted. But those feelings were immediately replaced with shock as Johnny almost lunged at her,hugging her tight. “I was so scared I was so fucking scared when I saw that text and then you drowning in the red water filled in the bathtub ! I thought you’d left me ! I thought you died you weren’t breathing...How dare you think of yourself that way how dare you think you were not good enough !? You were the best fucking thing that happened to me since my kids goddammit !”. Y/N had never seen Johnny this mad.Hell, she had never even seen him cry. She didn’t know how to answer him, she was too ashamed.He wouldn’t break the hug, as if he would loose her if he did. He loved her too much. “Why ?”,he asked again,as if he was begging for an answer. Even a word. He just wanted to hear her voice. “I was scared...”,her voice cracked coming out much broken than she predicted. “ I didn’t think I deserved you, I thought I’d never reach the levels of those beautiful actresses and models.I was scared to tell you about my past..I was scared to bother you...”. Johnny’s heart broke. He never thought his Y/N would think that way. She was always smiling .Not even a little frown on her face. Always there for everyone. Yet no one comforted her. How could he never see it? Of course he couldn’t see it she was perfect to him.His Y/N was the most perfect person in the world. “I love you”, he blurted. He never said that.He was too shy. But he hugged her tighter ,” I love you so much. Even with scars,insecurities or that ugly face you make when you see things you do not like. You were, have and always will be the most perfect to me. Please....don’t do that again...”
9.Emergence
Y/N was discharged from the hospital in a few days. Johnny wouln’t leave her side. All his attention would be on her to see if ate well, and loved herself. Y/N felt safe. And she wasn’t wrong . Johnny was everything she deserved.
They sat on the rooftop of a cafe in Paris. A calm silence passing over them. “Y/N ?” ,Johnny asked. “Hmm?”,she hummed along, silence entailing after. ”Marry me ?”,he asked. That was the day Y/N was the most happiest, and did the beautifully emerged Kalon say yes? you’d ask. She said it without a second to spare. After all our Kalon had found her wings.
“No one is born ugly, we’re just born in a judgemental society”~ Kim Namjoon(BTS)
----The End----
Whew ! After all the procrastination and time I took brainstorming this baby is done! This was requested by the wonderful @anycsirp​ I really really hope you liked this ! Also I meant what I said before the start of this oneshot . YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. PERIODT. Please do like and comment your opinions! I really hope to read em ! I’m not that great of a writer but I did my best ! 
~Love, Hri
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and all the magic we made (8/?)
a/n: another short update! enjoy!!
-
The sun, in all its ways, surprises Rebekah Mikaelson to no end.
She used to think - the universe revolved around her - all the planets aligning perfectly just to accommodate her utmost desires.
Be it the most expensive jewels, gowns from all over the world, even the hearts of countless men.
Well, every man except the one right in front of her.
"Marcel," she sighs, as he paces towards her while she waits outside Hayley's grocery store. "Is there something you want?" She wonders, tilting her head to one side.
He crosses his arms around his chest, sighing. "You know," he says, "stalking someone is considered a crime," he goes on with - referring to Rebekah's presence in Hayley's workplace.
She rolls her eyes at his constant infatuation with this mere girl - one with not a hint of make-up on her face, with the same old jeans she's had since their high school days, with her greasy hair in a high pony -
"I just wish to speak with her," Rebekah rephrases, biting her bottom lip, "she has my niece hostage, after all," she chuckles.
"She's her mother," Marcel reminds her, "she has a right to keep her away from you."
His words hurt her more than he'll ever know - she doesn't understand why he insists on being so crude to her. What had she done to deserve such distain from him? She wondered.
"Why do fight this hard for her?" Rebekah asks, sounding weak. You never fought this hard for me, she doesn't say but he knows that it's implied.
"Who do you think has been helping her raise Hope, all these years?" He retorts, feeling even more defensive. "If it weren't for me, she would've been all alone."
This feeling - the guilt - Rebekah truly hates it.
"She could've told us, we would've been there for her," she whispers softly. "She kept such a huge secret from me, I thought she was my friend."
And, for a moment, Marcel's clear vision of Hayley Marshall is suddenly clouded. He sees Rebekah, the pitiful girl he has always known.
"She didn't know how to reach you. All the Mikaelsons disappeared after graduation," he recalls, "you didn't even say goodbye to me," he unexpectedly releases.
Just then, Rebekah is quiet.
It takes her too long to realize that she had broken his heart first.
"I'm starting my shift soon," he abruptly tells her, as he rushes out of her way. "Please don't pester Hayley while I'm gone." He begs and he's off.
Rebekah focuses her gaze back on Hayley who is on the other side of the window.
Right, she was here for a reason, after all.
-
(Marcel's words ring in her ears - all the Mikaelsons disappeared after graduation - she wonders how he knows this. He must have tried to contact them, he must have looked around for years.
Rebekah's envious of her brother, at least he's got an easy explanation. His dream of being an artist, his ambition, his passion, his successes.
He left this dingy little town and made something of himself.
While Rebekah just became someone's ghost).
-
Her shift feels a lot longer than usual - Hayley isn't one to complain too much at work, she does as she'd told, clocks in and out on time. Her co-workers are not exactly her close friends but, they're the kind that don't bother her too much and truth be told, she prefers it that way.
She likes to maintain her distance from people.
When she can anyway.
"Oh good," unfortunately, Hayley doesn't have the luxury to choose who she can and cannot keep at bay. Not when the Mikaelsons are involved. "You're finally done," Rebekah sighs, trailing after her.
Hayley continues to walk away, ignoring the blonde until, she grabs her by the hand.
"What do you want now?" Hayley asks.
"My niece," Rebekah insists, squeezing her hand tight. "I am going to meet her, whether you'll allow me to or not," she demands.
Klaus' tone invades Hayley's mind - these two siblings really are way too alike. "You Mikealsons really don't understand what boundaries are, do you?" she comments, jerking her arm back.
Rebekah widens her eyes and tilts her head to one side. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asks and a blush rising to Hayley's cheeks immediately gives her away. "Did something happen with you and Klaus?" Rebekah deducts.
Hayley unexpectedly thinks of the softness of his lips - how warm they were.
"Did he kiss you?" Rebekah suddenly figures out.
Hayley bites down on her tongue. "That," she curses, "Doesn't matter," she tells her.
The other girl takes a step closer, clutching her hand over her chest. This was it - her way in, her way to get closer to the woman before her. She was vulnerable.
"I know this might be difficult to believe but, he has changed - despite everything you might think of him," Rebekah softly says. "Klaus is-"
"I know," Hayley cuts her off mid-sentence. "He's this famous artist now right? He's got fame, fortune, everything he's ever wanted," she continues, smiling.
Rebekah smiles too, she thinks of her brother's countless hours studying and perfecting his work, their father's discouragement, how Klaus overcame it all. "That's right," she nods.
Well, almost everything, she thinks, offering Hayley a curious glance.
"And where do you think that left me?" she finally breathes, sounding hurt. "Stuck in this little town, raising his kid." Hayley reveals.
Rebekah feels a sharp pain in her chest - she had been so blindly loyal to her brother.
She hadn't realized that the girl before her was just so incredibly broken.
"Now how do you think that makes me feel?" Hayley shouts, before bravely walking away from her.
-
(Her daughter is her entire world - her reason for getting out of bed in the morning, her reason for living.
Hope is her everything.
Even though, just now, she sounded like she felt regretful about her decision to keep this child. There was a hint of jealousy in her tone - that Klaus got to go on and have this amazing life without having to worry about raising a kid.
She feels immensely guilty for her anger - for ever thinking that things could've been different).
-
Klaus calls her endlessly -
Yeah, he messed up, big time.
That kiss was - untimely at best.
Maybe a bit tasteless but, he couldn't say that he'd take it back.
After all, he's waited so long to feel her lips against his once again.
He wasn't going to let go of her so easily.
-
That night - Marcel is the one who comes to her doorstep with a box of donuts (sour cream, her favourite) and warm cups of coffee (chocolate milk for Hope, of course).
Hayley leans against her door, letting him in.
He was so reliable, even on her worst days.
"How did you know?" she laughs, taking the cup of coffee from his hand. He follows her inside, setting the food down on the table.
"That you were having a rough day?" Marcel shrugs. "You weren't answering my calls - you only ignore me when you're really upset about something," he tells her - thinking of all the small instances where she had been angry enough to ignore even him.
At times, Marcel had been her lifeline, her most reliable friend.
So when she didn't answer him - it really worried him.
"If you say so," Hayley simply says, failing to realize his amount of care for her.
He's used to it - painfully so. "Well, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Marcel releases, sounding sad.
He is grateful that just then, Hope runs into the room, like a tornado.
"Uncle Marcel!" she shouts, running towards him and grabbing his leg. "I'm so happy to see you!!" she cheers, happily eyeing the donuts and chocolate milk he brought her.
He smiles, reaching down to pick her up. "Same here, Hope," he says, as her sparkling eyes meet his. God, they really are all he needs to help him feel better about his day. "You want to play some video games together?" He asks, happily.
"Yeah!" Hope nods, leading him towards the living room.
Hayley watches how content they are together and can't help the amount of relief she feels in her heart.
(She'll never truly know how much Marcel actually means to her - that he is indeed, always there for her).
-
18 notes · View notes
misskikuwrites · 3 years
Text
Downpour
Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)
Hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst
-
Bede stepped out of the station and surveyed the open, unfamiliar landscape before him. A beach of soft, white sand met crystal clear water of shimmering azure, an endless sea sweeping to the depths of the horizon. Pokemon he had never encountered before lounged on their pink bellies, sleepy eyes drooping shut. He retrieved his Pokedex. Barely a minute off the train, and the Isle of Armour had already proved its worth, and Bede realised that perhaps Ms Opal had been onto something when she suggested that he train here. To reach new heights of pink, or something along those lines.
As pink as Galarian Slowpoke were, Psychic Pokemon weren't cut out for the Fairy Gym, and so Bede decided to let sleeping Slowpokes lie. He sent out his Hatterene, and trained his sights down the beach.
"Well then, my dear Hatterene, shall we find out what all the fuss is about?" he said to her, a resolute smile dawning across his face.
Hatterene chimed in agreement, her dark eyes narrowing as she mimicked her Trainer's grin.
"We'll have to make the most of this opportunity. Ms Opal must have sent us here for a reason, and I won't rest until I find out what exactly the Isle of Armour has to offer."
Bede turned from the blinding white sand and marched along the dirt path, Hatterene drifting by his side.
"The strongest Trainers from around Galar have gathered here to train," he continued, "which means there must be something here that cannot be attained anywhere else."
More Pokemon he didn't recognise darted into the grass. Long floppy ears peeked above the bushes, the chocolate coloured pelt tipped with fluffy clumps of lighter fleece. A brief scan of the Pokemon with his Pokedex revealed it to be a Normal Type, called a Buneary. It tilted its head at him, pink nose twitching as it sniffed the air, and both ears shot upright.
"Hmm, you are rather cute, aren't you? I'm sure Gloria would most certainly fawn over a Pokemon like you."
Bede hid his growing smile behind his hand, a faint laugh escaping him at the image conjured by his mind; Gloria gasping in delight and unable to contain her excitement, her eyes sparkling and twinkling in glee as she practically vibrated with untapped energy, ready to pounce on Buneary at any moment.
A trill of amusement snapped Bede out of his delusion, and he stole the soft smile off his face. Roughly clearing his throat, he took off down the path again.
"Enough distractions," he said, voice coming out tighter and strained. "We're here to train."
He continued down the path, trying to push away the possibility that Gloria was here. Somewhere on the vast Isle of Armour, she could very much be training here as well, and that realisation sent his gaze wandering as if to seek her out, as if an encounter with her could happen at any moment. As he headed past the Dojo, his mind was constantly on alert, distracted and muddled by anyone and anything with a passing resemblance to her.
A flash of dark brown hair in the corner of his eyes made his pulse skip until he looked and saw the face of a stranger instead. Upon seeing that it was someone else, he sighed heavily, frustrated that his attention was so easily stolen. The flutter in his chest, anxious with anticipation, reminded him of how on edge he had been for weeks after finally accepting his feelings towards Gloria. His mind constantly on alert, bracing itself for her to show up at any moment. It was pathetic that after months of dealing with the way he felt towards her, coming to terms with the fact that he was in love with her and figuring out ways to keep himself in check, nothing had changed at all.
Bede couldn't stop himself from jolting as the Dojo doors swung open, heart catching at the slightest chance that it was her, and plummeting when it wasn't. He marched on, away from the building and the Trainers in bright yellow uniforms outside, and decided that he needed - and deserved - to train in peace and quiet.
"Hey, Bede!"
One step short of the wetlands, Bede turned and gave Hop a disinterested stare.
"Fancy seeing you here!" Hop grinned at him, Dubwool at his side. "I had a feeling I'd run into you sooner or later."
"And here I was hoping otherwise," Bede sighed.
It took but a glance for him to determine that Hop was by himself, and that continuing their conversation would be a waste of precious time.
"Look, I didn't come here to mess around. If you'll excuse me, I have training to attend to."
"What, you're not here to see Gloria?"
Having turned on his heels to stalk away, Bede froze with a foot in the air. At the mention of her name, his heart had flopped and heat began to rise across his face. He knew instantly that Hop was taunting him. Dangling information about Gloria like bait on a string, waiting for a bite. Bede refused to react, to give Hop the satisfaction of a response. He marched purposely away.
"Betcha haven't seen what she looks like in the Dojo's uniform," Hop continued, "or that new Pokemon of hers. Glo said she's only introduced him to her closest friends, so I guess if you haven't seen it…"
"I've met Kubfu."
Folding his arms, Bede met Hop's grin with a flat look of his own. Forget propriety, he wasn't about to walk away after that insinuation - at least not before tearing down the smug look on Hop's face. Injured pride swelled in his chest, burning with irritation, and he trooped right back to Hop.
Amusement widened Hop's grin. "Really? Bet you didn't get to touch him though."
"And why would I?"
"Well, Kubfu's super shy. He'd only let you touch him if he trusted you, so if you didn't even manage that much…"
"I had no need to touch Kubfu in order to know whether he trusted me," Bede huffed. "The fact that he no longer cowered behind Gloria said enough."
Besides, his conversation with Gloria had switched quickly from Kubfu to the gift she wanted to give him, the bracelet of woven twigs that hung around his wrist, and he hadn't been able to think about anything else. Even now, he still wore the Galarian cuff she had made for him, amateurish as it was.
"Ah, you've been here before, haven't you?" Hop said. "Must've run into Gloria then; guess that's why you didn't react to my comment about the uniform. You've already seen her in it."
Bede frowned. "No, I haven't. This is the first time I've stepped foot on the Isle of Armour."
He ignored Hop's pointed remark about the Dojo's uniform once again, despite his mind already wandering.
"Then how come you've got a Galarian cuff around your wrist?" Hop pointed at it, an eyebrow raised. "The twigs they're made from are native to the Isle of Armour, you can't get them anywhere else. They're usually made into cuffs to evolve Galarian Slowpoke but… dude, why's it so wonky?"
Hop leant forward to get a better look at the misshapen bracelet, his mouth curling into a crude grimace.
"I'll have you know, this was a handmade gift from Gloria." Bede took a sharp step back, holding the bracelet protectively where it hung beneath his watch. "I would appreciate it if you kept your ill-mannered comments to yourself."
"Wait, Gloria made that for you?" Hop balked. He straightened in surprise, eyes wide. "Gloria did? As in, Champion Gloria? My best friend, the girl you're head-over-heels for, that Gloria?"
Bede's cheeks burned as he glared at Hop. "What other Gloria is there?" he hissed, unamused by having his feelings outed like that.
"Dude, no wonder it looks like that-" Hop cut himself off as Bede's glare darkened, "-uh, I mean, no wonder it looks so… unique. She's never been good at any form of crafts or, heck, anything to do with her hands! It took her years to learn how to tie her shoelaces!"
Heavy thumping in Bede's chest scattered his thoughts, and he looked down at the bracelet around his wrist once again. The bracelet that Gloria, supposedly uncoordinated with her hands, had made for him herself.
"Is there a point to your questions, or am I free to resume my training?" Bede huffed. He absently adjusted the bracelet, his loose golden watch, where they hung. "I have yet to find a place secluded enough so Hatterene and I can work in private."
"What, do I need a reason to mess with a mate?" Hop beamed a cheeky grin. "If you're looking for a place that's quiet and out of the way, then the Forest of Focus might work for you. It's nearby, too - if you head through the Soothing Wetlands, it's on your left."
Bede appraised Hop for a moment, taking in his advice, the comment that they were friends. "I suppose it won't do me any harm to take a look. Thank you."
"No prob!" He sauntered back a step. "But man, she seriously made that for you?"
Hop's insistence over the bracelet made Bede frown. "What about it?"
"Nah, it's nothing!"
The twinkle in Hop's eyes said there was more to it than that, but time was slipping away, and Bede didn't like the look of the grey clouds forming on the horizon. He didn't have the energy, time, nor patience to press Hop any further.
"If that's all, then I'll be on my way."
"Later!" Hop gave him a wave, a flash of a smile, and turned on his heels.
Bede didn't bother to comment that he didn't plan on running into Hop later - or anyone else, for that matter. He was here to train, not socialise, and headed for the Wetlands, for the Forest of Focus, for relative silence.
-
As it turned out, Hop was right. The Forest of Focus was devoid of people, the path overgrown, and the air was filled with the sounds of undisturbed Pokemon. Rustling of bushes, of branches and shrubs, the chattering of Pokemon in the trees and the trickling of a nearby stream was a melody strung by nature itself. Peaceful and serene, there were no strangers in sight. A place where he could truly focus.
"Alright, Hatterene. Let's get to work-"
A dull thump made him pause, and he glanced down towards the noise by his feet. His heart dropped, air leaving his lungs in a sharp, broken gasp, and he snatched his golden watch from the dirt where it had fallen. His fingers trembled as he fastened it around his wrist. Pressed it right to his skin, held it there as the panicked beating of his heart drowned out everything else. The clasp, loose and worn, clicked into place.
Bede took a breath. Then another, and another, deeper and slower than the ones before. He had to be more careful, couldn't let that happen again. Needle-sharp pain sank into his chest with a pang of disgust, loathing that even now, after all this time, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of that watch. After everything that had happened, he couldn't.
He couldn't.
A heavy weight fell over him. The cold metal against his wrist sat as a reminder of his failings, his weakness, his past. It made him work harder. Train harder, to push himself and Hatterene further in the isolated forest. For hours, they trained in the humid air, until sweat and heat soaked into their bones. They trained until the wind picked up, until the forest came alive with creaking and cracking branches and Pokemon began to scatter from the trees. The sky above turned dark and grey, a hint of the storm to come spitting through the canopy as droplets of rain. Bede wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, slick with sweat, and decided enough was enough. The ache in his lungs had become a burn that rose up his throat. Hatterene sagged, drifting slowly over to him, eager for respite.
"That should be enough for today," he said to her with a nod, a faint, exhausted smile that she shared. "You did well, and deserve a break." He returned her to her Great Ball, noting the change in weather. "And I should be getting back before this storm hits."
With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, and turned to head back the way he'd come. He touched the Galarian cuff in his wrist, his fingers absently tracing the uneven pattern, before he slid his hand up to his watch.
Everything stopped.
Nothing. He felt nothing. No weight, no cold metal, no watch. It was gone. Bede stared down at the empty space on his wrist, his eyes blowing wide. Unable to breathe, to think. Fingers winding around his wrist, grasping the air, his sleeve, his skin.
It was gone.
Heart in his throat, Bede whirled on his feet and swept his gaze over the ground. The dirt, the thick grass, the leaf litter and detritus, his footprints in the soft mud.
No.
It had to be here, he knew it had to be here. He dropped to his knees, brushing leaves and twigs away with hurried swipes of his hands. Scrambling forward across the dirt on his hands and knees, tossing everything out of his path.
It has to be here!
Wind broke through the trees, whistling and rustling. Deafened by the pounding of his heart between his ears, by the panic seizing around his throat like a vice, and he couldn't feel the rain as it fell over him. He felt nothing; not the cold wind, the biting rain, the rocks beneath his hands and knees, the thorns on branches he swept aside. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the rain off his face, unknowingly leaving a streak of mud in its place.
He staggered back the way he came. Kicked and shoved aside leaves and branches, twigs and logs. His hand fumbled for his wrist. Empty. Gone. It was gone. How could it be gone? How did he not notice?
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see through the rain, his vision blurring, eyes prickling with heat and panic, and he turned around again. Faster this time. Breaking into a sprint, rushing back to where they'd first began to train hours earlier. The dirt, disturbed by their efforts, was now slick with water. The path turned to mud. He hit the ground on his knees, digging through the muck desperately, rocks and branches scraping his fingers raw, burning his knuckles.
No.
He continued. Through the mud, the downpour, the pain.
No, no, no.  
Again and again, searching up and down the path, into the overgrown grass and bushes, tossing stones and logs out his way.
No, no, no, no, no.  
Back and forth. On his knees, on his feet. Wiping away raindrops, the water, the tears on his face, down his cheeks, smearing mud in its place. Gasping with heavy sobs. Breaths of white hot panic, blazing in his throat.
It can't be-
Thunder crashed in the distance. A flash of light, a flash of realisation.
No.
It went dark. Everything went dark. The forest, the sky, his vision. He fell to his knees and felt nothing.
Nothing at all.
-
Gloria rushed into the Dojo, the wind slamming the door shut behind her.
"Whoa!" She breathed a nervous laugh as thunder crashed in the distance. "That's one heck of a storm!"
She stepped into the Dojo as the rain began to fall in earnest, the wind roaring outside. The warmth and shelter of the sturdy building was a welcome relief, and she was ever grateful that she'd made a run for it at the first sign of rain.
"That's not even the worst of it," Hop said. "It's forecast to get worse from here!"
"Oh, gosh. I'm glad I got back in time, then!" Gloria tidied up her uniform, fixed her wind-swept hair back into its neat bun, and settled down beside Hop. "Have they shut down the trains, yet?"
"Yeah, last one left for Wedgehurst half an hour ago. They're not going to be running until the storm's well and truly gone."
That was understandable, and as Gloria glanced around the Dojo, she found it was full of all sorts of different people, not just the students. League staff, Pokemon rangers, odd Trainers who had been caught out by the storm were taking shelter here too. The air thrummed with the noise of dozens of conversations taking place at once, the floor packed with people. Gloria could hardly hear herself think.
"It sounds like we've got the whole island in here," she joked, trying to settle her nerves.
The buzz of noise was reaching an uncomfortable level, swamping her body with a jumble of sounds from all directions. She heard someone laugh behind her, a young girl squeal to her far right. In the kitchen, chairs scraped against the floor.
The storm outside was looking more and more tempting as the seconds ticked by.
"Hmm, not the whole island," Hop commented. "I don't see Bede anywhere."
Gloria perked up. "Bede? Is he here?" She glanced around the room, spying yellow uniforms, League Staff, Trainers she didn't recognise.
"I ran into him this afternoon. He was looking for a quiet place to train, so I mentioned the Forest of Focus to him."
Gloria hummed in thought. Heavy disquiet settled in her gut as the storm raged outside. Thunder shook the building. Lights flickered. Her heart pounded harder in her chest, and she couldn't stop feeling as though something wasn't quite right.
"Do you think he caught the train back?" she asked, pulling out her phone. They still had service, and she fought the urge to ring Bede then and there. Nerves spun in her stomach, and she didn't want to overreact for no reason; there was no need to panic.
"There's no way he'd let himself get caught in this weather, he's too proud to let anyone see him looking like a soggy Wooloo!" Hop laughed, but his reassurance did nothing to calm the anxious thrum in her chest.
"Yeah, you're right."
She tightened her grip on her phone, held it close in her lap. Her eyes swept over the crowd and back again, trying to spy anything recognisable. Platinum blond hair, a magenta jacket, or the colours of the Fairy Gym. A lump sat in her throat that she couldn't swallow down. Something wasn't right.
Where is Bede?
"I'm going to call him," Gloria said.
The pull on her gut, of her instincts, was too great to ignore. Too fierce, too strong, and she unlocked her phone and called him despite the incredulous look on Hop's face.
"Seriously? He's probably in Ballonlea right now, drinking tea or whatever with Ms Opal." He waved off her concerns. "Arceus, I could go for a hot drink right now."
She focused on the ringtone by her ear, her whole body tensing as the seconds ticked by.
"I know, but…" Gloria pursed her lips when she reached Bede's answering bank, his calm voice telling her to leave a message, and she hung up. Not a second passed before she called again.
Hop raised an eyebrow at her. "For all you know, he could be having a shower or something."
Trepidation sloshed in her belly, and she couldn't bring herself to respond to Hop's unhelpful jibe. Her call went unanswered a second time. She stared down at her phone, at Bede's name, at the picture she'd chosen for his contact. It was from their trip through the Wild Area, a cropped portion of a picture she'd taken not-so-sneakily one morning. A peaceful moment in time captured in the early morning, Bede illuminated by soft light as he cooked breakfast, unaware of the phone trained on him. The serene smile on his face stirred another bout of unease inside her.
"Do you really think he'd let himself get caught out in this storm?" Hop scoffed. "This is Bede we're talking about. Didn't you say he was always checking the weather when you two scouted the Wild Area together?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"But what?"
"I don't know!" Gloria huffed. "Something doesn't feel right. He always answers his phone."
"Maybe he's got it on silent?"
"Bede doesn't put his phone on silent!"
She called him again, staring off to the side as her phone rang by her ear so she didn't have to see Hop's bemused expression.
"You call him often, do you?"
Gloria sent Hop a look.
"Hey, you're the one who said he always answers his phone. You must call him pretty often to be so sure of that."
For the third time, her call went unanswered. She went to call again when Hop snatched her phone out of her hands.
"Hey!" Gloria yelped, lunging to try and grab her phone back.
"You're just gonna keep bombarding him with calls!"
"So what?! That's none of your business!"
Hop jumped to his feet, holding her phone high above his head. "You've gotta give him a break! If he's not answering, he's not answering! There's no point in spamming him with calls!"
Gloria got to her feet and stared Hop down. "Give. Me. Back. My. Phone."
"No can do! Not unless you tell me why you're so insistent on calling him like this."
She huffed. "I already told you; something doesn't feel right!"
"You've gotta be more specific than that."
Hop waved her phone above his head, taunting her. She glared at it, at him, and debated tackling him to the ground in order to steal it back. It was tempting.
"I don't know how to explain it, okay?! I just- something doesn't feel right."
Her heart ached.
"I need to know that Bede's okay," Gloria said, and folded her arms across her chest. "I can't help but feel like… something's happened. I know it's probably nothing, and I'm probably wrong, but…"
She couldn't brush it aside. Something hardened inside her, and she turned towards the heavy wooden doors.
"Hold on, you're not seriously thinking of going out there, are you?"
She didn't look back. "You said he was in the Forest of Focus, right?"
"Glo, come on. He's probably fine!"
"I know," she said softly, pressing her lips tightly together, "and I'm probably an idiot. But I need to know. I'd rather be a soggy, wet idiot than do nothing at all."
"This isn't even the peak of the storm!"
"That's why I have to go now. Bede's not answering and you've stolen my phone, so…"
"Wait, wait, here's your phone!" Hop thrust it back to her, and she pocketed it.
"I'm still going."
He sighed. "I know, but now I can call you if he turns up here. Or if he happens to call you back, you'll know."
"Thanks, Hop."
"Yeah, yeah. Just know that if he's cozy and warm in Ballonlea and you get drenched for nothing, I'm going to throttle him next time I see him, okay?"
That made Gloria laugh. "I'll make sure to warn him."
Above all, above the nervous churning of her gut and the anxiety pulsing in her veins, she wished that Hop was right. She took a breath and made for the doors, shoving them open against the roaring wind. Gloria slid between them before they slammed shut with a crash as loud as thunder behind her. She stepped out into a torrent of wind and rain, of blistering, breathless cold. Gusts of wind threatened to knock her off her feet. Blinding rain fell sideways and drenched her as though she'd been hit with a wave from the ocean instead.
Not once did she consider turning back.
Gloria launched down the stairs, slick with water, and broke into a sprint towards the wetlands. A blazing heat burned inside her. It ached in her lungs, up her throat, and drove her onwards. Forward. Fighting through the storm, through the wetlands, the overflowing bog and thick mud, pushing hard enough to stumble and land on her feet before she had the chance to fall.
One thing - and one thing only - kept her going, and she ignored everything else.
Bede.
She wanted to be wrong.
The canopy above muffled the storm as she burst into the Forest of Focus. It became an orchestra of wind ripping through trees, branches rustling and snapping, a million drops of rain pattering on a million leaves.
For once, she wished her instincts were wrong.
It was dark. Bursts of lightning cut through the canopy, followed seconds later by booming thunder. Trees became humanoid shadows in the depths of the forest. Rushing water warned of an overfilled river nearby, a black void opening up into the ground where it ran. Gloria turned from it, forcing down a panicked thought of the consequences if she fell in. She, or someone else before her.
Pain thumped in place of her heart. She no longer felt the cold; the cloak of thick water covering every inch of her body had sapped the heat from her bones and made her numb. She didn't feel the mud flicking up against her legs as she ran through the forest. Her foot twisted. An awkward step on slick grass, and her stomach lurched as she staggered and fell to her knees. She didn't pause for a moment, not even to wince, and leapt to her feet. Onwards again. Following the path from memory, looking left and right and back again, searching the trees, around rocks, over the bridge. Peering into dark bushes, through the shrubs and thicket.
Light flashed. It lasted a split second, enough to illuminate the path ahead of Gloria and the figure slumped in the grass.
Bede.
Something tore inside her chest. She was at his side before she'd realised she'd moved. Before she could take a breath, her lips formed his name. A gasp, a sob, a cry of desperation as she touched his shoulder, upon seeing the hollow expanse behind his eyes. Wide and unseeing. She took his hand, his fingers cold. Too cold. His face, pale and streaked with mud and water, was marked with the trails of tears coursing down his cheeks.
Gloria fell into him. Against him. Her arms wrapped around his back, pulling him into her arms, pulling his head to her chest, as she broke. She shattered and crumbled at the sight of him, and couldn't do anything else but embrace him.
She hated being right.
Bede-
Her heart ached.
He was cold. Soaked to the bone, shivering against her. He shifted slightly, giving the faintest movement in her arms, and she held him tighter.
"I'm here," she said. A broken whisper against the top of his head. His platinum blond curls cold and damp with water, darkened by mud. "It's okay."
Forcing the torrent of emotions down, Gloria pulled away. Enough that she could look into his face, into his eyes, and urge him to move.
"Come on, let's get you out of this storm."
She regretted meeting his eyes when nothing registered on his face when he looked at her. There was nothing. Nothing at all behind his eyes. She glanced away and helped him to his feet, looping an arm around his back when he staggered.
What happened to you?
Her jaw clenched hard with unanswered questions, to stop herself from voicing the agony that lanced through her chest. Questions could wait. The blistering rain and biting wind would only strengthen, and the chill of Bede's skin, his faint, shallow breaths, filled her with a greater sense of urgency. They had to get out of the storm. Without thinking about it, she led Bede down the path, through the forest, and away from the Dojo. Deeper into the island. Away from prying eyes, from noise, from people, to the shelter of a cave nearby.
Out of the wind and rain, in a secluded, quiet nook, Gloria directed Bede to sit. He collapsed to the ground as though his legs had given way. Slumping forward, his damp fringe fell over his eyes. The tips of his hair were speckled with mud.
A tight lump lodged in Gloria's throat. She turned away from him for a moment, shucking off her bag, and dug out a towel. She had to gather enough strength to look back at him. Words she couldn't say built in her chest, in her lungs and throat, and stuck on her tongue. Heat washed over her eyes. Despite finding him, despite leading him to shelter, she felt useless. Unable to do anything with her friend suffering right in front of her.
It hurt.
She couldn't bear to see Bede like that any longer. She stepped over to him and sank to her knees at his side, twisting the towel in her hands, and he didn't react. Didn't glance up at her, didn't move at all. If it wasn't for the slightest rising and falling of his chest, he could have been made of stone.
Gloria blinked back her tears. Slowly, she lifted the corner of the towel to Bede's cheek, wiping away the thin streak his own tears had left through the mud on his face.
He turned his face away.
It broke something inside her. The towel slipped from her hands, and she reached up to cup his cheeks instead. With nothing else she could do, she wrapped her useless arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug once again.
"I'm sorry-" she hiccuped as she spoke. Broke off into a sob. "I'm sorry. I don't- I don't know what happened, but- but I'm here. It's okay."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips trembled as she fought back a sob.
Whatever it was, whatever had happened-
"-I'm sorry." It was all she could say. "You don't have to say anything, or tell me what happened, but… but I'm here. I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."
She couldn't promise that, she shouldn't, but she did. She hugged him close as he sank into her, his head dropping to her shoulder, Bede finally accepting her embrace. He did nothing to return it, remaining still in her hold, but it was enough. Enough for Gloria to know this was what he needed. It was all she could give, all she could do to stop herself from crumbling any further when his shallow, shuddering breaths reached her ears. The trembling of his body gave his tears away.
She said nothing, and held him until silence fell over the cave once more.
-
Gloria had come out of nowhere. Like a bolt of lightning, she had appeared before Bede in the darkness, as though summoned by the flash of light itself.
Why?
She pulled him into her arms and nothing made sense.
Why are you here?
He followed her directions, her urging, and stood. Walked with her to a cave, out of the freezing wind that threatened to draw all the heat from his body. Her arm around his back was firm. Solid. It was real.
It didn't make sense. Why had she been there, in the forest, in the storm, when the world had turned to chaos around him?
Bede's legs gave way. Strength sapped from his bones, his body heavy and numb, and he collapsed to the ground with no will to fight. All he saw was the empty space on his wrist.
Again, it hurt. It stung. Guilt driving a stake into his heart, throbbing with shame. With regret and disgust.
Why-
Why does it still hurt?
The touch of a towel against his cheek scattered his thoughts. She was here. Still here, still real. Still looking at him with heartbreaking concern that only made him turn away from her with regret.
How could he bear to face her like this?
He didn't have to. Gloria pulled him into her embrace, wrapped her arms around him, and his remaining walls crumbled. Everything inside him snapped all at once and he collapsed against her. His head fell to her shoulder, dampening her already wet shirt with his tears, as his heart gave way to her touch. He felt everything. He felt all his pain and guilt and regret, and gave it all to her. With quiet sobs, he let himself cry in her arms. The words she whispered to him soothed the turmoil raging inside his chest, and he succumbed to her.
He gave in.
"It's gone."
His voice, loud in the silence, cracked. Heat swam behind his eyes, further tears clouding his vision, and he squeezed them shut as he took a shuddery breath.
It's gone.
He didn't want to believe it.
Gloria pulled back slightly, settling her hands on his shoulders, and regarded him for a moment before asking, "what's gone?"
Bede couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, afraid of what she'd see, knowing that he was unable to hide it from her when she looked at him like that.
She always saw right through him.
Instead, he lifted up his right hand, staring down at it and away from her. Gloria followed his gaze. A moment later, she gently took his wrist, her fingers lingering over the spot where his watch used to sit.
"Oh, Bede…"
The anguish in her voice was too much.
"It's gone," Bede repeated in a fragile whisper.
Her hand shifted to hold his, and he squeezed her hand tight in return. Tears threatened to spill again, his face scrunching up to hold them back, to fight the agony blazing in his chest, and he forced his lips firmly together to prevent them trembling. The hand still on Bede's shoulder slid to his arm, soothingly brushing up and down in an attempt to comfort him. Her gaze remained on his wrist. For that, he was thankful.
"How…?" Gloria tried again. "What happened?"
He took a breath, his lungs heavy and rigid, and it felt like it took all his energy just to inhale. His words came out as a sigh.
"I don't know."
He didn't.
"I… lost it."
Somehow.
It was difficult to speak. Exhausting. His tongue weighed down like a stone in his mouth.
"It fell off and I…" He clenched his jaw, disgust towards himself and towards his pain rising like bile up his throat. "I'm finally free of that wretched thing so why does it hurt so much…? Why can't I-? Why-?"
A sob escaped through his teeth. The chain around his wrist was gone and yet its grip around his soul felt tighter than before. The freedom he'd sought had been ripped away and left a gaping hole in its wake. It hurt. The weight of his regrets, his past, remained.
Why, after all this time, could he not unshackle himself from it? The hold that watch had on him endured, a deep scar seared into his flesh.
"Why can't I release myself from this burden?" It came out as a gasp. Following the burning tears in his eyes, the heaving of his lungs for air. Heat washed down his cheeks as he cried. "Why am I still chained to him-?! I should rid myself of it and be done with it but- but- I can't…!"  
His fingers trembled, curled into a fist, as Bede crumbled into Gloria. Shuddering breaths and broken sobs wracked his body. Pain and guilt and everything all at once tore through his heart, and Gloria held on to him through it all. She wrapped her arms around him and shouldered him as he wept.
And he broke down like never before in the comfort of her embrace. The wails that met his ears sounded too close and too far away, foreign and yet familiar, and he knew it was coming from him. He couldn't stop it, like he couldn't stop the pain. He couldn't hold anything back. There was nothing he could do but let it all out; the cries that left his throat raw, the heavy gasps that shook his body, the tears falling from his eyes. Held up by Gloria, he let it happen. Let the floodgates open, his walls collapse, and he held her in return. As tightly as he could, he held her, and it kept him from shattering completely, from letting the darkness take hold.
Bede gave in to her- to her comfort, her concern, her embrace, and they rode out the storm in his heart, sheltered from the turmoil raging outside in the depths of a cave. When his tears had dried, his breathing calmed, when he had no more agony left to voice, he remained in her arms in silence. The shame he felt was not towards how he lingered in her hug, but due to the fact that all it had taken for him to break was a simple, golden watch. A trinket, an object from his past. A chain he couldn't bring himself to remove.
He was shameful. Piteous. Pathetic. Knew he didn't have to say as much for her to know the truth of how deplorable he had become.
It made him laugh. A dry, hollow breath of laughter.
"It's merely a watch," Bede said softly, as quiet as a whisper. Disbelief in his voice. "He didn't deign to gift it to me himself- no, it came wrapped in a box, with assurances from Oleana herself that it was from him. "
Pain flashed behind his eyes.
"For all I know, she could have been behind it, gifted it without his knowledge."
It hurt.
"Why would he have remembered my birthday when he couldn't even recall my name?"
Memories he had buried deep resurfaced. Innumerable, unanswered calls. Awards received without an audience, without recognition. Disinterest in the eyes of the one looked up to the most.
Disappointment.
Movement across his back swept those images away. Gloria, her arms still firmly around him, comfortingly ran her hands across his back. Her touch was tender. Gentle and soothing, and he let his eyes flutter shut from her ministrations. He didn't know how such a simple gesture could be so calming, if she knew how much it would quell the pain in his heart, or if he felt this way because it was her.
Bede sighed. "I should be grateful. Happy, even, to finally be liberated from it-" from him "-yet why? Why does it- why do I feel this way?"
"Maybe... you weren't ready."
He hadn't expected her to answer him, and her voice cut through the silence. It gave him pause.
"I think, and I might be wrong," she continued, "but... maybe it hurts because you didn't have control over it. You didn't actively choose to get rid of it, you had that choice made for you, and… sometimes, that lack of control can hurt the most."
Bede let her words sink in.
"It's okay if you weren't ready. No one gets to decide when you're ready to move on - if you choose to do at all - except you. And Rose, he had such control over your life for so long, a year or two apart from him isn't going to be enough to get over everything he did to you."
Gloria let out a quiet breath, resting her head against the top of his shoulder.
"You've come so far already and, and I know it still hurts. It's still so raw. I'm not able to do much but… but when the storm passes, I'll help you look for it."
Everything stilled inside of him. "You… you will?"
She didn't tell him to leave it. To move on, now that he had a perfect opportunity to rid himself of it for good.
"Why?" He pulled back, pulled out of her arms, and finally met her eyes. He saw then that she had been crying as he had.
She smiled. "Because it means a lot to you. And… and I want you to be able to choose to move on when you're ready." Her expression wobbled as she spoke, as her lips quavered slightly. "How could I not want to help you, Bede? I almost want to drop everything and go out looking for it right now." Admitting that, she laughed. "And- And just because you're attached to that watch doesn't mean you haven't already come so far. You know, it's just a watch. Whether you keep it or not says nothing about you as a person or your past or anything at all. I… I want you to know that."
Bede wanted to embrace her again. His heart ached as he took in everything she said, filling his chest with warmth.
How could he not be so utterly in love with her when she was like this?
Arceus, she… she was everything he needed and more, and he lost himself in her gaze for a moment, unable to pull away, to look away, to see or care about anything else but her. Adoration for her surged in his lungs, rising up his throat with words that formed silently on his tongue, seconds from spilling out.
Everything he wanted to tell her.
Gloria flustered, quickly glancing away. "I- we should, um, try and dry off a bit," she squeaked, jumping to her feet.
The towel that had fallen into her lap dropped to the ground. She went to grab it as he did, their fingers overlapping on the cloth, and she jolted as though the touch of his skin had burned her. Even in the darkness of the cave, Bede could make out the blush on her cheeks. It made his heart skip with a heavy thump.
Gloria snatched the towel, her sudden embarrassment startling him. Nothing he had done, or said, should have elicited such a reaction from her, and his lungs fluttered breathlessly as his mind scrambled to work out why she was acting this way.
"You've, um, got a bit of mud on your cheeks," she said quickly, shoving the towel into his hands.
She wasn't looking at him, and Bede couldn't take his eyes off her. He absently rubbed the towel against his cheek as he studied her, using the cloth to hide the slow trickle of heat that built across his face. Seeing her flustered like this had completely distracted him from his lost watch, a new set of emotions pooled through his veins and washed over the pain. It was as though upon losing it, he had gained even more in return.
The key to his unbroken chains was right in front of him. It had been all along.
-
Something was wrong with Gloria. Her heart galloped at an impossibly fast pace in her chest, thumping like a drum against her ribcage, and she could feel her cheeks begin to flush. All it had taken to set her off like this was a simple look from Bede. In that moment, his eyes raw and red from crying, mud streaked across his face, his damp hair hanging over his brow, something had ignited inside of her. Despite the pain, the cold, the discomfort, he had smiled at her. His expression had eased, light returning to his violet eyes, and it had done something inexplicable to her.
Her heart raced. Blood surged through her veins, her mind dizzy and incoherent. Now wasn't the time for- for whatever this was, and she chided herself for finding Bede adorable in such a vulnerable moment. Guilt pierced her chest, and she tried to shake the giddy feeling in her lungs away. It wasn't right to fawn over how ridiculously gorgeous he managed to be even when he was drenched and covered in mud, when he had been crying on her shoulder minutes earlier. She needed to screw her head on straight and focus.
Gloria peeked at Bede, remaining stiff at his side, and the strings of her heart tugged at the sight of his platinum blond curls damp and plastered to his brow and cheeks. His hair seemed even longer than usual, the weight of the water pulling out some of the curl. Droplets spilled from the tips of his hair and slowly cascaded down his cheeks.
She snatched the towel off him and threw it over his head. Covering his face, his hair, and muffling his yelp of protest, Gloria forcefully ruffled the towel as her heart punched upwards into her throat.
"Y-You should dry your hair as well!" she squeaked.
"Hey!"
She didn't know what she was doing anymore, rubbing the towel over his head because she couldn't bear to look at him for a moment longer. Bede caught her wrists, tugging her hands away from the cloth, and she stumbled to her knees from the motion. The towel fell from Bede's head, revealing his irritated glare. Having fallen to her knees, she was suddenly close to him again- close enough to make out the heat swimming across his face, the embarrassment in his eyes. Her breath caught. His hands, firmly around her wrists, felt like lighting.
"I'm perfectly capable of drying my own hair," Bede huffed.
Gloria opened and shut her mouth wordlessly. She couldn't speak. Not when he was this close to her, not when he was holding her wrists like that, not when the blush on his cheeks melted his glare into something heated and dark. It sent a shiver down her spine and all she could do was nod fervently until he let her go.
She turned away from him, air filling her lungs with a silent gasp, and she fumbled for her bag.
"S-Sorry," Gloria mumbled. She wasn't thinking straight at all. Her heart thumped in her ears, drowning out anything coherent. "It's- It's really cold in here, huh?"
She rubbed her arms up and down, giving an exaggerated shudder, as the cool air in the cave began to gnaw at her skin. Her damp clothes didn't help.
"Do you have a change of clothes on you?" she asked, glancing back at him.
Bede was drying his hair with the towel, and looked over at her from beneath it.
"I hadn't planned to stay here long enough to warrant a change of clothes," he said. "If it hadn't been for me losing my watch, I would have returned to Ballonlea by now."
"Right. Of course." She snapped her gaze back to her bag. Somehow, he'd managed to send her heart rate skyrocketing again. She heard Bede shiver, and almost shivered in return from that faint sound alone.
"I-I have a blanket!" Gloria yanked a picnic blanket from her bag, bundling it in her arms, and gestured with it to him.
"I'm not sure how much a blanket will help, but I appreciate it. It will be better than nothing, I suppose." He took it from her and began to unfurl it.
"You should at least, um, take off some of your clothes…" she trailed off, her cheeks heating as she spoke. "Y'know, since  th-they're wet and it's cold and- and you can use the blanket to, um…"
She wasn't making any sense.
"F-Forget it!" she squeaked, unable to think past the fact that she'd just told Bede to undress when he didn't have a change of clothes to get into, which meant he would be-
"I'm gonna change!" Gloria said loudly. Her voice cracked, and she pulled out her change of clothes. "So- So don't look this way, alright?"
She sent Bede a pointed look over her shoulder, her face ablaze with embarrassed heat, and he blinked at her, his eyes widening.
"You don't have to tell me not to!" he huffed. "Of course I wouldn't…" Bede cleared his throat. "Although, you are right. I should probably remove at least some layers…"
He said that last part quietly, and Gloria snapped her head around so she wasn't looking at him any longer. He was going to take up her suggestion, and that realisation sent a crackle of lightning through her blood. She clutched the dry clothes in her arms to her chest, and tried to shove those thoughts away.
He was her friend, for Arceus' sake! He was getting out of his damp clothing because it was cold and the storm wasn't going to pass any time soon, and the blanket would keep him warm and- and she had to stop thinking about it. Sure, Bede was definitely attractive. He was extraordinarily gorgeous in a way that left her breathless, and she found her gaze lingering on him more often than she'd like to admit, but he was her friend and she shouldn't be gawking over him.
And she definitely shouldn't be flustering over the prospect of him with less clothing on.
Gloria heard something shuffle behind her, the sound of wet clothing being removed, and she jolted. Her mind snapped back to reality. With her heart in her throat, she quickly began to change, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder to make sure Bede wasn't looking this way.
Of course he wouldn't. There was no need to check, no need to even think about looking behind her, when Bede was most certainly undressing as well. That would be all kinds of wrong.
Gloria took a shaky breath as she pulled on her cozy woolen jumper, and shoved her damp clothes to the side by her bag. Her legs were no more bare now than they'd been in the Dojo's uniform, but she wished she had packed something warmer, or longer, than her pink dress. She undid her hair, shaking out her messy bun to dry it as best she could. As she sighed, silence filled the cave once more.
"Are you, um…" She didn't know what to say, hadn't thought this through. "...decent?"
Arceus. Her cheeks burned with a furious blush, and she squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. She wasn't even facing him, for goodness sake!
Bede cleared his throat. "I am," he said, making Gloria jump.
"Right!"
She whirled on her feet a little too fast, with a bit too much panic, and relief knocked the air from her lungs when she realised Bede had only taken off his outermost layers. His t-shirt and shorts were folded neatly beside him, keeping his long-sleeved top and, presumably, his leggings on. He had the blanket covering the legs and the lower part of his chest, and appeared enviously warm. Gloria's heart stammered in her chest as she sat next to him, with a comfortable distance between them. She faced forward, not letting herself look at him, still feeling awkward- as though he could read the inner turmoil that had been churning in her mind.
It was difficult being friends with someone so undeniably attractive at times.
"Feeling a bit warmer now?" Gloria asked, needing something to fill the silence. She absently rubbed her calves up and down as the cool air seeped into her.
"I am, yes. The blanket certainly helps."
She nodded stiffly. With Bede so close, it felt like her whole body was on alert. Stiff and tense, hyperreactive to the slightest sound, the slightest movement in the corner of her eyes. The situation was so strange, she couldn't bring herself to calm down. Cold wind swept through the cave, the temperature biting, and in a swift movement, the blanket was thrown over her legs.
Bede shifted closer, right up against Gloria's side, wordlessly sharing the blanket she'd given him. Warmth enveloped her. Flooding her veins, her chest, her lungs, and she gaped at him in silence as he looked away.
"That's better, isn't it?" he said quickly.
"You- You don't have to…"
She flustered and stared into her lap. Their shoulders were pressed together, and although they'd hugged before on many occasions, and sat like this before too, it felt different. Worlds apart from their casual hugs, from the time he'd sat beside her like this to comfort her.
"Need I remind you, it's your blanket? It wouldn't be right for me to have it all to myself when you're shivering like that."
Gloria nodded. She'd stopped shivering. "Thanks…"
"Like I said, you're the one sharing it with me," Bede huffed. "If anything, I should be thanking you."
That made her laugh. A short breath of laughter that dissolved the tension in the air. It allowed her to relax, to see how absurd the whole situation was, to realise that she was making a big deal out of nothing. This was Bede. Her friend. There was nothing for her to get worked up about.
With a smile, Gloria leant her head against Bede's shoulder. A comforting gesture that warmed her heart.
"I'm… just glad you're okay," she whispered to him. Her eyes drew closed. She settled against him, relishing in his presence, how calm and peaceful she felt beside him.
She felt safe, and knew everything was going to be alright.
-
When Gloria leant her head against his shoulder, Bede's mind screeched to a halt. Every fibre in his body tensed all at once. He couldn't breathe for a moment, his brain short circuiting in disbelief, as she snuggled into him. The practicality of sharing a blanket for warmth was suddenly lost, thrown out the window, the cave, into the storm, and he glanced at the girl curled into his side in shock.
"I'm… just glad you're okay," she whispered with the sweetest smile on her face, and her eyelids fluttered shut.
He couldn't say anything in return. His heart wedged in his throat, in his mouth, and no words would form. She looked so serene, so peaceful, and he didn't dare move, not wanting to risk disturbing her.
Somehow, she had become something of a panacea to him. Her mere presence at his side was enough to ease the pain, appearing out of nowhere whenever he needed her the most.
In the midst of the storm, she had found him.
"Why were you there?" he found himself asking.
"Why was I where?"
"In the Forest of Focus, where you found me."
"Oh, that." She laughed sheepishly. "Hop said that's where you were going to train."
"But why were you there in the first place? You should have been taking shelter."
"I actually had been taking shelter," she admitted, "in the Dojo."
"So you just decided to go wandering around the Forest of Focus in the middle of a storm?"
Gloria snorted. "No, I'm not that reckless!"
"Then… why?"
Why had she been there?
"I… was looking for you," she said quietly. Sheepishly.
"And you say you're not reckless…" Bede huffed, despite the firm squeeze of his heart. "What on earth would cause you to look for me in the middle of a storm?"
He hadn't given anyone, let alone her, any indication that something was wrong.
Gloria pursed her lips. The bashful look in her eyes, along with the hint of a blush on her cheeks, sent Bede's heart fluttering.
"Well… it's a bit silly," Gloria began. She chewed on her bottom lip as she mulled over her words. "But I… I had a bad feeling about it. When Hop mentioned that he'd seen you earlier, and you weren't there in the Dojo, I just… something felt wrong."
"That's it? You went looking for me based on a feeling?"
"There's more to it than that!" Gloria pouted. "You didn't answer your phone, either."
He hadn't heard his phone ring over the storm, and doubted that he would have answered in that moment anyway.
"I still don't see how that alone would make you venture out into weather like this."
Her expression fell and, for a moment, Bede wondered if he'd somehow pushed that point too far. As though he'd stepped on her toes, hit a sore spot.
"I guess it was a bit ridiculous," she agreed with a sigh. "But I couldn't just sit and do nothing. Not when everything inside me was screaming that something was wrong. Not when… when I've felt like that before."
She went quiet.
"What do you mean?" Bede asked. There was more to this, more to what she was - and wasn't - saying, and he desperately wanted to know. He needed to know, to understand.
"I haven't told anyone about it before," she said slowly. "It's one of the reasons why I'm always going with my gut, trusting my feelings, that sort of thing. Sometimes, most of the time, I'm wrong, but… once, before this, I was right."
Her eyes closed. She took a breath, a slow, deep breath, before continuing.
"It was the day my father died. The day of his accident. He was… hit by a car on the way home from work."
Bede's heart dropped into his stomach. She'd never spoken about this before.
"He was always really punctual, always made an effort to be home before seven at night. But that day… I remember looking up at the clock right as it hit seven and- and I knew. I knew then that something had happened."
She sighed.
"I mean, I obviously didn't know what had happened but… at that moment, I felt like something was wrong. I knew something was wrong. And- And maybe that was just me being an anxious child or finding something in those memories that wasn't there in the first place-"
Gloria caught herself and paused. Again, she took a deep breath to calm herself.
"I just… whenever I get a feeling like that, I can't stop myself. I have to do something. And today, when Hop mentioned that he'd seen you, and the storm was raging, I-I felt like something wasn't right."
Bede found her hand under the blanket and gave it a squeeze. A firm, comforting squeeze, as his heart ached for her.
He didn't know what to say.
"I didn't want to be right," she continued, "I wanted you to be okay. To be wrong, like I have been hundreds of times before this. But I needed to know for myself. I'd rather have wasted my time and got drenched than do nothing at all, if there's the slightest chance that I was right."
"I'm… sorry." It was the only thing that came to him. "I had no idea."
She gave him a faint, appreciative smile. "Of course you didn't. I haven't told anyone about that."
"Well, yes, but I meant that about… your father. And what happened. I'm sorry."
He fumbled over his words, his mouth dry.
"I didn't mean to make this all about me," she said lightly. "But thanks. It's been almost ten years and yet when I get a feeling like I did that day, it's like I'm going through it all again. At least this time, I could actually help someone. I'm glad."
"So am I," he found himself replying.
She squeezed his hand, and Bede's heart skipped. He didn't know if he should keep holding her hand like this or let it go, and the thought that perhaps she didn't mind sent a wave of heat through his veins. He decided to test the waters, to try something a bit more daring, and against all logical reasoning, he threaded his fingers between hers, interlacing them together. She returned his grip, and the air died in his lungs.
Arceus, it was too much. His heart surged, filling with heat and emotion, and he couldn't believe what was happening. That Gloria had found him in the Forest of Focus to begin with, that she was nestled at his side under a blanket they shared, holding hands with her head rested on his shoulder. To be like this with her was more than he could handle, to have her accept him and all his faults, his failings, to offer to go look for his watch with him after the storm passed.
He wondered how on earth he had managed to find someone like her in the first place.
"Oh, I should probably let Hop know I found you," Gloria said, stifling a yawn. "That way, you don't get 'throttled' the next time you see him."
"Excuse me?"
She snorted, pulling out her phone and typing a quick message with her free hand. "Yeah, Hop said that if I went out into the storm and got drenched for nothing, then he'd throttle you the next time he saw you."
"I'd like to see him try," Bede huffed, amused at the thought of Hop trying to fistfight him.
"Hopefully now you won't have to." Gloria pocketed her phone and relaxed again, settling her head further on his shoulder.
It would be easy for him to rest his cheek against the top of her head, and he fought the temptation to do so- holding her hand, their fingers interlaced, was already overwhelming, his chest thrumming and fluttering with heat, and he didn't want to risk pushing his luck any further. This was more than enough for his heart as it was.
Gloria yawned, lackadaisically covering her mouth with her free hand.
"Sorry," she said, catching the end of her yawn and slurring her words, "I had an early start. Went looking for Max Mushrooms all morning."
Bede swallowed the bubble of amusement that swelled in his chest at her sleepy yawn, and bit back a smile. He didn't know how she managed to be so cute all the damn time, constantly tugging on his heart with the most ordinary behaviour. A simple yawn sent his heart fluttering once again.
"Well, since I doubt the storm is going to pass anytime soon, now might be an opportune time to rest," Bede said, as casually as he could.
"Mm… but shouldn't I-" she yawned "-keep you company?"
Her eyes had already fallen shut.
"You don't have to be awake to keep me company," he said softly. Unable to hold back the tender smile on his face. "You've already done more than enough for me."
Gloria grumbled something in thought, in a weak protest, pouting her lips.
"Go ahead and rest. You deserve as much." He reached over and pulled the blanket higher over her so it rested just beneath her chin. As though he was tucking her into bed, urging her to sleep.
She sighed heavily, and sank into the warmth of the blanket. Her body relaxed. The pout of her lips eased. Her breathing slowed as she fell into the depths of sleep, and Bede finally gave in. He lowered his cheek to the crown on her head and smiled. An unbidden, unabashed smile pulled on his lips. His heart, having melted in her presence, swelled with adoration for her.
"Thank you," he whispered into her hair.
The space on his wrist no longer felt so empty.
-
To not fall asleep beside Gloria was an onerous task. Her warmth was comforting in a way that caused him to let down his guard, to relax, to forget the world around them. He found himself dosing on and off, woken by a sudden clap of thunder or the cry of Pokemon deeper in the cave, and chided himself each time for it. Sleep was too inviting next to her. Bede huffed. It wasn't like him to ignore the dangers of sleeping around wild Pokemon, completely throwing aside years of protective instincts he'd drilled into himself, just because of her. Had her naivety rubbed off onto him, or was it because somehow, she made him feel safe?
His worries faded when he glanced at her. Sleeping soundly with the faintest smile gracing her lips, the expression on her face calmed him. Talking with her, crying in her arms, being in her embrace, bit by bit she had chipped away at the cage around his heart and released him from that pain. He knew, with her beside him, that he could forsake the chain that had kept him shackled for so long. He could finally leave it behind.
Her acceptance was what he had needed all along. The Galatian Cuff around his wrist, although not a replacement for his watch, filled the space it had left behind. Just like how Gloria, how Ms Opal and the Trainers of his Gym, how all the people he now considered friends, had filled the gap in his heart left by the wounds of his past.
As the tempest inside Bede began to ease, so too did the raging weather outside. The storm passed. Golden light streamed into the cave as the setting sun breached the dark clouds and bathed the Isle of Armour in warmth once again. He didn't know how much time had passed since Gloria had found him, since they had taken up shelter in the cave, and he couldn't bring himself to wake her just yet. She continued to doze happily on his shoulder, evidently more exhausted than she had let on. As always, it seemed as though she had pushed herself as hard and as far as she could manage, even though no one was expecting her to do so.
That much, they had in common.
Bright light flashed over Bede's eyes, and he recoiled, squinting, and glared at the source towards the entrance to the cave.
"Oh, Arceus this is gold!" Laughter spilled from the person aiming the blinding flashlight from their phone at Bede and Gloria. "I have to get a picture of this."
Bede immediately recognised that cocky laugh, his heart catching in his throat as a shutter sounded. Again and again.
"Delete those right this instant!" Bede snapped.
Heat surged across his cheeks, embarrassment filling his lungs, and he stiffened in shock. With dread at having been caught snuggling under a blanket with Gloria.
Hop snorted. "No way! I'm sending these to Gloria." He flashed a grin at Bede. "And Marnie, and Sonia, and her mum-"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Wouldn't I?" Hop sauntered over, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Marnie is not gonna believe this unless I have evidence and, hey, I have a competition to win."
Bede bristled with mortification. "What competition?!"
"Nope, can't tell ya. That'd ruin the whole thing!" Hop kept his phone trained on them. His grin widened. "But wow. Wow. This is what you two have been doing the whole time? And here Gloria keeps insisting that you're only friends."
"We- We've done nothing of the sort! Whatever you're insinuating, you must have your head screwed on backwards!"
"Right. Says the guy currently snuggling with Gloria. And aren't those her clothes next to her bag?" Hop let out a low whistle, his eyes wide. "Maybe I should give you two some privacy…"
Heat surged through Bede's entire body. With the blanket covering Gloria up to her chin and the clothes she was wearing earlier bundled up by her bag, he realised what exactly Hop was getting at.
"Sh-She got changed!" Bede barked quickly. "We got drenched in the storm, so she changed! You- You've got this all wrong. We haven't- we didn't- whatever you're suggesting, you couldn't be further from the truth!"
He tugged the blanket down enough so Hop could see with his own eyes that they were both fully clothed. At the sudden lapse in temperature, Gloria grumbled and shifted closer to her only source of warmth, to Bede. Hop watched on, amused.
"Sure, sure. I believe you." Hop's grin said otherwise. "This is definitely something purely platonic that I'm witnessing right now."
"What are you even doing here?" Bede huffed. He pulled the blanket back up to Gloria's chin, scowling as his cheeks blazed with a dark blush he couldn't force down.
"Glo told me where you guys were, and since the storm passed, I decided to come check up on my mates out of the goodness of my heart."
"I don't believe that for a second."
"Ouch, that's harsh."
Hop's cheeky grin remained firmly in place, evidently amused at Bede's growing discomfort.
"How Glo can do something like this and act like she doesn't have feelings for you is beyond me." Hop gestured at them snuggled beneath the blanket. "You should've seen how distraught she was when you wouldn't answer your phone. I doubt she would've acted like that towards anyone else."
Bede's heart flopped. "She was distraught because-"
Gloria's words came back to him, how she'd never opened up about the feeling she'd had the day her father died to anyone before. He realised then why Hop was reading so much more into the situation.
"Because…?" Hop raised an eyebrow, waiting for Bede to finish his sentence.
"It's not what you're thinking," Bede sighed. "Trust me, you couldn't be more wrong. Gloria, she… she can't help but act when she feels as though someone is in need of help. I'm sure you know that well enough."
Hop looked at Gloria and his grin began to fade. Amusement fell from his eyes.
"Yeah, you're right. And Arceus, she'd hate it if she heard what I was insinuating…" He made a sour expression at himself. "I just… want her to be happy, y'know? If she's got feelings for you, I want her to realise that but… ugh!"
Hop ruffled his hair in exasperation, before sighing heavily.
"I guess it's still too early for that, huh?"
"You don't need to tell me that."
Hop quirked a smile. "Good thing she sleeps like a log. If she heard any of this… the Meowth would be out of the bag for sure!"
"Which is why now would be an opportune time for you to can it."
Bede sent a wary glance at Gloria, finding that her peaceful expression hadn't changed one bit. She was still fast asleep. As much as he didn't want to wake her up, now was as good a time as any. He shifted his shoulder gently in an effort to rouse her.
"Gloria? The storm's passed," Bede said to her. "You should get up now."
"Good luck with that." Hop grinned again, phone ready in hand to take more unwanted photos.
Bede decided to ignore that. He'd already fallen for Hop's taunts twice in one day, and wasn't going to give him any more fuel. Gloria's brow scrunched as Bede nudged her with his shoulder again, and she grumbled something incoherent in her throat. Her eyes slowly fluttered open. She blinked a few times in a daze, Bede's heart swelling at the adorable, sleepy haze in her eyes, and she lifted her head off his shoulder.
Their eyes met. A moment passed before recognition filled Gloria's eyes, before she realised how close they were.
"Oh! Sorry!" Gloria squeaked, recoiling off Bede's shoulder.
The blanket fell as she startled, and it pooled over their laps and revealed that they were still holding hands. Their fingers were still entwined. A shutter clicked. Gloria snapped her head towards the sound.
"Hop?!" She snatched her hand from Bede's. Heat rushed up her cheeks, and Bede glanced away as an identical blush burned across his face. "What- What are you doing here?! Did you just take a picture?!"
Her embarrassment infected Bede, and he felt suddenly sheepish, as though they had been caught doing something indecent rather than simply holding hands. As though that was somehow worse than sharing a blanket, than her sleeping on his shoulder. He could feel amusement radiating off Hop and focused on folding up the blanket instead as Gloria flustered.
"Delete it!" she cried, leaping to her feet in indignation.
"Too late, already sent it to Marnie," Hop teased.
Marnie again. Bede bit back a frustrated huff. He couldn't voice anything in protest, silenced under the weight of mortification at being discovered holding Gloria's hand after assuring Hop that nothing was going on between them. He knew what it had looked like, and that made it impossible to deny what had happened, or what Hop thought had happened. The furious blush on Bede's face pooled to the very tips of his ears and flushed down his neck. An entirely unhelpful physiological reaction.
"Why did you send it to Marnie?!" Gloria squawked. She stamped her foot, folding her arms firmly across her chest as she stared Hop down.
"How else is she gonna believe me?" Hop flashed a grin at her. "Who knew you two were at that stage already-"
"Gimme that!"
She launched herself at Hop and swiped his phone before he could blink. Bede watched on, impressed.
"How many did you take…?!" Gloria swiped through the photos on Hop's phone, her eyes widening.
"Don't worry, I already sent them to you."
"I don't want them!"
She thrust his phone back at him with a huff. The embarrassment on her face shattered into hurt, and her expression darkened. She turned from Hop, her eyes meeting Bede's for a split second, before she marched over to her bag.
"Forget it," she said through her teeth, stuffing her wet clothes into her bag.
Bede sent a pointed look at Hop, who grimaced apologetically. They both knew he'd gone too far.
"Glo, look, I'll delete them." He tapped away at his phone. "And I didn't send them to Marnie, or anyone. I promise."
Bede stared at Hop in disbelief. He hadn't sent them to anyone at all?
Gloria sent an unimpressed look over her shoulder at Hop. A hard, callous stare that made Bede glad it wasn't directed at him. The hurt in her eyes was obvious, and it made her whole body tense as though she was trying to protect herself from further harm.
"You know how much I hate the paparazzi, taking pictures of me all the time when I'm just minding my own business, always insinuating stuff about me, and then you go and do the exact same thing…"
She pursed her lips. Bede knew it was to stop them from trembling. She always did that when she was about to cry, and it pierced his heart.
"Glo…"
"I should be safe with my friends. To be able to relax without- without you acting like them."
Gloria turned away from Hop. Her bottom lip trembled for a second before she bit down on it. Bede went to stand, moved to step closer to her in order to offer her some comfort, when she picked up her bag and stood.
"I came here to support Bede," she said, turning sharply to face Hop. "You have no idea what he went through, what happened, at all. So don't act like them, don't twist what you saw for your own amusement when you don't even know what happened."
"I... I'm sorry." Hop slumped. "You're right, and… man, I really acted like an ass. Sorry." He gave her a regretful smile, turning the screen of his phone towards her. "I deleted them all. Guess I should've known better, huh? You and the paparazzi are like water on an oil fire."
Gloria's expression eased slightly, the corner of her lips turning up at Hop's analogy. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Can you forgive an ass like me?" Hop lifted his arms, gesturing for a hug.
She looked at him for a moment before shaking her head with a smile, and accepted his hug.
"As long as you don't do that again," she warned.
Hop laughed. "I think I learnt my lesson."
Bede sighed to himself in relief. He was grateful that he didn't have to intervene in any way. Gloria had a glare that was sharp enough to kill, and the last thing he wanted was to give her a reason to level it at him.
He took note to avoid resembling the paparazzi in any way, shape, or form.
"Oh, the storm's over!" Gloria realised way too late. "We should get going, then."
"I was thinking the same." Bede nodded, gathering this folded up Gym Leader shirt and shorts, and handed the blanket back to Gloria. She met his eyes when she took the blanket off him, holding his gaze for a moment.
"Did you still want to…?" she asked quietly, looking deeply into his eyes as if searching for something.
He didn't know how to reply, suddenly put on the spot by the depth in her eyes, the concern on her face, and the question she didn't finish lingering in the air.
Did he still want to… what?
All he could think about was Hop's insinuation from earlier, and his mouth went dry.
Gloria tilted her head as she waited for his answer, the motion adorable in a way that didn't help his ability to speak at all. She leant closer, and Bede's breath hitched in his throat.
"Your watch," she whispered, "did you still want to look for it?"
Oh.
Oh.
Bede swallowed, and glanced away from her face, from the warmth of her eyes, in order to form words on his tongue. Did she not realise how close she was standing to him, or did she not care about personal space?
"No," he said.
The finality of his answer eased something in his chest, and he found himself relaxing. Tension he hadn't realised he'd held finally faded.
"No…?" she echoed. Her eyes widened. "Are you sure…?"
Ahead of them, towards the entrance to the cave, Hop stood with his back to them. Out of earshot.
Bede managed a smile, turning to walk towards the cave's entrance. He looked back at her, a steady warmth filling his lungs, and he knew this was what he wanted. He could finally set himself free.
"I'm sure," he answered. "It's time for me to let it go. I suppose all I needed was a push in the right direction for me to realise that."
She returned his smile and fell into step beside him. "If that's what you want… then I'll support you."
With her next to him, Bede found he could stand a little straighter, a little taller. Each step became easier as they made their way towards the Forest of Focus. Whenever he felt a prickle of doubt, all he had to do was glance at her, to remember her support, her encouragement, her acceptance, and he could move forward. He held his head high as they walked through the forest, not once feeling the urge to search for his watch.
He could finally leave it behind-
Something crunched beneath his foot. Automatically, Bede glanced down at whatever he'd trodden on, and spied a glimmer of gold beneath a mound of mud. A golden buckle covered almost completely in mud, yet still recognisable and familiar. His watch.
"Bede?"
From up ahead, Gloria called to him. Her voice stole his gaze away from his watch, and he could suddenly breathe again. Hadn't realised that he'd been holding his breath, that his heart had been pounding in his ears.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, looking as though she was about to head back over to him.
Bede smiled at her, and took a step, and then another and another, until he was at her side once more.
"Everything is more than alright," he said, and lightly touched her hand. He gave it a quick, gentle squeeze, before continuing on after Hop.
Gloria skipped to catch up with him, her cheeks slightly flushed. She caught his hand as they walked, returning the squeeze he had given her, before releasing his hand. When he glanced at her, she glanced back at him, smiles building on their faces.
Everything was more than alright.
It was perfect.
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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years
Text
Someone Who, Like it Or Not, Will Want You to Share a Little a Lot
BEING ALIVE Chapter 9
PREVIOUS CHAPTER   
A/N: This is my submission for @thatesqcrush​ kink bingo square praise!kink. Also this chapter went a lot different than I originally planned but it just hit me like a ton of bricks so I hope it’s clear what I’m going for. IDK time to flip the script a little! Also if you saw this posted and disappear it’s because tumblr hates me ok sorry
Content Warning: Smut (ahah) and vague mentions of past abuse (if you’ve been reading the story you know)
Word Count: 5k (sorry lol)
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(also how did I never see this gif before fuck me)
“I got you something,” Rafael says. You’re in his office for a lunch break, making sure he eats the salad you’d made for him. Sometimes he still hates you. When you try and shove lettuce down his throat, well, that’s one of those times. But he knows it’s for his own good, like most things you do with him in mind.
“Ooh, we’re doing birthday gifts already?“ you ask, kissing his cheek. "I figured I’d see you later… you’re coming to the restaurant, right? I really don’t think Sonny knows what ‘surprise’ means, but hey. It’s nice of him and the squad.”
“Yes. I know all about it. He hasn’t left me alone for the past two weeks.”
“Nice to know someone cares about me,” you tease, and Rafael rolls his eyes.
“Well, anyway, I figured I’d see you at lunch today, so I brought this one thing with me. I wanted you to wear it tonight. Don’t worry, cariño, you have plenty of other gifts waiting for you at my place.”
“I told you not to go all out. I’m only turning 26. 35 is the next big one.”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “35? I thought it was 30?”
"No. I think 30 will be just another one. Everyone makes it a big deal because it ends in a 0, but I don’t think it is. 35 is where the line is crossed. That’s when you’re officially middle-aged,” you say, grinning a little.
“Jesus, so what am I? Ancient?”
“No. You’re still middle-aged,” you giggle. “You’re getting there, though.”
“Mm. Right. Remind me why I spent money on you again?”
“Because…” you drawl, pulling him in by his tie to press your lips to his. And oh, it’s a mesmerizing kiss, like most of them are: one of your hands moves to the back of his head, pulling him in ever closer, and you’re slipping your tongue in his mouth, the acidic tinge of the vinaigrette you had been eating just the jolt he needed to get him to grasp for you. His hands slip under your shirt, earning a gasp from you, but Rafael remembers he’s in his office and the shades aren’t drawn and keeps his hands on your waist. You’re not close enough; you’re never close enough. “That’s why. Right?”
“Right. I forgot,” he snickers, pecking your lips. “Do you want your present or not?”
“Of course, honey.”
So he gets up and pulls out a jewelry box from his desk drawer, taking a deep breath, unsure of why he was so nervous. He smiles awkwardly, walking back over to the table and handing it to you.
“Open it, cariño.”
You do, your hands shaking a little as you unlatch the box, revealing a simple, delicate gold chain with an emerald pendant attached to it. You don’t say anything, your eyes watering as you look up at him.
“Do you not like it?” he asks, cursing himself. He should’ve asked you to pick something else out.
“Rafael, I can’t accept this. How much money was this? I can’t…”
“It doesn’t matter. I bought it for you, and I want you to have it. Do you like it, (y/n)?”
“I love it, Rafael, but it’s too much… I told you not to spend too much.”
Who was counting? He wasn’t above sharing his wealth that he’d worked to accrue. It was nice to be able to give, sometimes, and that was the expectation, wasn’t it? It was your birthday, he was your boyfriend, and he would be damned if he was outdone by anyone on the squad tonight.
"Just let me give this to you. Please,” he says. “And don’t cry.” God, you were always crying. Too much. You were an emotional person, and internalized everything, good or bad. He’d have to talk you out of ways you put yourself down frequently, but lately he’s been finding it hard to be bothered by it, because you’d smile after he smoothed out the knots in your mind, and kiss him like you meant it. “Stand up. Let me put it on.”
“Okay,” you whisper, nodding and getting up. “This is the nicest thing…anyone’s ever bought for me. Don’t think I don’t want it, Rafael, I do, but it’s… I was shocked at first. I don’t want to put you out.”
"Shh,” he says, taking the necklace out of the box and pushing your hair aside. He kisses the back of your neck, placing the necklace on your skin and clasping the hook.
“I like the pendant,” you say, fingering it between your pointer finger and thumb. “It reminds me of your eyes. Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’m not in the habit of buying jewelry, really. I never had anyone to buy anything for, so I didn’t know…”
“You have good taste,” you say, turning around and smiling, but then your face falls a little. “But… Rafael… how long?”
“How long what?”
“How long did you live like that? Alone? I mean, after Yelina, did you ever get that close again?”
He sighs, leaning against the table. He doesn’t want to divulge this, but at the same time he feels like he has to share. “There was a man. I was… 35,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “But we didn’t work out. Guess I didn’t get the memo that that’s when I was supposed to have my shit together. And I just… I just gave up after that. I had flings, but never got that close again.”
"Honey, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I was only joking about the middle-age thing—“
Rafael waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine, (y/n).”
“You sure?”
“Mm,” he says, putting an arm around your shoulder.
“Eight years is a long time, though.”
"It is… and if I ever seem distant, I don’t mean to be. I’m just used to being alone.”
“I don’t want you to ever get used to that again, honey,” you say, leaning against the table next to him. “You get used to me being here. Soy tuyo y… eres mio.”
He kisses you then, urgently. God, you were going to start talking to him in Spanish now? Even if all you knew was elementary level, he was a goner.
He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that thought, because Carisi’s knocking on the door. “Sorry to interrupt, Counselor, but I need to borrow the birthday girl,” he says, smiling brightly in that annoying way he always did. “We need her more than you right now.”
"What happened? I told Olivia an hour,” you ask, taking Rafael’s hand in your own as he pulls away from your mouth.
“Yeah, well, you know you can ask for an hour… but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna get it. She told me to come pick you up. We got a lead, and if you wanna get out by dinner…”
You roll your eyes at Sonny, then glance at Rafael. "Looks like I have to cut this short. Bye, honey,” you say, kissing him. “Make sure you eat your salad.”
“Yeah, Barba. Gotta get those greens in,” Carisi chuckles as you both give him a look. “What? It’s cute that you worry about his health. My ma, she’s always on my father about taking his meds, and she cooks for him, makes sure he goes for walks.”
“Well, I can’t have Rafael dying on me,” you say, putting on your coat. “I’d miss him too much.” You flash Rafael a smile, heading out with Carisi’s arm around your shoulder.
Sometimes he still feels a pang in his chest when he sees you with Carisi. Things seemed so easy between the two of you, so simple, like you’d been friends for decades as opposed to the months Carisi had been on the SVU. And Carisi was still annoying, God, the man never shut up about anything, and his off-color comments were more than eyebrow-raising at times. In some ways, Carisi was your work-husband, and Rafael supposes that’s to be expected. Partners got close, maybe even closer than some legal marriages.
Another reason why it was a sham. Right? Just because you didn’t have a ring on your finger or his last name didn’t mean you weren’t close to him.
But you could always be closer. Too close for comfort. Wake up next to him every day, brush your teeth in the bathroom next to him while he shaves, argue with him about not taking the trash out on time or something equally mundane. Sounds like hell. Sounds like monotony. Sounds like settling, maybe more on your part than his.
Because who would be able to marry you and call that settling?
Aside from the fact that marriage was always a risk for settling - because what are the odds you pick the right stranger off the streets of New York to bind yourself to for the rest of your life? Another hundred people were always getting off trains, getting on buses, leaving crowded streets to catch planes into or out of this city.
Rafael, though, he was always staying in the same place.
And, even though it may be insignificant in the grand scheme of things, the fact remains that somewhere on some paper in that precinct, your name is next to Carisi’s, billing you as partners. There was no such record of you and Rafael anywhere, not even a Facebook status. And that? From a legal standpoint, if one wanted to be crude, you two were nothing more than friends who fucked. Even if you did live together (which you didn’t) common law marriage wasn’t legal in New York.
So. Legally, if you went down that convoluted path, maybe you were closer to Carisi.
Rafael isn’t sure what to think about that. He’s over the jealousy; it’s been long enough now that he trusts you not to do anything stupid, and as much as Rafael hates to admit it he believes Carisi’s too set in his morals to even look at you suggestively. But it’s still something to think about, isn’t it?
——
“You look gorgeous,” Rafael whispers in your ear, helping you zip up your dress. You did; clad in a crushed velvet emerald long-sleeve number - yet another thing Rafael shelled out money for - and there’s a sense of pride in seeing it match perfectly with the necklace he’d gifted you earlier. “But I already can’t wait to bring you back here.”
“Mm, is that yet another present, honey?” you ask, pressing back against him. “You’ve really been spoiling me.”
“You’ve been a good girl. You deserve it,” he says, chuckling as you shiver.
“We’re gonna be late. Not nice to tease me,” you pout.
“I’ll make it up to you tenfold. Put your shoes on.”
The restaurant is nicer than Rafael thought the squad would pick out when they mentioned this idea to him a few weeks ago, but he has half a mind that they thought Rafael would help cover most of the bill. Which he did, as expected. Give a little, get a lot. Something like that. Like it or not, he’s dating the birthday girl, and he’s expected to be more giving than usual. By you, too, of course, even if you would never voice that assumption. He couldn’t very well buy himself suits that cost two grand for no reason and justify not spending the same amount or more on you on special occasions.
“Hey, happy birthday! Surprise!” Carisi says as you get to the table.
You roll your eyes at him before hugging him. “You said happy birthday to me, like, what? Twenty times today? It’s not a surprise anymore. But thank you.”
“Hey. Dream team. Had to do something for the best pardna in the world,” he says.
“Well, damn, Barba, you got (y/n) dressing to the nines too, now,” Amanda says when she sees you, smiling and squeezing your shoulder gently. “I feel underdressed now.”
“Nah, you look beautiful, Amanda,” you tell her, grinning back. “Blue’s your color.”
“Green’s definitely yours.”
This is the first time the whole squad has gone out with Rafael present since they found out for certain that the two of you were dating, and Rafael isn’t quite sure what to make of the atmosphere. He still feels excluded as the only lawyer present at a table full of detectives, and he thought maybe a known tie to you would change that, but it doesn’t, not much. Everyone falls into telling stories, and tonight they mostly concern you - but Rafael has none he wants to share even if maybe you expect him to contribute to the conversation.
What could he say that they didn’t already know?
Besides, what the hell did they think about him? He can only imagine what went through their heads once it was confirmed that he was dating you.
Isn’t he a little bit, well… too much of a smartass? Tacky, in the sense that he’s still that same kid from the barrio trying to fit in with the upper-class of New York with expensive suits and a brass ego? Old? Short? Aggressive (maybe more so passively)? Neurotic? Peculiar? Depressing?
God, he’s practically old enough to be your father.
Everyone was always trying to set you up with someone before they knew you weren’t single, whether it be Sonny with his Fordham buddies or Amanda with her men from god-knows-where or even Olivia one time with a sergeant from a different department. Maybe it’s because you’re beautiful, and beautiful people don’t stay single for long (unless, perhaps, if they were surly and standoffish, which you weren’t in the slightest). You’re a charmer, even if you don’t necessarily mean to be. A flirt without quite realizing it, without being too much of a threat. Pleasant to be around. Easy to like. A little shy, a little rough around the edges, a little stoic at first, sure, but that was easily overlooked and if someone put in the time, you were an open book.
It was easy to pity you. Maybe that shouldn’t be how he sees you, but sometimes he just can’t help but feel so damn bad given everything that’s happened to you. And he knows that’s how the squad feels too. Sure, you could handle yourself on your own, but no one wanted to let you. It’s in Olivia’s eyes when she looks at you sympathetically, it’s in Amanda’s hand when she squeezes your shoulder, it’s in Carisi’s insistence on putting himself in harms’ way so you wouldn’t ever have to take the fall: Poor baby. We’re the only tenderness you’ve ever known.
And maybe that’s true, maybe this squad was the only kind of lasting kindness you’d ever been shown. You don’t talk much about your past, and that’s fair, because Rafael doesn’t think there’s much that would be pleasant to recount. After the rape, middle school was difficult for you, as was to be expected, and you didn’t have many friends that stuck around. He’s never heard you say a word about high school, and sure, college was probably a lot better than the hell you’d been through before, but you had no one you kept in contact with from there, not even the woman you mentioned sleeping with before. Maybe life hasn’t handed you all the wrong cards: you’re gorgeous, you’re intelligent, you’re great at your job.
But in the interpersonal sphere, you’re lacking, maybe as sorely as Rafael, and that’s something he never quite thought about until now. You didn’t wear it like he did though, and you still had hope, somehow, whereas Rafael’s supplies of optimism had been used up over the years. Maybe one day you’d run out, too.
Leave it to Rafael to bring the melancholy to a birthday party.
But you wouldn’t bring the squad home; you couldn’t. On the nights you didn’t spend at Rafael’s or the nights he didn’t spend at your apartment, you were as alone as he was. He wonders, did you sit there and stare at the walls, struggle to sleep without him by your side… or did you not care?
“Honey, I was talking about you,” you say, giggling a little, and he feels your hand on his shoulder bring him back to the present. “You’ve been out of it, tonight, huh? Anyway, I was going to ask if you’d tell them about your theatre productions—“
“Oh, Jesus, (y/n), why the hell are you going to bring that shit up?” he asks, feeling a slight blush creep up his neck. “I told you about that in confidence.”
“Oh, come on. It’s cute.”
“Yeah, come on, Barba. She’s the birthday girl. You gotta do what she says,” Carisi chimes in.
Rafael glares at him and sighs. "Fine.”
“Floor is yours, Counselor,” Amanda says, winking. “Maybe you can sing for us, too.”
“Fine. I was in theatre in middle and high school. Happy?” he snaps. He knows he shouldn’t be so mean, and this was trivial, but he could do without the little jabs from the squad and your puppy-dog eyes.
“Why do you have to be like that, Rafi?” you ask. “Come on. Tell them the production in eighth grade.”
“This really means that much to you?“
"Will you just tell the story?” you ask. “No one will make fun of you, honey. I won’t let them.”
“Mm. Right. Well, my school couldn’t get the licensing rights to anything actually good that year for the Christmas musical… so we did A Christmas Peter Pan. It was about as awful as you think it would be.”
“What part did you play?” Olivia asks. Of course she’s the only one at the table who’s not tittering with laughter.
“I didn’t try out soon enough, and they didn’t have any parts left… so I played the crocodile.”
Amanda damn near spits out her drink, and Rafael rolls his eyes as Carisi laughs heartedly and Fin and Nick try and fail to not crack teasing smiles.
“I just really can’t picture that, Barba. Damn,” Carisi says after he calms down. “How bad was the costume?”
“What do you think a middle school theatre department could put together?” Rafael asks, narrowing his eyes. “Anyway. I didn’t have any lines, at least.”
“No, but you had three scary entrances,” you tease, grinning brightly and squeezing his shoulder. “Hey. It was your debut. I can’t wait until I get your mother to show me pictures—“
“Send them to me,” Amanda says. “I’m begging you.”
“I’m going to get my mother to burn that scrapbook before you’re ever in its vicinity,” Rafael mutters, chuckling.
“Aw, come on, honey, don’t be like that. You know I’d never let Amanda see them. Sonny, maybe—“
“Hey!” Amanda interjects while Rafael shoots you a withering look.
“No, I wouldn’t let him see them either. Some things are actually meant to be shared in confidence,” you laugh. “But anyway, Rafael went on to bigger and better things. He played Kenickie in Grease sophomore year, right? And you got the lead senior year?”
“Mm. Nathan Detroit. Guys and Dolls.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Carisi says.
“Of course you don’t,” Rafael retorts.
“It was a big part. He says his mother has a tape of that somewhere—“
“Are you trying to kill me, (y/n)?” Amanda asks exasperatedly. “The knowledge that that’s on film and I’ll never see it?”
“Mm. Deal with it. That’s not the one you wanna make fun of though,” you say. “Rafael can sing. He never will in front of you guys now, but he can.”
Right. Little things he’d shared with you, maybe without even meaning to, and now you could list them off as nonchalantly as if you were talking about yourself. Did any of his ex-lovers ever bother to learn all his amateur theatre roles front to back?
Thankfully, the waitress brings the cake over after a few minutes, saving him from more humiliation, and everyone, even Rafael, obliges and sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to you before you blow out the candles.
“Well, our blessings, (y/n),” Olivia says, grinning.
“Don’t tell your wish or it won’t come true,” Fin chuckles.
“Actually… I didn’t wish for anything,” you say, shrugging.
“What do you mean, you didn’t wish for anything?” Carisi asks.
“Tell, but lie,” Nick says.
“Nah. I’ve got everything I want. Thank you for including me in your thoughts, your lives—“
“Aww. Stay exactly as you are, (y/n),” Carisi says, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “What a sweetheart, huh, Barba?”
“Everyone adores you, (y/n),” Amanda laughs. “What an awful thing.”
Yeah. Everyone did adore you - but you weren’t an unshakable tenant in anyone’s life.
And, come to think of it, neither was Rafael. Rafael was always confused as to why the hell you even approached him all those months ago, flirted with him, got him to buy you dinner… but fuck, it was clear now. You were alone, grasping at straws just like he was. A couple months in the city you dreamed of living in since you were a child provided you with nothing more than acquaintances you worked and occasionally got drunk with, and maybe it was human nature to want more than that.
Yet here you were insisting that you didn’t wish for anything. What the hell? Didn’t you want more than what Rafael was giving you? Shouldn’t you?
Fuck if he knows. He’s not even sure what he wants anymore, never mind what you want.
——
Rafael has never been above sharing his body for someone else’s pleasure. It felt good to give in this regard, and fuck it, if anyone deserved to have a good, healthy sex life it was you.
It had been a long road to get you comfortable - yes, the first time you had sex with him you were more than a willing participant - but he’d notice sometimes when he initiated things, you would space out and become unresponsive. That was absolutely not going to work for him. He’s been prosecuting sex crimes long enough for that to turn his stomach in the worst way. The last thing he’d want is to take advantage of someone who was lying underneath him just because they thought it would appease him, not because they genuinely wanted to be there.
You got mad at him the first time he brought it up; said he was reading too much into things - but eventually you came around and admitted what had made you uncomfortable, what had turned you off, what had made you freeze, and what it came down to was years of trauma that no one had bothered to work through, not even yourself. What started with the rape went on to college boys who wouldn’t keep their hands to themselves and tried to pressure you when you weren’t ready - and you’d never quite learned to say no. You said you didn’t want to share this, didn’t want him to think you were some perpetual victim or that you didn’t enjoy sex - because you had had positive sexual experiences aside from Rafael, obviously - but sometimes all it took was a touch in the wrong place and you shut down. You still had issues here and there, but at least you’d actually fucking talk to him now, which was progress. He would’ve thought for an SVU detective with a psychology degree this wouldn’t be an issue, but maybe it’s how it goes - you put all your energy out there for the victims and you never learn how to unlearn your own toxic thought cycles and behaviors.
Also, Rafael learned, through trial and error, that you liked to be praised. Maybe it was after years of being ashamed of your body and sex, after years of feeling like you were inexperienced because you never met anyone worth having experiences with… but it was almost like you got off on it and Rafael wouldn’t really mind if that was the case. You are a good girl - his good girl - especially now, as he’s sitting at his desk chair in his apartment and you’re riding his thigh, your dress ridden up to your waist. Your lips are kiss-bruised and you’re so wet he can feel you seep through your panties to his dress pants.
Fuck it if you ruined them. Fuck it if you ruined him.
“Yes, good girl, you gonna get off on my thigh, (y/n)?” he asks, his voice low in your ear.
“I don’t know if I can,” you laugh. “Might need some assistance.”
“No, I think you can. Want you to try it. You think you’re close, mi buena chica?”
“Mm, don’t know. I didn’t think I was gonna have to work this hard on my birthday,” you say, leaning down to kiss his mouth. “Don’t you think those hands could be of good use somewhere?”
“Maybe. Where do you want them?“
"Mm, fucking everywhere,” you drawl.
For Rafael, sex was always just fun. Usually, it was better if he knew the person at least a little, but after Yelina, he didn’t care as much and was a little more of a libertine. Sex with you, though; it’s different - it’s a conversation - maybe like it’s supposed to be, sharing what you can’t or what you won’t say with words.
Maybe he should feel more flattered, because you were sharing a lot, too.
Rafael gives you what you want, though, cupping your breasts as he kisses you, murmuring words of encouragement in your ear in between - “Yes, just like that, you can do it, come for me, such a good girl, come on, cariño” - and when you do finally fall apart, he peppers your face with kisses. “See? I told you.”
“Mm. Sometimes you’re right,” you giggle, kissing the side of his mouth. “But I’m not working that hard for the next orgasm.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckles.
And you don’t; Rafael brings you over the edge with his tongue and fingers, but you’ve barely come down from your high before he’s on his back, at your mercy instead.
“What are you doing? Didn’t think you wanted to work for it anymore,” he teases as you press kisses on his chest.
“Nah, you’re gonna fuck me, hombre, but I want to do something for you first,” you purr, trailing down lower, lower, lower…
“It’s your birthday–”
“Mm. Yeah. But now I just guaranteed that you have to go down on me on yours,” you giggle. “No. We’re not counting favors here, right? Just let me.”
And you’re so good. You always are, but every time just seems to get better as you learn more of what he likes, what gets him off. He wonders vaguely if he you feel that way too, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on that as your lips wrap around his cock. “Fuck, so good, (y/n),” he hisses. If he wasn’t almost painfully hard before he definitely is now. “That’s it, oh fuck.”
One of your hands comes to cup his balls gently as your tongue and lips work his cock and it’s hard to remember that you were ever tentative giving him a blowjob before. Maybe that’s the thing about sex; everyone thinks they need experience to be a good lover, but maybe they don’t. Maybe they just need to listen to their partner. Rafael’s slept with people who have slept with countless numbers of people but no one’s ever learned his body like you, and your count was much lower. Granted, Rafael never quite allowed himself this type of vulnerability with anyone else in recent history, either, but it was only fair that if some of your walls came down some of his did as well.
Still, he has to make sure you know that by gasping out praise and encouragement, tangling his hands in your hair, being careful not to pull too harshly. “Fuck, so good at that, sucking my cock so good, se buena, mm, fuck.”
Eventually, though, Rafael can feel that he’s dangering the brink and has to stop you. Switching positions again - you’re on your back for him now - and he’s lining up his cock with your pussy, making sure you’re still good. With your consent, he enters you, groaning softly at finally feeling you wet and warm around his cock.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” he grunts as he starts fucking in and out of you, slowly at first.
“I’d hope you think so,” you say.
“Think - no. You are. Fucking gorgeous.”
Your cheeks flush a little and he can’t believe you still get flustered when he tells you that. But you are a vision - hair splayed on his pillow, your breasts heaving in tandem with your breath, your skin shining with a slight sheen of perspiration. Yeah. Fucking gorgeous.
And, oh fuck, now you’re clawing at his back, scratching with your nails. A shiver runs down his spine as he fucks into you harder, “That good?”
“Fuck, yeah, Rafael, fuck me,” you whine and he leans down to press a searing kiss to your mouth.
“Mm, so pretty, taking my cock so well, cosita bonita, so good for me,” he rasps in your ear.
You’re meeting him thrust for thrust; the only sounds Rafael can hear is the slap of skin on skin and his heart pounding in his ears as he kisses up and down your neck. “Mm, Rafael, feels so good,” you purr, and yeah, now he can see why you get off on those simple words of encouragement.
It’s not long before the two of you reach your highs and come down, a panting, tangled mess twisted up in his bedsheets. “Mm. Feliz cumpleaños, cariño.”
“Yeah, happy birthday to me,” you laugh, leaning over to snuggle against his chest. “Fuck, I’m exhausted now.”
“Thought I was supposed to be the old one.”
“Like you could go for another round right now.”
“Try me, mujer,” he chuckles. “Shower?”
“In a minute,” you giggle. “Let my heart rate come down a little.”
The two of you lay there in silence, your breathing rates settling while Rafael’s mind sets off to the races again. You were right, earlier, eight years was a fucking long time and it didn’t get any easier to be alone.
It doesn’t get any easier to be with someone, either, though, like when you wake him up too early in the morning and ruin his precious sleep, or when you make snide remarks that ruin his day and bruise his ego or, worst of all, as always: when you see right through him, like the front he puts up just doesn’t exist.
Maybe, though, maybe he’s a masochist because god forbid you leave. Here he was, carving out hours of his precious time; time he used to tell his mother he never had to spare, and sharing it with you. And you wanted him to.
Rafael doesn’t know what the hell to make of that.
Tag list: @caked-crusader​ @thatesqcrush​ @law-nerd105​ @arabellathorne​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @moon-river-drifter
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chierafied · 3 years
Text
Operation Lost Smile
For @inuvember​, Day 17.
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It was in the midst of the most mundane of tasks when Sesshoumaru suddenly realised something highly out of ordinary.
His clawed fingers came to a halt, tangled in the silver-white hair he was washing.
A frown creased his brow, his golden eyes narrowed, as he focused his mind to his most recent visits to Edo, trying to prove his disquieting notion wrong.
But his memory failed him, only serving further proof of what he had observed but which his mind had not truly registered until this very moment.
The miko had ceased smiling.
Try as he might, sharp as his memory was, he could not recall when he had last seen that bright, wide smile both curving on her lips and twinkling in her eyes.
The few smiles that he could recall from more recent occasions had been strained and wan. They certainly had not reached the blue depths of her eyes, which these days always seemed to remain darkened by pain.
Sesshoumaru's fingers curled, pulling at his hair while he scowled.
He didn't like it.
He did not know why it concerned him so, but the thought of the miko's vanished smile resonated with wrongness so deep it echoed in his very bones.
Sesshoumaru could also make well-educated guesses as to the reason of the miko's drastic change of mood.
Three months back, one of the regular visits he paid to Kaede to see how Rin was faring had turned very awkward indeed, when an argument had erupted between the half-breed and his miko. Their tempers had clashed to such degree that the row had quickly deteriorated into a vicious shouting match that the entire village, Sesshoumaru included, had been forced to overhear.
And although the miko’s reproofs had been cutting, Inuyasha, in particular, had not minced any words.
The next time Sesshoumaru had gone to the village, the entire atmosphere surrounding it had seemed muted, and he hadn’t been able to sense his half-brother’s presence anywhere in the vicinity.
And then, shortly before he had taken his leave, Rin had made mention that the miko had moved out of her and Inuyasha’s hut.
Based on all of that, it was rather clear to Sesshoumaru that the miko's relationship with Inuyasha had come to an end.
Although Sesshoumaru wasn't well-versed with relationships, he had experienced loss before.
He knew first-hand what a crushing blow it was to lose someone important to you.
And for the miko, it must have been all the more devastating, because she had lost more than just Inuyasha.
From what Sesshoumaru understood, it was for the hanyou that she had returned those couple of years ago, leaving behind her home and her family.
It was something women of the higher classes all experienced upon entering a marriage, of course.
But in the miko's case, it was more extreme: with the magic that had once enabled her to travel through the Bone Eater's Well exhausted, she could never meet her family again or write to them.
Sesshoumaru untangled his claws, squeezed the water out of his hair and straightened, ignoring Jaken puttering about the clearing.
It truly was no wonder why the miko's smile had disappeared.
Only one question now remained.
What could be done – what could he, Sesshoumaru, do – to bring it back?
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 Something was wrong with Sesshoumaru.
In Kagome's opinion, the inudaiyoukai worked in absolutely bizarre ways on a regular day – not that she had ever spent much time in his company.
Still, this was weird even for him.
Sesshoumaru was hovering.
Ever since Kagome had returned to the Feudal Era, she'd noticed the regular visits Sesshoumaru made to Edo.
Every few months, like a clockwork, he would stroll into the village and sit awhile with Kaede and check up on Rin.
It was rather sweet that even though he had left Rin to grow up among her own kind, he remained in her life and would look after her in his way.
But now, in just two weeks, he had already shown up in Edo five times.
And he was no longer sitting with Kaede, either.
Oh no.
For whatever reason, Sesshoumaru was seeking her out.
Early one morning, not at all hungry and foregoing breakfast, Kagome had left her hut and the village behind to go on a stroll. Feeling particularly heartsick and nostalgic at that moment, her feet had taken her to the Goshinboku.
She had simply stood in front of the all-too-familiar tree, looking up at its slowly swaying branches, when Sesshoumaru had silently walked out of the forest like a ghost.
He'd nearly given her a heart attack.
He'd stopped there, a short distance from the treeline, and hadn't made any effort to approach her.
Neither had he said anything.
Kagome had quickly discovered that it was impossible to feel sorry for oneself and reminiscence over a tree when one's shoulder blades kept itching under the weight of a level stare.
It had honestly been a bit creepy.
She'd snuck the occasional glance over her shoulder.
Sesshoumaru hadn't moved. He still hadn't spoken a word. He had done nothing but stand there and stare.
Kagome had left soon after she had begun to sympathise with those minuscule bugs being dissected under microscopes.
Fortunately, Sesshoumaru hadn't followed, and the rest of her day had been spent in solitary peace.
Less fortunately, that had only been the first occasion when Sesshoumaru had made a sudden and inexplicable appearance out of nowhere when Kagome had found herself alone.
The second time, she'd been sitting outside her hut and doing some mending while enjoying the warm early autumn sunshine. Again, Sesshoumaru had appeared, only to hover nearby, staring at her in silence.
The third time, she'd been down at the stream, collecting water and the same thing had ensued: appearance, silence, intense scrutiny.
The fourth time she'd gone to look for mushrooms to pick in Inuyasha's forest. Instead, she had found Sesshoumaru, who had proceeded to stare at her while the silence around them grew super awkward.
Kagome had no idea what he was on about and why he had suddenly picked stalking her as his new hobby.
Yesterday had been the last straw.
Thinking about it, Kagome still felt a bit guilty.
Sesshoumaru’s peculiar behaviour might have creeped her out… But he hadn't exactly done anything bad either.
Other than the awful staring, he hadn't bothered her in any way.
Kagome did not believe he had any intention to do her harm – not after the multiple times he’d saved her life! And even if he did have some nefarious motive driving him, by now, given all the times they’d been alone together, he’d had ample opportunity.
But this last time, he had caught her at a really bad moment.
Because yesterday, Kagome had not left the village on a mundane errand or so she could mope in peace.
She’d left because she’d needed a good cry.
And the absolute last thing she had wanted when she had been ugly sobbing while sprawled on the ground half-leaning against the Bone Eater’s well, had been a shadow suddenly falling over her.
Even with his hovering, Sesshoumaru had kept his distance from her each time – except now when Kagome longed to be alone.
Suddenly he was crouching beside her.
He was not staring this time, which was a small relief.
His frown was so deep that Kagome could see the expression even through the haze of her tears.
And then, Sesshoumaru had broken that invisible boundary of his former stalking sessions altogether.
The touch had been soft and fleeting, but so unexpected that Kagome had flinched. His finger was cool against her cheek for a fraction of a second. Then he pulled it away, and his scowling face turned from her to regard the single tear he had captured, glistening on the tip of his claw.
And just like that, Kagome had had enough.
Her voice had been hoarse and broken, but the words had been clear enough and their effect immediate.
“I need you to leave me alone. Please.”
Sesshoumaru’s shoulders had stiffened. His scowl had vanished as his face had smoothed out, leaving it blank, void of any emotion.
Wordlessly, he had stood up and left, his steps silent and swift.
Tears had welled anew in Kagome’s eyes.
She’d been left alone. She had got what she had wanted.
So why had she felt even worse then than she’d had before?
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 Sesshoumaru brooded over his mistake for all of the following day.
His intention had been merely to observe. He’d needed to ascertain that the miko’s smile indeed remained gone.
And he could not do anything to try and bring that smile back before he could figure out ways to make her smile.
For that, he had needed to make a study of her, in a way he had never done before.
Of course, he had subjected the miko to much scrutiny from the very first instance that they had met.
How could he have not, when this fearless human woman, dressed in a garb the like of which he had never seen, had not only pulled free his father’s sword but also refused to perish under his attack?
But he had always studied the miko from afar, and he had never spent much time alone in her company.
He’d had to remedy both of those things to make the most of his observation.
He had still endeavoured to keep a respectful distance. He’d only wanted to learn to know the miko and her habits better, and he had no desire to be discourteous or in any way be a hindrance to her daily tasks.
But during that last encounter, he had failed his mission miserably.
Even though the lost smile was the whole reason for this current undertaking of his, he had not expected to find the miko in tears.
He hadn’t known what to think so he had simply reacted, forgetting and forgoing all his previous courtesy.
He wasn’t sure why the crying miko had distressed him to such a degree, why the sight of her grief and pain had unsettled his very soul.
He’d very nearly felt an ache in his own chest, as he had looked at her pale face, silently willing those tears away.
For a moment he had felt utterly helpless.
And then Kagome had told him to leave.
He could not fault her for that; he had behaved crudely and crossed a line that he should not have.
But to have upset her further when his intention had been to soothe was unforgivable.
In the dead of the night, recalling the sorry scene, he had almost abandoned his quest to return Kagome’s smile to her altogether.
As the day had dawned, so had his resolve grown and settled.
He’d gazed into the light in the horizon with grim determination and knew what had to be done.
To atone for his wrongdoing, he would have to pursue his quest with more dedication and perseverance.
Carefully, he recalled the tasks he had seen Kagome engaged in and then set forth to fulfil the next step of his plan.
First, Sesshoumaru travelled to the west. While Kamakura might have been closer, Kyoto was the larger city and would offer a better selection.
As Kagome certainly deserved the best, Sesshoumaru made the trip to Kyoto without complaint. He didn’t even need to listen to Jaken’s griping, as he had left the retainer behind with instructions to keep a discreet eye on Rin.
He travelled as quickly as possible, taking to the air, and was strolling the streets of Kyoto, perusing the shop fronts with a critical eye before noon.
Sesshoumaru’s first purchase was a pair of bamboo-woven baskets, which he deemed as practical as they were decorative, with the carefully handcrafted patterns crisscrossing the surface.
His second purchase Sesshoumaru chose with even more care, visiting several shops until finally finding something that passed his scrutiny.
The kosode was nothing fancy, wholly by design. It was no silken piece of art but a sturdy, enduring piece of clothing that had been expertly dyed. The deep indigo colour would match with Kagome's eyes.
He also bought a quilted overcoat. It was still September, but the winter would arrive inevitably and eventually, and humans were more susceptible to cold.
Practical, everyday items that would be helpful to Kagome, that was what Sesshoumaru was after.
He added a well-crafted knife to his pile of items, as well as a sewing kit, an assortment of dried herbs and spices and a handful of arrows of the best quality.
Wholly on a whim, Sesshoumaru also bought something utterly frivolous; a hairpin. Although the hairpin was of a simplistic style, it was a beautiful and delicate thing of dark lacquered wood, with ornamental gilded patterns adorning the stem. At the end, it curved resembling a tree branch, and a lone, decorative flower sat there, just starting to bloom, a small pearl gleaming in its middle. It was somehow… hopeful.
It reminded him of Kagome.
Finished with his shopping, Sesshoumaru carefully packed all the items he had bought for Kagome and started his long trek back to Edo.
This time, he chose to travel on foot.
It would cost him more time, but he was not in a hurry.
Besides, he had no intention of bringing those two baskets he had first bought to Kagome's door empty.
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 One morning Kagome stepped out of the hut she’d moved in after the disastrous end of her romance with Inuyasha and nearly ran into two baskets neatly placed at her doorstep.
All thought of her routine task of fetching water disappeared in the confusion that filled her.
She stared at the baskets, uncomprehending. One of them was full of pears and persimmon and other fruit that was currently in season. The other was filled with mushrooms.
They had to be intended for her, as they been left right at her door where she’d almost trampled them.
But who would have brought her two baskets of food? And more importantly, why?!
A familiar tingle skittered across her skin and Kagome shivered. Her throat suddenly dry, she knew what she would see before she even turned her head.
The weight of his stare was too recognisable, after all the times she'd borne it of late.
There, at the end of the village, stood Sesshoumaru. Silent. Staring.
And after she had held his golden gaze for a moment, he inclined his head, turned, and walked away.
Kagome blinked.
One of her questions at least seemed to be answered.
Although, this answer had only confounded her further.
Sesshoumaru had never done anything like this.
So why now? Why her?
Why?
As the week progressed, however, it became clear that the two food-laden baskets had only been the very first of the bizarre offerings.
On the second day, she almost stepped on a sewing kit. Instantly, her head snapped to the side, searching out Sesshoumaru's still form. Once again, he bowed his head to her in acknowledgement, then left. Kagome picked up the sewing kit, not knowing what to think or to feel.
On the third day, she let out a gasp at the sight of the kosode. The deep blue colour seemed exquisite, and it seemed more finely crafted than most other clothes she owned. She bent to pick it up, then cradled the folded cloth to her chest as she turned to look to where Sesshoumaru was waiting.
This time, it was she who bowed her head to him. Gravely, he returned the gesture and walked away.
On the fourth day, an increasingly baffled Kagome found a quilted winter overcoat waiting for her. She blinked at the sight of it, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. Meeting Sesshoumaru’s waiting stare, she called out to him for the first time.
“Thank you.”
He did not reply, simply inclined his head as always, and left.
On the fifth day, there was a bundle of arrows and one silent daiyoukai waiting for Kagome. As she carefully tested the point with the pad of her finger, scrutinising Sesshoumaru’s retreating back, a sudden and horrible thought struck her.
It was an absurd idea. An impossible idea. A laughable idea.
But it was an idea Kagome was unable to shake and so she went to visit Sango and Miroku, and tried to casually steer the conversation towards youkai courting rituals.
Sango and Miroku had heard rumours of Kagome’s surprise gifts.
They, too, were completely astounded when Kagome told them that it was Sesshoumaru who’d been leaving them.
Kagome was, however, quickly reassured by the couple. Some youkai courting rituals did incorporate giving presents, but all of the gifts Kagome had received so far had been perfectly ordinary and practical things. There was nothing very romantic about a sturdy kosode or a sewing kit or a bundle of arrows.
Inclined to agree, Kagome walked back home, her steps light from the vast relief buoying her.
The next day, Kagome found another not-at-all romantic gift, a knife.
Confusion seemed to be her perpetual state of mind, these days, but none the less she bowed her head to Sesshoumaru in return and watched him leave with a puzzled frown.
The last day of the week, Kagome’s gift was an assortment of dried herbs and spices. She felt absurdly pleased and a little awed at such a valuable present and bit her lip.
Everything she had received from him had been high quality. Even the baskets from the first day were finely woven with a pretty lattice pattern – both decorative and practical.  
How much had all of this cost? Where had Sesshoumaru got the money?
There were too many questions to which Kagome did not know the answer.
But the one she kept returning to was why.
She would probably never know, Kagome mused to herself the following morning.
The weird week of gifts was now over, but she still had no answers.
Kagome shook her head and picked up the empty bamboo water container.
Soon enough, she was sure, life would return to normal and this all would become one very strange memory of Sesshoumaru taking a leave of his senses by leaving her assorted gifts.
Kagome stepped outside and was already turning towards the rainwater barrel resting by the wall of her hut when something glinted in the early morning sun.
Kagome froze, and the bamboo water container dropped with a dull clatter from her numb hand.
Her heart in her throat, she coaxed her trembling fingers to pick up the hairpin.
She had not been expecting any more gifts.
Never one so exquisite as this.
Loud as thunder, a single word rolled through her head.
Why?
Her eyes wide, she saw Sesshoumaru standing in the distance.
And before the thought had even entered her brain, she was walking.
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 Sesshoumaru clenched his jaw as he stood at the edge of the village. His back was rigid, his shoulders tense and stiff as he stared at Kagome’s hut.
He had failed.
All but one of his gifts had been delivered.
Kagome had acknowledged him, thanked him.
She’d been pleased to receive some of his carefully selected items.
But she had not smiled.
Sesshoumaru’s lip curled, his hand balled into a fist.
He did not know what more he could do, what other way he could pursue in order to bring back what Kagome had lost.
Sesshoumaru stood straighter when the door opened.
He heard the gasp clearly, even across the distance. He saw her drop the bamboo container, bend to pick up his final gift.
Her eyes were impossibly blue when she finally met his gaze.
And then, taking him completely by surprise, she started striding towards him.
Sesshoumaru stayed rooted to his spot, unsure as to what he should do.
Their last interaction had not ended well and he hoped he had not inadvertently given her further offence.
Why had he purchased something so whimsical as the hairpin?
Kagome stopped only a foot away from him. She looked up, carefully cradling the hairpin to her chest. Her eyes seemed to search his, their soft blue mesmerizing Sesshoumaru.
“Why?” she blurted out, her voice shaking. “This one’s different.”
That latter addition had not been a question. It was a statement; and a true one at that.
Sesshoumaru could only nod.
The hairpin was very different from the other gifts. It always had been.
“Why?” Kagome asked again.
Sesshoumaru cocked his head, spent a couple of silent seconds composing his reply.
But in the end, he told her the simple truth.
“It reminded me of you and I thought you would like it,” he said.
Kagome bit her lip and blinked.
Something that looked alarmingly much like tears glinted in her eyes.
The ache unfurled in Sesshoumaru’s chest.
Had he truly failed her this profoundly?
Helpless, he looked into those suspiciously shiny eyes.
“Please do not cry,” he implored.
Kagome inhaled sharply and before Sesshoumaru could grasp what was happening, she had already closed the distance, was wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his mokomoko.
Sesshoumaru stood more still then than he ever had in his life.
Slowly, he wound one arm around her and hesitantly patted her back.
“I still don’t understand,” Kagome said, her voice muffled by the fur.
She looked up, her blue eyes alight.
“Thank you.”
The smile was slow and soft and the sweetest thing Sesshoumaru had ever seen.
His heart soaring, Sesshoumaru plucked the hairpin from Kagome’s slim fingers and tucked it into her raven tresses.
“You are welcome,” he replied.
The corners of his lips twitched, curling up in response.
 End.
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mythgirlimagines · 3 years
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As the third day of the week begins its start, Fusion Anon began to work on his art. The submission is ready, and you better know it! Presenting Myth Anon, the Former Ultimate Poet!
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BACKSTORY AND TALENT
When it came to academic subjects, Myth was very skilled in anything requiring creativity, for she is able to gain creative inspiration from just about anything. While she has a love for all art forms, the one mode that catched her eye in particular happened to be poetry, particularly poetry related to people and romance. As Myth became a teenager and romantic feelings began to blossom on both sides of the hill, she began writing poems to try and woo the people she had feelings for, but alas, not many people returned the sentiment, mainly due to Myth’s odd mannerisms and speech patterns. But despite her odd speech patterns and mannerisms, no one can deny that Myth is a stellar poet, with perfect flow and emotionally-moving verses, to the point that she managed to get into Hope’s Peak, thanks to her poetic skills. As an adult, she is currently living off the revenues gained from her live poetry readings.
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RELATIONSHIPS
Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Procrastinator
When you consider the two’s personality traits, a friendship between Myth, the eccentric and flamboyant poet, and Wyre, the chronic slacker and part-time delinquent, would seem utterly and patently ridiculous. But Myth and Wyre have been the best of friends ever since they were young children. Whenever Myth gets rejected by a prospective love interest, Wyre would always be there with ice cream for Myth, and a little “something-something” for the people who rejected their best friend.
Outfit: A messy black gakuran over a white undershirt, longer hair that she didn’t even bother to cut, glasses from her original design.
Anon Scar, Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist 
As the mastermind behind various outrageous (yet credible) conspiracy theories, Scar proclaims herself to be the “Savior of All” and yearns to protect people from the hypothesized threats that Scar claims are looming around the horizon. Scar’s whole chuunibyo act provides inspiration for a lot of Myth’s poems, particularly ones themed around darkness and evil threats. While Scar is glad to help her senpai, she is also low-key embarrassed about her whole middle-school chuunibyou act.
Outfit: A camo-patterned t-shirt, a dark purple overcoat slung over her shoulders like a cape, cargo pants, mask, gloves, and boots from original design.
Fusion Anon, Ultimate Ice Skater
Famed for his grace and sheer energy upon the ice, Fusion won loads upon loads of awards from ice skating tournaments, particularly specializing in Salchows and speed-skating. Fusion is currently attempting to teach Myth and the other conmates how to ice-skate. Myth is still far from an expert, but her newly-gained skill in ice-skating gave her even more inspiration for her poems. Because Myth’s vocabulary is very similar to his good friend Purple’s, Fusion can easily understand Myth.
Outfit: A fluffy blue parka over a red and yellow leotard, red mittens that were knitted for him by a fan, glasses from original design.
Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Trivia Expert
Having appeared on various trivia game shows and often seen studying in the library, Fusion II has a vast amount of random knowledge on a vast amount of random things. While Fusion II views Myth as a confident role model and wishes to emulate her coolness and confidence, Fusion II wishes that Myth didn’t intrude in the middle of her study session and start loudly reciting her poetry. The irritation is not helped by the fact that Myth can’t seem to pick up on Fusion II’s sarcasm in the slightest.
Outfit: A blue and yellow baseball cap with a yellow question mark on the front, a blue letterman’s jacket over the same red shirt from her original design, the skirt and boots from her original design.
Just Anon, Ultimate Personal Assistant
Despite being polite and very efficient with his duties when on his various jobs, when off-duty, Janon couldn’t be any further from that façade, being lazy and crude to just about anybody. It was very clear that having all of those jobs at such a young age really took a toll on both his psyche and his sanity, and he wants nothing more than to finish all of his duties in record time and then collapse on the spot. Janon can’t stand Myth and her flamboyant and eccentric mannerisms, for they give him a headache that just wouldn’t go away. But deep down, Janon envies Myth’s independence and confident in being herself, while Janon views himself as a slave to PR and can’t show his true and vulgar attitude towards his bosses.
Outfit: His hair and bangs slicked back, a brown vest over a white dress shirt and a pink bowtie, matching brown pants, black gloves and boots.
Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Voice Actor
Famous for starring as the leading ladies in magical girl anime, Sparkle’s loud and hammy vocals have garnered her fame, despite her young age. Even when she isn’t playing a character, Sparkle’s voice is still as loud and flamboyant as you can get. Because of their similar temperaments and personas, Myth and Sparkle got along very easily. Myth was over the moon in joy, from finding someone who behaved a lot like her (flamboyant, loud and appreciates the “fine arts”) and appreciated her poetic masterpieces, on top of that. Myth regularly lets Sparkle read her poems, as vocal exercises, and Sparkle’s voice just sounds so hypnotic, when she is reading Myth’s poems in a hammy and energetic magical girl’s voice. 
Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with bedazzled microphone and headphones. 
Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Romantic, and Wet Sock, Former Ultimate Paleontologist
Egg is famous around their school for their romantic advice, while Wet Sock is a pioneer in paleontology. Despite the very different domains of their talents, Egg and Wet Sock are practically peas in a pod, particularly when it comes to inserting cursed comments into just about any situation. But just because they’re both cursed, that doesn’t mean they aren’t geniuses and respected in their respective fields. Egg, is willing to put aside their cursed comments and help Myth with her romantic troubles, and even giving her advice for her romantic poems. Egg’s twin harbor some more-than-platonic feelings for the poet, but good luck getting those feelings out of Wet Sock, for they just might threaten you with a bone shiv. 
Egg’s Outfit: Smoothed down hair, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater with a red heart stitched on the front over a white tank-top, black leggings with small pink hearts on the knees, pink slip-on shoes, glasses from original design. 
Wet Sock’s Outfit: A brown sleeveless jacket over a white tanktop that shows off their scarred arms, a tan apron with a dark brown dinosaur skeleton on the front, brown cargo shorts, brown steel-toed boots.
Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Ornithologist 
Having mastered the art of standing quietly and motionless, Curious is so placid and peaceful, that birds can’t help but perch on them. Thanks to their calm and passive nature, Curious is able to get closer to birds and study them. Despite being a respected genius in the study of all sorts of bird species and is even the discoverer of nearly-extinct species of birds, no one knows where Curious came from, for they spent pretty much all their life is the forest, yet is exceedingly formal and polite. Curious’s modest, polite and romantically-dense nature, contrasts heavily against Myth’s loud, dramatic, and flirtatious nature, but somehow their friendship still works, thanks to Curious’s heavy respect towards their senpai. 
Outfit: A green poncho to help them blend into the grass over a white shirt, a brown belt, black pants, brown boots and binoculars across their neck.
Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Astronomer
Yearning to reach the stars, and stopping at nothing until he accomplishes his goals, Nerd has brains and brawn and he is not afraid to use either of those (his brown, in particular). Graduating at the top of his astronomy academy, both physically and mentally, Nerd’s disagreeable and explosive personality means that he wasn’t able to become an astronaut, particularly after he scouter-burned a teacher who gave him a bad grade. Bad grades aren’t the only thing that can enrage Nerd, for he particularly hates flirty and flamboyant poets who constantly try to seduce him at every opportunity. But Myth is one determined poet, for she will constantly write love poems for Nerd, even if she suffers in the process.
Outfit: Same suit from his original design, but with a galaxy patterned tie.
Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Essayist
Despite the sheer number of academically-acclaimed essays that Eldritch wrote, it’s near impossible to find any other traces of Eldritch’s existence, apart from his self-reviewed and academically-revolutionary essays. Eldritch double-shooted, to make absolutely sure that no one could find him and trace the essays back to him. Eldritch is truly a textbook example of a shut-in, who finds it impossible to trust anybody. Because both Myth and Eldritch have talents that involve writing, Myth keeps trying to interact with Eldritch, but Eldritch just repeatedly pushes her away, while loudly claiming that he doesn’t trust her, for reasons left unknown. But Myth keeps trying, hoping that Eldritch could let his guard down one day.
Outfit: A grey hoodie with the hood-up, shorts and slippers from the original design.
Dream Anon, Ultimate Puzzle Solver
Despite being physically gifted, Dream appreciates a great mental challenge, from time to time. Whenever she’s not dancing or playing volleyball, Dream is often in the corner with a sudoku puzzle or a Rubix cube. Eventually though, Dream made world records, despite her age, thanks to her sheer speed and accuracy at completing puzzles. Eventually, Dream managed to get into Hope’s Peak with the title of Ultimate Puzzle Solver. Whenever Myth gets writer’s block, Dream would supply Myth with a puzzle to get Myth’s creative neurons firing, and it usually works, at least half of the time. Dream may not understand half of what comes out of Myth’s mouth, but she’s still a great friend to her.
Outfit: Two pink barrettes shaped like jigsaw puzzle pieces, a black t-shirt with a Rubix cube design on the front, a pink and cream flannel shirt tied around her waist, sheared green shorts, shoes from the original design.
Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Speedreader 
Iris has a reading comprehension way above even most adults, and reading is practically a breeze for this clumsy, yet well-meaning, bookworm. Being a massive book nerd and proud of it, Iris proudly read the entirety of her local library two times over, at unparalleled speeds, all with a big smile on her face, causing her to become a local sensation, until she was accepted into Hope’s Peak’s middle school division. Because of the vast walls of text that she reads, Iris can easily understand Myth’s eccentric and grandiose speech patterns, and translate for people who can’t understand. Iris’s naturally positive and friendly personality also helps in making friends with the otherwise eccentric and friendless Myth. 
Outfit: A blue overcoat over a black shirt and skirt, black stockings and blue slip-on shoes.
Purple Anon, Ultimate Surgeon
As a veritable medical prodigy who was born to two affluent medical professionals herself, Purple primarily specialises in surgery and operations. Despite her age and general timidity when in social situations (to the point that she often hides from others behind much larger doctors), Purple is a master at surgeries and is revered by her patients for her maternal attitude and her kind heart. Both Myth and Purple bond over their hard to understand and oddly-vocabulary, and Purple’s vocabulary helps Myth come up with new words for her latest poems. Myth is also working on giving confidence lessons to Purple. It’s taking some time for Purple, but Myth is confident in her skills, and claims that it’ll work one day.
Outfit: Same outfit from her original design, but without the beret and an added white lab coat.
This series would center around the egotistical yet lovable poet, getting the love that she truly deserves. 
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PERSONALITY
Poet!Myth is flamboyant, eccentric and likes to think of herself as a charmer and a genius, and wouldn’t hesitate to show off her talent and intellect, at every chance that she gets. Poet!Myth speaks a lot like her poems: with odd metaphors and old-fashioned vocabulary, and quoting famous poets and playwrights. She usually responds to her haters by claiming that they “just don’t understand art”. Ultimately though, Poet!Myth yearns to find love and people who could accept her for who she is, and she constantly puts up the charmer facade, in hopes that it’ll work out one day.
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APPEARANCE
Poet!Myth wears her purple hair in a ponytail that is pinned by a feather quill, and the glasses from her original design. Myth wears a black overcoat with internal velvet that is slung over her shoulders like a cape, a blue vest with pink stripes on each side and a matching pink cravat, over a white dress shirt, black pants and matching black loafers.
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I hope you like this talentswap! Let me know what you think of this AU!
-Fusion Anon
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mimiplaysgames · 3 years
Text
Terra Week Day 6 (Free Day)
Summary: Sometimes, a ghost is a wish. | Word Count: 3,218
Read on AO3
A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!
~*~*~*~*~
The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 6
The Master’s bedroom is exactly as he left it many years ago. Bed made, dresser (now) dusty, curtains parted to let the sunlight in, walk-in closet neatly organized with not a single article of clothing in his hamper, as the Master was a fan of washing clothes every single day. Terra never found out why. 
Terra has rummaged through this drawer three times already and still he can’t find them. He’s looking for a stack of sepia-toned pictures, cradled in a small envelope, the ones on the top dated many years ago when the Master was a student, while the ones at the bottom chronicle some of his adult life when Terra and Aqua were children. He’s tried searching every drawer, every box, every cupboard, and has even looked under the mattress and in the pillow cases. He couldn’t have misremembered them, could he?
One of the things he’s surprised to find instead is a small, delicately furnished wooden box with a latch. Full of cigars. The Master never smoked, but maybe he liked to smell like them. Though Terra would never personally choose to keep a set in his dresser, smudging all his clothes. 
Sighing, Terra stands by the bed, taking another gander around the room to see if there’s a spot he could have missed. Maybe behind the mirror? No, not there. He slips his hands into his pockets, and finds something else. Folded over in four, the paper is crumpled, living in his pocket for the better part of a week. Naminé’s drawing of Xemnas is messier, the strokes of crayon meshed into each other that he’s less of a childish, crude figure and more of a smear. That ring of fire surrounding him stays closed. 
Terra grunts.
Here comes another headache, a tense pulse above his brow. Massaging it never helps. Suddenly, Terra is not in his Master’s old bedroom anymore. Suddenly, he’s standing high on a cliff overlooking a wasteland, talking to someone in a black cloak with the hood up. 
Now he’s back in the bedroom, the sun cutting shapes through the lace curtains with the breeze passing by. In a few minutes, the headache will go away. This is how it goes every single time.
Yes, it’s been a week since they left Radiant Garden. Only Ienzo uses the Gummiphone for contact, leaving long messages that take Terra too much time to reply back to. The rest of the team would prefer correspondence through letters, which is something Terra would rather do as well. He just hasn’t done so yet, focusing his attention on cleaning the castle as they start a new life without their old Master. Once that’s done, he promises himself to do so. 
It’s a shame, he knows he should make more of an effort (and promises that he would once he takes care of the Master). Xion sometimes texts him with pictures, some of them with Roxas, who still hasn’t made an effort to talk to him even though they played a good race at the beach (Terra didn’t even need to let him win—that kid is fast). That’s okay. Xion has offered to set Terra up with what she calls a Kingstagram account, and Terra supposes that’s okay, too. He just doesn’t know what that is or if it’s worth his time. 
In the end, he is still really bad at connecting with others, and he’s still out of pictures, and he still doesn’t know what to do with the Xemnas drawing. Any moment now, Aqua will come looking for him. They’re finally preparing for his memorial, to say goodbye to his Keyblade—
—And Terra has to say goodbye forever without ever seeing him again. What’s the point of staying linked to these memories if they do nothing for him? 
Why does looking at this drawing of Xemnas the only thing that gives him reminders?
Grunting, Terra rubs his face. Maybe it’s as good a time as any to text somebody now, distract himself so he calms down and do some good so he’s not completely isolated. He waits for his Gummiphone to turn on to the initial screen, the whirring of the machine the only noise accompanying him. How did Ven do this again? He clicks on his address book. Now he has to remember how to open a text and take a picture, particularly of the Xemnas drawing.
terra
did he ever call you an also-ran
Send.
Terra doesn’t expect Lea to answer right away. He probably will read the text, probably take the time he needs to register how he feels before painting his usual bright smile that he uses to play everyone. Maybe Terra has him all wrong. Maybe this is really offensive, and Lea would actually be upset. It’s not his intention.
The Gummiphone buzzes several times.
lea
see
i told isa the other day
the first time i saw you i thought you looked like an asshole
Terra snorts to himself quietly.
terra
is that your favorite word
lea
;3
So it’s all good. Terra breathes a sigh of relief, a smirk that’s warm on his cheeks. He doesn’t know if texting people randomly is the right way to go about doing this whole make-new-friends thing. It’s not as easy as walking up to somebody and saying hello anymore, but starting a new life doesn’t have a manual. 
As though the chains he linked through Xemnas harbor resentment, he’s hit with another spasm of pain, drilling onto the side of his skull. Stars, they get intense sometimes, some of them downright gorey. He will not think about it. He will push it away. The pain subsides but only a bit, throbbing instead. 
It can’t end like this. He’s avoided going back to Naminé ever since just to keep trying and see Eraqus, one more time. One more. It’s not much to ask for, so why can’t the stars be more forgiving? He swears to them he’ll never ask for something again. 
Terra groans, pain hammering over his brow. What’s coming this time is going to knock him around, so he lowers himself to his knees. Several people dressed in extravagant embroidery, from some other world, being swallowed up by darkness, their hearts floating up to the sky and a small cry of Mister, is my mommy coming back? 
When it’s over, Terra sobs, keeping a heave from rupturing his chest and wiping dry tears. If Aqua comes in and sees him like this, she’ll freak—she’s already brewed so many potions and teas for him whenever he has an episode. 
He tries for the closet again. The Master kept his most expensive robes wrapped in plastic, preserving a faded scent of cedar. Terra takes the fabric, smooth as silk, and breathes into it. It’s weaker than last time. He could always spray it with the Master’s leftover cologne (his favorite), but it still wouldn’t smell exactly like him, and as Terra waits seconds for another memory to come, he realizes as soon as it hurts that it wouldn’t bother with giving him what he’s looking for. All he asks for is the sound of the Master’s voice, to see that smile move one more time so he makes sure he sears it into his mind for the rest of his life. 
Instead, a strong voice (Xehanort’s) talks about the Darkness making way for the Light, just like the expansive sky that is home to the stars. It was necessary to pursue it, he had said to someone. 
A single tear treads all the way to Terra’s jawline. He’s tried his best. No photos, no special memory. It’s like the Master doesn’t linger here anymore.
Defeated, Terra pulls his Gummiphone out, searching for Naminé’s entry. He won’t commit to an appointment. He’s only asking questions, wondering if there are better ways to maneuver through the memories so he gets what he wants. She doesn’t answer right away. 
He pulls himself up at the foot of the bed, aching like an older man even though he looks twenty in the mirrors. What lies.
Where else to find mementos? Terra has already looked through the Master’s study and his favorite spots in the library. The only place left is the attic. 
The attic sits atop the northeast tower. Terra is in the residential wing, in the southeast tower, so he has to travel several paces downstairs to make it over, just to climb all the way back up. Entirely built of wood, the attic has one stained-glass window that slices pastels through the floorboards. A lot of junk gets dumped up here—old knight statues from a Master that lived eight-hundred years ago or so, faded paintings that have names but aren’t recognizable anymore, couches that are stained and out of style, chests of outdated books and maps, and trinkets and gifts that litter everywhere else. Even Aqua can’t bear to let any of this go despite that none of it truly belongs to anybody. To her, it’s like rejecting their history. The Master probably had felt the same.
Before what happened, Master Eraqus was moving items up here, mostly stacks of papers. They were shoved in a leather binder, tied together with string. It’s a long shot the photos will be with them, but regardless, Terra begins the hunt. 
It’s not in the chest of crystals. Not by the old (creepy) dollhouse. Not with any of the broken phonograms, nor with the folded rugs that stack from floor to ceiling. 
But it’s right there, sitting neatly by a basket full of gold artifacts from worlds Terra has never been to and engraved in languages he doesn’t know, tied with a red string and stitched in handmade leather. When Terra pulls it open, he’s greeted by a handful of letters written to Eraqus about trouble in other worlds, asking for his help, and a stack of essays about the philosophy of the Keyblade, both in the common-tongue and the ancient. 
It’s nothing like reliving memories or watching them like footage, but Terra imagines the Master working late into the night on his desk with a quill, writing these essays slowly so he keeps his impeccable script. He’d read books with a glass of wine every night, and keep at it in the morning with a mug of coffee, hair unbrushed as usual but that’s fine when he keeps it in a short ponytail every day. He’d disappear every week to some other world, leaving Terra and Aqua with a nanny until they were old enough to take care of themselves. Considering what these people are writing about—missing circus animals, their neighborhood mountain being possessed, and even an early report of Unversed showing up in the woods—the Master used to be a busy man. 
Why did he have to die that day? Why can’t Terra keep the things that are supposed to come with home?
Terra sniffs. The smell of cedar comes up, as though the cologne was sprayed up here recently. Kicked up with a cloud of dust, as though the Master is here.
I am… well, for a short time at least.
Terra whips over his shoulder to find the Master behind him, a glow beaming through him as he checks the rust spreading on one of the oldest sets of armor. Picking up dust, Master Eraqus rubs it between his fingers.
This sorely needs urgent attention. I recommend some solvent and a spot of oil, he says, smiling at Terra as if it’s any other morning and breakfast will be announced soon. So many histories live here.
“Master?” Terra drops the papers.
Eraqus tsks his disapproval and like muscle memory, Terra immediately gathers the papers together, working on automatic mode, tucking them under his arm as if this is class and he has to be on his best behavior. When the Master approaches, he makes no noise: no thuds to his steps, no wind whooshed by his robe, gliding gracefully across the floor. Terra bows... though he cannot fight the urge to stare up. Terra has forgotten about the scar; it was on the Master’s face,  every single day, but he’s never heard the story behind it. An elephant accident. A run-in with pirates. Those were the contradicting explanations he’s heard every time he asks.
The Master looks down, motioning with his hand to stand up. Look at you. Almost as tall as I am.
“You’re here.”
The Master smiles. This is the happiest Terra remembers him being; he must not feel his chronic back pains anymore. You have spent your whole week following me. He gives Terra a mischievous knowing in his eyes. I suppose it would be rude of me not to return the gesture.
“I’m sorry,” Terra gasps, mouth gaped open for all the words he prepared, but now that the moment is passing by, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He reaches out with a hand but stops himself, scared of what it would feel like to to pass right through the image. “I missed you.”
And I have missed you all so much, Eraqus says with contentment.
“I wish it never happened,” Terra chokes. “Sometimes, I wish I could find some way—”
Shhh. The Master shakes his head lovingly. Don’t. No longer shall you venture down the path of grief. You have already experienced first-hand what such curiosities could lead to. And you already know you don’t need to. 
“I know,” Terra whispers. “I know.”
When the Master smiles this time, he sighs and closes his eyes like he’s feeling the sun. I have reunited with so many of my old friends since. Such a peaceful existence. He opens them. Your friendships are something to cherish for as long as they can physically walk by your side, Terra. But who am I to lecture? You have always. Friends to love, who want to care for you. I am so proud.
So proud…
Tears, quiet and happy, fall like drops of spring, Terra hearing what he always yearned to hear since he was six years old, a comforting embrace that wants to tell him he can breathe again without feeling guilty. 
But he still does. Every living breath is guilty by association.
“She’s so happy now,” Terra whispers as if to justify his actions, remembering Aqua sparring for the first time with Rainfell in years, hesitant at first, unsure of how it’s going to react with spells, but it comes fast. It comes like drinking water, natural and needed. “I don’t regret anything.”
Which was why you were the perfect candidate when I had asked you to look after them. He smirks. I couldn’t have trusted anyone better for the responsibility. 
Terra swallows, searching for the courage not to ask, believing he shouldn’t. He’s weak. “I am?”
The smile falls. You are not weak. 
You are willing to bare it all for your friends. Your bonds with Aqua and Ven are unbreakable, a magical, special, living Light to behold. A forge stronger than chains, weightless and free. I am sorry for seeding so much doubt within you, when you have so much to offer. If only I wasn’t—it was my duty to do better. That is my shame. He shakes his head at himself. But you’ve been so dedicated to the past, Terra, he says, concerned but not disappointed. Too much so. I worry. 
Terra grimaces. “Ha, I never have any explanations for the dumb mistakes I make when I need to.”
You’ll find little answers in what lies behind you. The Master leans forward, pulling a small smile as he studies Terra’s eyes. But you are more than capable. Please do me the favor. Trace the past no longer. You have your bonds to nourish, and more to flower. Then he smiles more, an epiphany in his eyes like he wants to share a secret. Only in death did I realize what true Mastery really is. The living can be so foolish. 
“You weren’t a fool, Master.”
Master… A Master is a forever student. To deny this is to be blind to your faults. Eraqus laughs, his eyes rolling. What would I have said to my younger self. You don’t see that one in the books. 
“I don’t know, I… I think what I did for Aqua trumps any dream I had in becoming Master.”
Eraqus’s eyes glisten. Do you not see one when you look at yourself in the mirror? 
Terra bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, warm and real. Terra could hug him. But he doesn’t, not when Eraqus slips something flat in his hand. 
Do take care of them. He holds Terra’s jaw. Chin up, son.
Footsteps climb up the stairs leading into the attic, and Terra is alone with a smooth piece of paper in one hand, the other wiping tears from his cheeks.
“Terra? You okay? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Aqua is carrying a finished wreath with purple flowers. She stops when she gasps, looking around the attic. “That smells like the Master’s cologne,” she whispers.
When Terra smiles, he cries more. “Look at this.”
A sepia-toned picture of Eraqus as a young boy, sitting on a window seat with a chess board laid out in front of him, all teeth from ear to ear, sincere and hopeful. He looks at the camera like it’s his best friend. 
Aqua’s eyes light up as she takes it, a tear for each eye. “Look at him. It’s so strange, but he was adorable.”
“Have you ever seen that one?”
“Never. It wasn’t with the others.”
“The others?”
She strokes the photo with her thumb. “Hm. I moved them into my room. I wanted to frame them.” She holds it to her chest. “Can I take this one?”
“For your room?”
“I’ve got one ready for yours. It’s that nice portrait that used to embarrass him.”
The one where he looked serious enough to judge someone to death. The Master had called it unsightly when it was presented to him.
“That one’s perfect.”
Aqua exhales deeply, shivering as tries to keep herself tall. “I’m so sad he’s gone, and... I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I had given him a Wayfinder. He feels so far away.”
He holds her chin softly, keeping it up as her heavy tears fall. “We could give him ours.”
She stops sobbing and stares through Terra when the realization hits her. She nods. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she says, nuzzling the wreath closer to her, her own little hug for the Master. 
Terra’s Gummiphone buzzes in his pocket. That has to be Naminé. 
“The wreath is beautiful,” he tells Aqua, and that grounds her back to reality. “You’ve done a marvelous job.”
“Thank you.” She strokes some of the leaves to keep them in place. “I’ll see you back at the front door?”
“Definitely.”
He’ll let her go downstairs first, pulling out the Gummiphone to read his new text. He’s going to tell Naminé that he’s changed his mind. He’s ready for an appointment.
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sketcheydyslexic · 3 years
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ey honeycomb 💛💛 sorry to hear about ya bad week but i hope this message will cheer ya up just a little. anyways i will forever say this, the school system just sucks the life right outta ya and i am immensely proud of ya for standing up fo yaself and being so strong. kinda just wanna 🔫🔫👋🔪🔪🗡️🗡️🗡️🤛🤛 the person following ya and maybe even the school. how dare they bother ya 😤 i wanna visit yah just tah give yah a biggggg hug and reassure yah face tah face (with covid rules of course!!)
also your dream is amazing!! i rarely dream of the papyri and i just wanna show them sum love (mmaybe even gasp hold their hands °//////°) also i just saw your drawing of killer sans in a suit and when i said i didn't simp for him yet i didn't mean make me simp for him instantly!!! he looked so handsome and everytime i look at ya drawing (WHICH IS AMAZING BTW I LOVE HOW YA BLEND THE COLOR, SHADE, THE LIGHTING, AND THE DETAILS IN THE SKULL AND BONES 💘💘💘💌💌 THE BLUSH THO) i am reminded of my dream 😳😳 i also wanna try shifting but rn i really wanna experience a lucid dream, i've only had one lucid dream and i instantly lost control and it became a nightmare and the way i wake up from it was moving myself irl (i've actually been doing this since i was a kid) and personally it wakes me up
ya don't hafta stress yaself out on posting and in putting out content, ya doing enough sweetheart. i also understand the struggle in drawing the papyri, i actually recently drew some skulls of classic sans, papyrus and gaster in my sketchbook. i wanted to figure out how their skulls would be different from the other au variants. i wanted them all to have different skull shapes but still maintaining the og skull. i struggle with the sans' skulls cuz idk if i who i wanna give the more rounded skull, who to give a more softer round, ect. side profiles tho!! they really hard, both humans and skeletons are hard for me to draw side profiled. and i understand not knowing where the face proportions go with the papyri i just wing it most of the time :p
my mc is actually my self insert but they don't really look like me so i just call them mc 🤷 but they have my personality and weirdness (which i am proud of :)) the story about finding out that ya have high tolerance for alcohol is hilarious, honestly it's always the my wine aunts who want me tah drink and i'm here wanting tah be responsible (and record sum blackmail material but shhh)
i'm sure ya still look godsend even with a hairstyle ya ain't satisfied with. but i do agree, hair us hair, it'll still grow even if someone messed it up. that's kinda how life is y'know. i actually let my older sister cut my hair and she's all nervous saying it'll probably look bad and all i say is "then i have a reason to finally get a pixie cut again :D" my father's wants me tah grow out my hair again but i really don't wanna deal with long hair problems in a stressful year so hahaha pixie cut here i come. besides if it's already done hair extensions pretty pricey ;)
ya inside joke with ya younger bro is honestly adorable <3 my own baby bro (he's actually a teenager but he's still my baby brobro) is planning on growing his hair out, he's already pretty long on the front part and it's so shaggy that he has tah tie it down and i dub it as "teen bun!!" but usually when it's down i mess it up as much as possible. and i don't mind ya rambling about ya kitty cat, i encourage it honestly!!! like what's their name? and if ya show me a pic i'd 100% use baby talk tah them. am glad kitty cat saved yah life cuz we wouldn't be talking tah each other right now or telling each other our days and just ramble tah each other if it weren't for them :) tell em i said thank ya and give em a peck on the forehead if possible
i honestly wanna live alone atleast once in my life cuz it's tradition tah live in a house with atleast 3 generations (we only had 2) and taken into account that we have a small house (2 bed room and we were mostly 6) i had tah share most of my space with others so i've always wanted tah have a bedroom with my own touch tah them. i bid ya luck on having ya own house hun and live without people hurting yah. ya don't deserve it sweets
NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR RAMBLING HUN!!! i love it and even if it's considered whining i will still gladly take it cuz it cane from ya and when it comes from yah it's appreciated and treasured by me!!!! honestly i feel like i sometimes ramble a bit too much but then i remember it's ya who am talking tah and yah always are considerate with me. how za bout we make it a rule tah tell each other if we're being overwhelmed with our musings. it doesn't mean it's bad, we're both just considering each others feelings and moods and if it makes ya more comfortable we can chat each other personally (but we are in different time zones and i struggle with responding messages, i hope yah don't mind)
nothing particularly note worthy has happened tah me except i have tah take a blood test for my health (i have a specific kind of goiter, it's not lethal and i'm coping pretty well if i do say so myself :D), i was supposed tah have a monthly check up done but the city where the hospital is located is on strict lockdown and the doctor doesn't offer online check ups. but the doc did advice having a blood test by the last week of this month. i kinda get woozy when i get my blood taken, i think it's pretty cool on how they just take blood but i do have a slight fear of receiving/expecting pain gets me lightheaded and i tense up so i usually don't look when they insert the needle. i kinda just chill until it's finished.
i care fo yah and treasure ya luv. how was your day honeybee? 💛💛
love 💛🍯 anon <3
[here yah go
Thank you, one of these days I will learn not to push the big red button when I get excited x.x
howdy, dearest --anon! thank you so much, i really appreciate it. 🔫 give me affection, i crave the comfort of a nice caring hug. careful though, i'll find out your favorite food/sweets and randomly make them for you to brighten your day. my love language is to bake and give my loved ones baked good that are their favorites, i don't know when this started or why but if it happens, it means you are a dear friend to my heart.
i rarely dream, so when i had that dream i was almost convinced to start cult worshipping him so he will take me away, im stable enough to know better though ;P gasp- unprotected, premarital hand holding?! oh my. while i was drawing him, i kept having to stop and whisper 'DAMN' "oh dang he /fine/ fine'' 'lord have mercy-' he is just so fine >//^\\<
OADHOhdaljOUHOH oh my, thank you so much!! It means so much to know that the little details like that are noticed too ^clutches perls^ my little heart is so happy. i drew a horror papyrus and added a lot of detail to the nicks and cracks in his bones but i don't think anyone noticed u^u or maybe i haven't even posted it yet?? its the one of him thats part of the matchup series. im going to redo mutt, and add dust next i think. ah yes, everytime you see him, that special moment will haunt you. not that that is a bad thing 👀👀 i've never experienced either :o i really want to though! its really cool that you can, it sucks that it turned into a nightmare though, nightmares suck when they aren't a skeleton. then i succ. (that was a crude joke right so it is decided i ill try not to make horn dog jokes outside of the dms)
thank you hun, i really appreciate it ;) i've been hard at work today, to post a few chapters and finish the last raffle wins. i am about to hit the next 100 follower goal, and i'm trying to think of what to do this time. i don't know if ill do a raffle this time or not, i kind of want to do something new. i just draw them, lol, i don't know what i'm doing but i'm doing it, and it's been working! i'm doing a few gaster doodles that i might post later, but my twitter isn't gaining any traction at all so i don't bother posting on there as much as i do on here, i even started a tiktok. i love the idea of them all having their own little differences in appearance but still looking similar. i get so frustrated with side profiles, they are so difficult, and for what?! i'm just going to stick to drawing skeletons.
for me, i like using the text replacer extensions to replace y/n with my name. it hits different different. I love drawing self inserts with my mc, they make me so happy.i love the personally i'm seeing so far, andi bet your weirdness is even better ;) <3 me and my wine aunt do a lot together, we got our noses pierced together, and we are going to get matching tattoos eventually. right now we are still deciding on what we want to get. wine aunt are the ones who have all your secrets on back log LMAO half the time you're like "o.o when did i tell you THAT??"
awwww, you flatter me, love. its okay, i just kinda am a little off put of spending so much time and so much money on something that looks like i did it myself in a walmart bathroom 💀💀 i wish i could pull of a short hair cut, but i think my face is to chubby for it. maybe one day ill try it out. i bet she will do a great job and you will rock the best haircut in your area! my dad keeps telling me to go blond but i dont like the way blond looks on me at all, i'm naturally a darker haired person. Bhaha i imagine you just; "no break it, its fine. no, break it, break it, its fine :D"
i love him, he is a meanie but we bully each other affectionately. his hair is so fluffy and i cant help but ruffle it up everytime i can. he looks like ethan (crankgameplays) and it gave me flash backs to when youtubers had their floofs colored. yay! i love gushing about her, her legal name is Panda, but ive always called her 'baby' so i guess her name is baby. here is a picture of my sweet pea;
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Look at those cute little toe beans 🥺💕💕 she's my emotional service animal, she's very good at her job. she loves to be babied, so she loved the gifted ear scratches and forehead kisses. im really happy you dont think im pathetic for a cat saving me, it just proves how kind you are <3
i would lose my mind if i had to live with a lot of people like that 0o0 i need alone time or else it can get painful for me mentaly and even physically. i hope you get to have your own space one day, you deserve a place to call your own personal safe place.
awe, you are the best, im so happy to have you in my life now. im so used to people getting irritated at me for talking about myself i dont really know if i'm going to far when opening up now.that would make me a lot less worried, for you to be honest with me if i am going a little to far ;) that would be nice, i feel a little bad for the followers that good these long posts about my day when they dont care for that kind of content. of course love, you have your life to attend to each day and i have mine, i've never been one to think much of getting a response back 15 hours later, im happy to get one back at all.
oh my, that sounds scary- i hope you will be okay :'0 im no stranger to heath issues, im sorry you have that kind of stress. im proud of you for being strong through this. im terrified of needles, its kind of weird because i have piercings and am just fine with those... i guess its were they are that doesn't bother me as much. the idea of a needle or splinter make me choke up, i was a sobbing mess when i had to get my last shot, even if it was a pain medicine to help with my broken ankle i was saying i didn't want it. i felt bad for breaking down like that, im not a little kid, but boy do i have a fear of needles.
and i for you, dearest <3. my day was nice, i made cinnamon rolls and finished up editing the last raffle win, plus i did a lot of little house chores today, go the house looking nice and clean. over all it was a nice day, i hope you also had a nice day my dear <3
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xlady-saya · 4 years
Text
I want this touch to be familiar [fic]
Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn
Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.
Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.
Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.
But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.
Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter 
Read on ao3! 
They're having a movie night when the idea sinks its hooks into Andrew's brain. He’s not blaming the Foxes, but their bad choices in films is the catalyst to a milestone Andrew didn’t think he’d have to deal with so soon.
In a swift motion, he brings the hand that's not on Neil's thigh to itch at the back of his own skull, unsettled. He almost thinks he should ban himself from these get togethers, if only to avoid these ideas from taking root. Though, if he's being more honest with himself for once, he'll admit it's not the first time it crossed his mind.
It's possible that's the problem entirely.
No, this idea is more comparable to a mosquito, swarming around in his head and beating against the grooves at random points in the day. It's so powerful, so persistent, it's like this one mosquito is a whole swarm, poking around the ridges in an indecisive process to figure out where it finally wants to dig in.
The movie night is just the point in which it finally latches on and doesn't let go.
It's a predictable action film; Andrew doesn't understand why every director in Hollywood keeps trying to recreate James Bond, but he stopped caring about the movie two minutes in. Neil is boneless and relaxed from the shower they shared after practice, fingers drumming beats against Andrew's wrists while his brow furrows at the film. It has enough explosions and suspense to keep Neil somewhat entertained, though Andrew suspects the focus is mostly due to Neil trying to pick apart the inaccuracies of it all.
Most of the time, Neil ends up staring at Andrew for a majority of the film. Andrew finds it easier to not mind in the darkness, where he can feel the brightness in Neil's eyes instead of actually seeing it.
Essentially, this is the only reason he comes to movie nights.
He's almost at the point where he's ready to ignore the thing completely, along with the Foxes’ scathing commentary, but then the scene comes on.
It's not hard to see coming, but as crude and rough as the Foxes are, their movies don't often include sex scenes. Andrew isn't usually bothered by this type of thing, but it does nothing for him. He's neither repulsed or intrigued; the man isn't his type (or Neil, his brain says, unhelpfully), and the scene isn't aggressive enough to feel like assault.
No anger or heat surges under his skin as the slow orchestra plays, the woman's dress falling to the floor in what he's sure is supposed to be a good shot but has been so overdone it's pointless. Suddenly there's skin, and chests, and the actress' loud gasps turn into louder moans.
It's obnoxious, how fake it sounds, the camera angle cutting to show just enough in between movements.
"Ughhh," Nicky groans, and Allison turns to give him a look. Nicky sags in his chair even further just to spite her, almost falling out of it. "Why do they always do this? I don't need to see two straight white people suck face and bone in every movie! What is this doing for the plot?"
Aaron's head perks up, and he pauses his mid mouthful of those stupid chips Katelyn got him. "What's wrong with straight white people?"
"Everything."
Matt raises his third beer of the night. "Cheers bro, I'll drink to that."
Aaron looks to the wall, as if it will offer him anything better than his current company.
Andrew's eyes fly back to the television, right at the moment the hero slots himself between the actress' legs.
The swarm in his head digs in.
Andrew's hands tighten in the couch cushion, but he keeps the hand on Neil's thigh steady so he won't notice. Neil can be so perceptive when he wants to be, when it comes to Andrew specifically. It's infuriating, sometimes. Andrew never asked to be known so well, yet here they are.
Neil cracks a smile at Nicky and Aaron's fighting, more fond of it now than anything, and Andrew tracks the curve of it with his eyes. On screen, the spy starts thrusting.
"It's romantic!" Allison counters Nicky's claims, and he chucks a pillow at her with a surprising amount of force. Some of the feathers float out.
"They met not even a day ago!"
Aaron's chips are forgotten, which is about as serious as his brother gets nowadays. "I think you've hooked up with dudes you've met within an hour, you asshole."
"This ain't about me."
It's at this point Neil decides to speak, his brow arching in a way Andrew is pretty sure he didn't do prior to starting their this. Andrew's eyes fly up to catch it, and he realizes he'd been admiring the slope of Neil's neck, the discoloration where his hair meets his nape. "Honestly Nicky, what right do you have to talk about plot? Didn't you make us watch that terrible beach movie last week just because you liked the actor?"
Off to the side, where they're trying to become siamese twins, Dan and Matt chime in with some 'ooo's and air horn noises. They’re loud enough to startle Kevin from whatever he’s texting Thea about, and Allison’s cackle follows. Renee’s smile has a slight sharpness to it, the evillest she can look nowadays.
Andrew can't be bothered by the antics; his focus keeps returning to the movie, and the fact is nearly enough to startle him. But he stays still, calm, and doesn't give anything away. It's the best defense he has for the war about to rage inside him. His mind, two seconds from overdrive.
"Et tu Neil?" Nicky sniffs, and then the actress has some kind of orgasm, since she makes a noise akin to a dying bird.
And, because when is it ever about the love interest, the man keeps going, chasing his own release. Andrew's throat feels scratchy.
Andrew spares a look at Neil's face, and finds the striker's attention divided between the screen and Nicky's ramblings. Andrew doesn't care about whatever Neil says in return, he's too set on the slide of Neil's tongue over his bottom lip, the heat of his skin under his palm. Andrew moves his hand more towards Neil's inner thigh, and his breath hitches when Neil's legs widen on instinct for him.
The idiot isn't even aware of it.
Andrew would only need to slide his hand deeper to graze the place where he and Neil could be connected, as close as they can get. He'd be able to work Neil open, savor the twitch of Neil's hips.
Neil is mouthy enough in bed with how they do things now. Would he be louder? Uncontained?
Andrew allows himself to watch the rest of the scene play out on screen, the two rehearsed 'rough' thrusts, the groan of pleasure. But this time, it's hard to be disinterested. It's hard to not let his mind, so gifted with spinning fantasies on account of his cursed memory, put him in the spy's place.
What would Neil feel like, he wonders. Tight and warm probably, strong legs locking around Andrew's hips until his ankles are crossed and knocking against his lower back. Neil can get so greedy sometimes, even with his obnoxiously high consideration for Andrew's boundaries. When he's allowed to take, he's desperate about it.
Would Neil let him go that far? No, would he want to?
Does he want--
Andrew stops the train of thought there, but doesn't cut the journey short. He has no choice but to be stuck here now, and thus, Andrew can no longer swat the idea away like the pest it is.
Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he could avoid thinking about after a certain point. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.
Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.
Bile rises in his throat on instinct, and he squashes it down. Sex with Neil is not something he needs to feel terrible about, and he doesn't. It feels the opposite of terrible, and Andrew hasn't worked through all those troublesome thoughts yet. He can't pin a label to it.
He remembers when jerking off in the shower, mouth pressed to Neil's, had felt like a huge thing to give. Now it wouldn't be enough.
Neil touches him now, Andrew asks him to touch. He's used to Neil's weight on top of him and his hands sliding suggestively over his abs, his biceps. His hands are used to resting comfortably over the curve of Neil's ass, grinding against him.
And it hasn’t stopped there. He's had Neil's mouth on him, his blue eyes on every part of him as the striker sucked him off after a particularly good game.
Andrew had shut down the goal, and the look in Neil's eyes had made him feel far too much. Overwhelming, dizzying.
So they'd taken the next step, not without hiccups, not without caution, but they'd done it.
And that's the thing with Neil; once they cross a certain line, it's a snowball effect. They're incapable of going back.
Neil blew him then for the first time and suddenly Andrew couldn't get the image out of his head, Neil's lips around his cock, trying to adjust to get the best reactions out of Andrew, to make it feel good.
Neil, so stupidly determined about everything he does.
And Andrew, the fool he is, got used to it. He never expected it, because routine was not a yes, and some days he preferred to not be touched at all.
But now, when Neil sinks to his knees or asks to jerk Andrew off, the initial anxiety Andrew might've felt months prior isn't there. It's been burned away into something more concerning, addictive.
Because Neil will stop if he needs him to.
So, Andrew let go, and the floodgates opened.
Shared handjobs turned into frequent blowjobs, which turned into heavy petting without clothes. Andrew feels stripped down, raw, with how much trust he's given this single person.
Every now and again, he searches deep in his soul for some ounce of disgust, regret for any of it, and it makes him angry to find none.
The only thing that does make him angry is how good it feels, a natural reaction Andrew can’t just drop cold turkey. Yet, his body doesn't just enjoy the progressions he and Neil have made together, so does his mind.
Again, he derails the train there, not willing to admit it, and returns to the thought of plowing Neil into their mattress.
It was only a matter of time before he ended up at this crossroads, only so far he and Neil could go before reaching the logical 'next step.'
But, it doesn't have to be a step at all if Neil decides against it. If Neil doesn't want to, they won't. The itch in Andrew's brain is mostly due to the fact they haven't discussed it. He has no idea how Neil feels, if he even thinks about it in the way Andrew does.
There hasn't been time, but Andrew knows if he's reached this point he has to bring it up.
He's not afraid to; he and Neil aren't like that. It's about framing it in a way Neil's exy-only brain won't read into it wrong.
He needs Neil to be able to say no if that's what he needs, he doesn't want to imply he wants this from Neil, that there's a pressure to take it there. Because as stubborn and rebellious as Neil can be, unwilling to be pushed around, Andrew is a weakness.
So, Andrew won't accept anything from him other than the absolute truth. 'Always' doesn't exist with things like this.
The movie turns back into a mindless explosion show while the fantasy in Andrew's brain is paused, mostly because indulging in it feels wrong at this point. If it's something that'll never happen, there's no point letting it play.
What he already does with Neil is enough, more than enough. Andrew never thought he'd ever be like this with anyone, and he's still not used to it. His pleasure during sex came from control in the past, on being able to dictate how it all went, to touch without being touched and have the person like it.
Neil turns everything upside down; where control once stood undefeated, something else sits, unmovable. White-hot, blinding desire.
A danger, unacceptable.
Andrew's eyes rest back on Neil and the heat coiling in his abdomen subsides, softened by the unruliness of Neil's bangs and the glow against his cheek. That's another problem too, about Neil. Desire isn't alone.
But, Andrew sets that issue aside for now.
Feeling Andrew's pensiveness, Neil turns his head, blinking so slow Andrew can see the flutter of his lashes. He nearly pushes his face away.
He's not sure what Neil sees in his analysis; Andrew knows he can't read minds, but it's unsettling and calming all at once to watch him trace the wrinkles in Andrew's face. He asks himself if maybe Neil can feel the itch too.
Neil hooks his fingers over Andrew's lightly, and Andrew realizes all too late how tight his grip on Neil's thigh had gotten.
"Okay?" Neil asks, and fuck him for doing so, for catching Andrew slip. He curses himself for slipping at all, or maybe the better term is falling.
Andrew taps Neil's hand once, twice, three times, and squashes the urge to kiss him.
"Yes," he says, and it's not a lie.
It's not a lie, and he doesn't have the energy to think about why that is. He just knows that soon, it will become a bigger problem. He puts it to rest.
Instead, he watches Neil nod and smile, and when Andrew finally turns back to the television, his brain gets to work on the words he needs to say, and knowing how they’ll probably come up short.
--
Andrew's mind is a vault mechanism. When one part of the lock is cracked, there's usually another waiting behind it.
He hasn't realized it yet though, couldn't possibly, with Neil rutting in his lap.
Andrew grunts as his nails dig into Neil's hips, where the brunet's sweatpants are dipping dangerously lower by the minute, a consequence of the force of their dry humping.
He's not quite sure how they got this carried away in the span of ten minutes, but all Andrew knew then was this wasn't a bad day, this was a day where Neil could pin Andrew to the couch without consequence.
So he let him.
Neil is shirtless, scars on display along with hard nipples and a twitching abdomen, the heat building and building.
Because of Andrew.
The position should feel stupid, immature, maybe even high school, but Andrew's brain is swimming with a pleasure comparable to nicotine.
It's nothing he thought he'd feel before, because the weight of someone on him never used to lead to good things.
"Fuck," Neil breathes, hips stuttering against Andrew's and wiping the dangerous path away before Andrew can even take a step towards it. Neil gives a rough jerk, barely able to fight Andrew's grip, but he prefers when Neil works for it. He doesn't let up, because he knows the striker is nothing but determined.
Neil whines, surging forward to pant into Andrew's mouth. He growls; part of him was enjoying the show and doesn't appreciate the interruption. The other part of him can't get enough of Neil's mouth, the wicked tongue pulling his out and sucking on it like it's another part of Andrew's body.
Neil is always so scatterbrained; he'd do it all if he could.
Andrew's breathing comes out heavy, wet, and they've fallen out of position quite a few times as a result of their desperation. Neil's clothed cock is barely grazing Andrew's now, but he doesn't have the will to stop Neil from moving so fast, so needy. There's a small wet spot forming against Andrew's pant leg, and he watches Neil fight to keep his head from lolling back from the dizziness of it.
It makes something smug burn through Andrew's chest, seeing Neil sigh and whisper incoherent nothings which don't amount to much more than 'yes' and 'more, Andrew, more.'
Andrew leans back into the couch cushions and bucks up, earning him a sound so Neil he can't take it. It's a cross between a gasp and a groan, devolving into another string of curses. At this point, Neil's pants are low enough to reveal the coarse hair of his groin, the criss crossing scars almost as tantalizing as the hardness pressing against Andrew's leg.
Andrew suddenly doesn't have enough hands. He's torn between pressing his palm over the scars, keeping Neil under his grip, or digging into Neil's hair to expose the column of his throat.
This is why this kind of thing can still get a bit overwhelming, but not in a discomforting way like it used to.
It's still fairly new, the dry humping. At first, it had started as slow and experimental grinding in the morning, Neil pressed up against Andrew's front while he rocked forward. The first time, Andrew had to stop, too taken by the newness of it, the unfamiliarity.
He hadn't had time to really pick it apart and think about why he was doing it or if it made him anything like them. If pressing Neil down and chasing his own relief didn't reveal something uglier about him.
By that point, he'd had Neil's hands on him on a regular basis, jerking him off and pulling him into his throat. Those things were becoming less daunting.
He's used to letting Neil get him off now, to getting off in front of him with his own hand. It's just...this is so much more shared, intense. Andrew isn't quite used to it, but the movie night sits heavy in the back of his head still, and he thinks it might make a little more sense now.
The process to get here had been the same, a slow evolution; they'd use grinding as a means to get worked up, to cause friction before moving onto blow jobs or heavy makeouts. It turned into a thing when Andrew didn't have the patience to separate from Neil for even a moment. Humiliating, but in the heat of the moment he hadn't thought twice. He remembered asking for his yes between biting kisses before humping Neil into their bed, and when he came, the rush had been blinding. The heat running through his veins carried all through his spine and down to his toes, intensified even more by Neil's body jerking against his.
Close, intimate.
And so very, very close to the real thing.
Before that thought threatens to ruin everything, Andrew bucks up again and Neil's moan blocks the path again.
Andrew is so hard it's painful.
Before Neil can press down in kind, Andrew tightens his hold until Neil can do little more than squirm, leaving them stuck like that, with Neil's hands making a mess of Andrew's hair and unable to give them the sweet friction. Andrew rubs circles into Neil's hip bones until he hears the sigh he's looking for.
Watching Neil blink, eyes blown wide in a desire fueled haze, makes Andrew lick his lips in anticipation.
Neil blinks down at Andrew, not really seeing, breath stuttering as he fights the grip. "H-hey--"
"Hey," Andrew replies, feigning innocence. It's not effective, when one of his hands snakes around to Neil's back, looking for any trace of discomfort or even a silent 'no.' When he finds nothing but want, he presses his fingers down onto Neil's lower back to force him forward. Neil's back arches like a cat, like Andrew pulls all the strings. "Move up."
Neil exhales shakily as he shifts, legs spreading and putting him back to where they initially started. Andrew takes the time to rid himself of his jacket, way too warm, and unzips his jeans to help the tightness.
Neil's gaze flies to the prominent bulge under Andrew's boxers instantly.
"Right there," Andrew says with his hands back on Neil's ass, squeezing the muscled flesh greedily and trying hard to avoid the thought of spreading him open like this. He aligns Neil so their cocks are settled against each other again. It's a struggle for them to stay still; Neil leans forward so Andrew's neck muffles most of his groan, and sucks on his pale skin. Andrew's voice is nothing short of strained when it comes out. "That's it."
Neil smiles when he pulls back, and Andrew has to look away. Idiot, always so pleased with proof of Andrew's unraveling. "Can I--"
"Yes," Andrew growls, and he meets Neil halfway. One hand flies to the back of Neil's neck, digging into the hair at his nape to pull him close again. His skin is scorching to the touch.
Neil doesn't hesitate. His hips move fast as his hands dig into Andrew's biceps, intent on chasing the orgasm for both of them. Small, jagged whimpers leave his mouth with every thrust, his cock brushing right against Andrew's. Neil is practically bouncing, and it doesn't take long for Andrew to realize he's moving too, just as fast, just as rough. The head of his cock pokes out of the slit in his underwear, smearing precum on Neil's pants.
"Oh fuck, fuck," Neil moans at the same time Andrew starts grunting with each jerk of his body, unconcerned with the volume. If anyone knows what's good for them, they won't be back early. Andrew's vision starts to blur, his movements less coordinated, breathing loud. He's close, so close and the heat pooling in his abdomen makes his head swim.
It should unnerve him, this lack of control, this animalistic urge to keep going, take and take. But Neil looks the farthest from afraid above him; he's matching Andrew in his entirety, grunting loudly and rotating his hips in just the right way for them to feel every inch of each other. His hands are dutifully clutching Andrew's shoulders, unwilling to move. Because Neil knows, he knows this is Andrew's most vulnerable moment, seconds from orgasm. No matter how close to the edge they are, Neil won't risk Andrew's discomfort, he won't let Andrew's pleasure be overridden by shock or the disregard for his boundaries.
Andrew hates him, he hates how Neil is the only one who will ever make him feel this way, because now no one else is good enough.
In more ways than sex.
Andrew snarls from the anger of it all, from how inaccurate it feels to call it that. He brings a hand up to wipe the sweat off Neil's brow, pushing aside his bangs so he can see those eyes for all they are, the ring of blue a bottomless pool Andrew no longer tries to escape.
Neil's mouth falls open from whatever look is on Andrew's face, and he's no longer able to keep his eyes open, throwing his head back as his orgasm rips through him. He trembles in Andrew's arms, and Andrew feels the warmth of Neil's cum against his cock, even through his sweats.
Andrew's arms lock around Neil's waist as he thrusts up harshly, and in the last split second before he comes, he imagines they're not just dry humping like dogs in heat. He allows himself to imagine he's inside Neil, that they're as close as they can possibly be, and it makes Neil feel good instead of pained.
Andrew comes, but it's with an unexpected dose of shame. Despite that, he comes hard. It's full body, enough to make his shoulders shake, his breath hitch. It's that same tingling sensation running over him, stronger at the points where he and Neil touch.
It doesn't make sense to him.
He hadn't meant to let his brain go there, to let the fantasy rear its ugly head again, but it had felt so...
He didn't have the right to think about it without Neil's yes, not in this case. Because it means some fucked up part of him craves it, needs to take it.
He won't, he won't do that. He knows he won't, but then why does it make his stomach swirl?
Andrew sighs before going rigid, and Neil must take it as his cue to separate. That's one thing which hasn't really changed, Andrew's need for space. It's gotten better, he can normally stay pressed against Neil for ten or so minutes, and it's weirdly comfortable. However, eventually his brain will begin to overthink or itch with a need for room, and he'll have to push away.
This immediate stiffness is unusual though, and Neil catches it so fast Andrew should feel vulnerable about it.
Neil goes still as soon as he senses something is off, and removes his weight from Andrew in a blink. He's never seen Neil move so fast away from him, not out of fear, but concern.
Neil is mistaken here though; he's not the one who's done something wrong.
Neil puts as much distance between them on the couch as he can, bringing his knees to his chest and only grimacing at the wet squelch of his pants.
His chest is still heaving, and part of Andrew finds excitement in that. He made Neil feel good, it's proven by his mussed up hair and swollen lips, the high blush. Neil waits, eyes scanning the lines of tension in Andrew's body, the soft parts of his face.
Andrew watches him for a long time as he thinks, trying to find evidence he's right, that he took it too far. Neil can't read his thoughts, but for a moment Andrew worries he can.
Did he feel it, Andrew's body claiming him, using him in a way Neil maybe has never thought of?
Andrew glares, but he knows Neil will be able to tell it's not at him.
Andrew is usually able to begin the long dissection of these issues in his own head, revealing the threads he can offer to Bee to pull at and untangle into something more manageable. But right now, he's at a loss.
They sit like that so long their breathing evens out, and only at that point does Neil reach out. He extends his hand forward, not commanding, but offering. Yes or no. "Andrew?"
Shit.
He hasn't moved in minutes. Time is never something he managed well in his head, always pulling him back to the past in a blink while the future pulled apart like dust, disintegrating before taking a full shape. He inhales shakily; Andrew hates to show so much, but this is Neil. They're alone. He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, trying to bring it back to its blank state before he reaches out to pull Neil closer.
They're still not touching anywhere else, Andrew can't handle that yet, but it's enough of an acquiescence for Neil to understand the problem isn't him.
He moves to the cushion next to Andrew, his bare feet settling against the carpet as he waits for Andrew to say something.
And well, this is where he brings it up. There's no point in waiting, beating around the bush is useless and pointless and not something they're capable of doing.
Andrew's words come out blunt as ever as he stares into nothingness. "Before I came I thought about fucking you."
The harshness of the words, and how removed they are from any emotion should probably make any normal person flinch. Neil isn't just anyone.
Neil, for all his usual drama, doesn't react to that, and Andrew feels the ghost of relief. Once, Neil told Andrew his lack of reaction to otherwise terrible events made Neil feel better about them. Andrew hadn't really understood, but now he just might be seeing the logic.
Neil's gaze on him during their vulnerable moments typically makes Andrew want to jump out of his skin, far too exposed, but with this it's less difficult to plow forward. Neil stares at Andrew, as blank as he can manage, while still letting the curiosity furrow his brow.
Andrew wants to wipe off the sweat there.
He cracks his knuckles, mulling over the words and trying to find a way to say them where he won't have to admit too much. Unfortunately, it's impossible.
He scowls at the coffee table as he speaks, like the words are vile. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I haven't been able to stop."
Why can't he stop?
Because part of him can't help himself, is that it? He can't control himself, even after years and years of limiting every possible stimuli so he could.
If he sounds angry it's because he is; how dare Neil push him this far, so unintentionally. Yet even then, Andrew knows the blame is all on him. The irritated tremble in his voice should not fucking be there, just like the thoughts shouldn't be. He shouldn't have given ground enough to make such a confession, to make Neil think he's torn up and ugly.
Andrew should be a blank slate, but Neil is chips in the stone, splashes of paint which Andrew cannot scrub off.
He told Neil what he's always told Neil: the honest version of how he feels, even if he wishes he felt nothing.
Long before the movie night, long before he cares to remember, and he    remembers everything, he's thought of slotting their bodies together, of pulling Neil impossibly close so they're intertwined in every way.
At Andrew's aggravated scowl, Neil finally chooses to speak. The confusion is more obvious on his features now, the ring of blue reappearing and threatening to wash Andrew in waves.
"You don't have to stop," Neil says, like it's the simplest damn thing in the world.
What the hell does he know? He's not in Andrew's head, he's not--
"Neil--" Andrew almost growls, a warning Neil should be all too familiar with. Stop while you're ahead.
Neil is a very bad listener, with a short fuse to match.
"I think about it," the striker bites out quickly, almost challenging. Those blue eyes widen with the admission, rocking on the balls of his feet. Andrew's entire body freezes up, hell the world might have stopped for all he cares. Even Neil bites down on his bottom lip, as if to cut the words off, before realizing how stupid that would be. He knows how Andrew feels about regret, and he's not lying in this moment. Andrew would be able to tell. A few seconds of quiet pass, they hear some muffled music through the windows. Neil's voice is a silky whisper to his ears, despite how cracked it sounds. "I think about it too. So...there, stop putting this just on you. I think about it a lot so, you don't have to do...that."
It's so stupid, how Neil can remain so interesting even when Andrew's feeling this on edge. It's a welcome distraction for a second, before the words really sink in.
Neil thinks about it.
Viciously, Andrew steps on the small slug which resembles hope as it crawls through his brain. He ignores the mess in his pants as he turns to face Neil, sitting cross-legged on the couch.
Andrew raises a brow, daring Neil to elaborate on the that he's referring to.
"Hide it so I don't have to know," Neil supplies, waving his hand in the air. "Shoulder it all yourself like you always do. This way I've made it both of our problem."
Neil winces, no doubt scolding himself for the poor choice of words.
Andrew's face is back to a blank slate. "A problem, is it?"
That's certainly how he saw it, but having Neil echo the sentiment makes him feel more, which would be terrible enough, but the feeling isn't even good.
Neil's gaze is a freshly sharpened blade. "No. Not to me," Neil says, firm. "You know we don't have to, but--"
"But you think about it," Andrew echoes, unable to help it. The coils he tries to wrap around the realization are slippery and can't get a grip, so he repeats it. Neil thinks about it, the desire is shared.
What is he supposed to do with that information now? One step forward, two steps...somewhere.
Neil swallows, and the redness on his cheeks is oh so appealing to even Andrew's hazy mind.
Neil thinks about it.
But that doesn't mean they can just...do it. Andrew doesn't know if he can; the disconnect between what his body wants and what his brain can manage is a minefield and he's never wanted to scratch at gray matter so badly.
Briefly, he understands why Aaron values normalcy so much. Normalcy would allow Andrew to just be the horny college student he could've been, instead of having to deal with all these speed bumps and cones in the road to get to the ultimate goal. And even if he were to get there, there's a big chance he'd decide it's better to turn back around to prevent a crash.
But he is not Aaron, and he does not value normalcy.
He values--
"I do," Neil states, so understanding, and maybe a little flustered. Flustered, not scared, not unsure. "I like doing that stuff with you Andrew, but how it is now is good, more than good. Hell, that was so...wow. You know I've never felt this towards someone."
Neil's smile is so far away from what Andrew can handle he has to ruin it.
"Horny?" He says, and hates how even when he's deflecting the thought sends a shiver through him. The thought of Neil only wanting him, only giving himself to him. Andrew squashes the possessiveness, uncomfortable.
Neil gives him a look for that, but isn't deterred. "Technically yes, but you know what I mean."
Unfortunately he does, but that's even more uncomfortable to think about than the physical desire. Neil has never been shy about his feelings for Andrew, not since Andrew actually acknowledged their this and showed how he was going to make zero moves to push Neil away. Even if Neil did hold back his bluntness, he gives Andrew those fucking looks like he's the most amazing thing he's ever laid eyes on, not some delinquent with a crooked nose and a hostile disposition.
And still that can't be it. Neil's desire, like his feelings, are so intense they can't possibly be fake. The eagerness, the desperation with which he receives Andrew's advances...it's not the issue. Neil is trying to tell Andrew he doesn't need to feel pressured, like Andrew doesn't already know that.
He thinks he's getting closer to what his real problem is with it, but it's just out of reach. It's a shared desire, he checks that off. Neil thinks about it, another check. And Andrew...
No matter how he tries to kick it aside he wants it. His body craves it and his mind can't let it go. He wants and it's so nauseating in how it's not, instead it's light and tender and all things he is not supposed to be.
So, where is the issue? It's him, it's--
"Stop avoiding the truth," Neil says, and when Andrew looks back at him those pale blue eyes are intense, almost deadly. They pry Andrew apart, flaying the flesh from bones and seeing the rawness inside, like Neil has managed to pin down the anxious animal inside him with talons sharp as knives.
The words 'shut up' die on his tongue; what truth? What can Neil see that he can't?
Andrew doesn't have fears. He briefly entertains the idea that what bothers him is the fact Neil thinks about it and that means one day he'll really want it and won't be able to hold the urge back. If Andrew can't give it to him, if he decides he can't go through with this, Neil will be like everyone else, just someone who wants more than Andrew can offer. Then he'll leave.
But Andrew doesn't fear. And it would be stupid to fear; anyone who would leave for something like that simply isn't worth the time of day. Yet...yet...
Andrew thinks of life without Neil, and he remembers emptiness crashing down, an empty stadium, and true darkness.
Frustrated beyond all reason, Andrew retreats into the bedroom to change into clean underwear and sweats. There are no footsteps behind him, no annoyed sighs or disappointment in his wake. He hates how Neil knows how long he needs before following, how trusting he is, because he changes right in front of Andrew a few moments later, needing no boundary.
"There's no 'truth' in this to avoid," Andrew answers, delayed, as he tracks the curves of Neil's body, the scars making him feel safe and angry all at once. Angry at those who would hurt his person, safe knowing Neil doesn't shy away from the ugliness.
Neil shrugs as he sits on the bed, beckoning Andrew over. He follows, of course he does, it's automatic.
What he says isn't a lie; he hasn't figured out the truth of this. Neil grins at him, infuriating. "No, I just think you're avoiding thinking about it. Don't get me wrong, I have no idea what you're actually thinking about, I'm not a mind reader. But if something else weren't bothering you I don't think you'd be this antsy."
"I'm not antsy."
"I told you, I'm the better liar so you should stop trying," Neil says with a smile, kicking his legs out in front of him. There's bruises on his knees from their last game. Andrew reaches out to press his palm against them, frowning at the yellowish color; there was no helping the fall, but Andrew had still checked him out afterwards. Neil sighs into the touch, leans into it, and it hits Andrew that this level of vulnerability he's been given is not something he's ever asked for, but he couldn't let go of if he wanted to.
Can’t let himself betray.
"I haven't made up my mind," Andrew says, not like he has to. Neil is normally good at knowing when Andrew isn't ready to give his final answer, but something about this feels different. It makes Andrew say as much as he can. "I don't know yet if I can do it."
What he thought would be devastating to admit aloud feels more like one weight has been shed. Neil doesn't even react, apart from prying Andrew's hand off his knee to trace the veins on his wrist.
"That's okay," Neil whispers, and there's enough encouragement in the tone to make Andrew growl.
"Shut up."
Neil freezes, his fingers hovering over Andrew's knuckles, and has the audacity to squint at Andrew. The man always did have a death wish. "It is."
Andrew turns away, in what to others would read as a clear dismissal, the cold shoulder. Neil has never cared to accept those things.
"Andrew," Neil says, and it's with conviction this time. No gentleness. "I'm not going to...leave if we never do it, I don't care about that, I just care about you. But if it is something you want, it's a yes--"
Fury spikes.
Andrew bites back the auto-response of 'I don't care if you leave' because it's a deflection he won't bring into this. He doesn't have time to keep that wall of his intact during a conversation like this. Neil will fight it and see through it and it'll waste their time.
But honestly, screw Neil for seeing through Andrew so easily. For pulling out fears that shouldn't be there and aren't, they aren't.
When Andrew turns his scowl on Neil, the striker doesn't so much as flinch. Andrew is here, giving away too much, showing too much, and Neil takes all of it.
"That doesn't have to be your final answer," Andrew stresses, voice tight, and this time Neil does have the decency to look surprised. Those pretty eyes soften with it, and Andrew sees the exact moment he puts something together which Andrew hasn't yet touched. "We don't have to. That goes both ways, I won't take that from you unless you're 100% sure so you better be and fuck you if you don't tell me the truth when the time comes. And it's not going to be you letting me, or doing it for my sake, or some other half-assed reason. If you don't want to, we won't. "
If I can't, I won't.
And the only reason he wouldn't be able to is if...
Andrew feels a stone settle in his stomach, and almost grins from how amazingly stupid this all is. Bee would be so proud, him getting to this point, on the cusp of figuring out what the hell is going on in his head.
All of a sudden Andrew is tired, too much energy pulled out of him, a war of emotions, all for him to come to the obvious conclusion.
It always comes back to Neil.
And Neil seems to have figured it out too; he stares at Andrew for a long time, scanning his face, giving him that look, the one which burns Andrew from the inside. Warm.
"The next time one of them says you're soulless, I might have to fight them."
All Andrew's words, and Neil manages to find the sliver of realness buried in it. For a moment, Andrew thinks Neil will let it go, for Andrew's sake. But, he should know better. They're no longer at that point, and Bee would call that progress, but Andrew doesn't know what to do with it yet.
All he knows is that if Neil thinks he can soothe any of Andrew's thoughts, he will, no matter how many times Andrew tells him he doesn't need it.
It's quiet, when Neil finally speaks. "You wouldn't hurt me," he whispers into the small space between them. Andrew hadn't realized they'd gotten so close, but there's his forearm, pressed right against Neil's. No wincing, no queasiness.
Andrew starts to turn away, and Neil risks blocking him with his hand. Andrew's vision is all blue, Neil's bangs such a mess he wants so badly to push them back again. "You wouldn't hurt me Andrew, if that's what you're worried about. You couldn't. I trust you. Of course I want to, but it's not a deal breaker. Stop treating it like one."
Andrew doesn't move, it's amazing he can even look at Neil, but he can't stop. There's so much he could argue in return, lots to prove wrong. Neil doesn't know anything about this, he can't possibly get it, or know what he's really giving Andrew, or what he’ll want in the future.
Their future; another subject to flood Andrew's brain. Too much at once, too much.
And yet, Neil is a deadly weapon, except with Andrew the slicing wounds give way to blooms instead of blood.
Neil strikes. "If you decide it's a yes, and I come back and say no, would it be a deal breaker for you?"
Andrew twitches from the mere thought, which is as good as a full body jerk. Neil could say he never wanted to have sex again and Andrew wouldn't push, he'd stay. "No," he seethes, unable to keep it out of his voice. Neil goes right for the throat every time, making one of Andrew's arguments null.
As for the other...
"I want to," Neil says, and for once, he seems embarrassed. It's a rare thing on Neil, the worried lip, the giddiness. Like he's excited. It's not even about the sex, he's pretty sure Neil did this when Andrew first held his hand too. Andrew's stomach flips itself over in half, the bastard.
"You wouldn't be taking either," Neil says, and Andrew flinches internally. Hurting Neil...he could hurt Neil, he could-- "We'd be...sharing, like we always do. So you can stop beating yourself up over my decision, and think about yours."
In Neil speak: Do whatever you need to do to figure out what you need, I'll be waiting.
Andrew hates the assumptions, mostly because they're right. This is not something he can resolve with one conversation. The thought of somehow ruining this for Neil, for making his first time something horrible, is too much for him to unpack this quickly. Who knows how long it will take him to reach a decision, or what the decision will be.
Yet, Neil's here, telling him he doesn't care how long it takes, or where Andrew lands at the end of it. He'll be here, now and after.
What percent is Neil even at? The millions maybe. Andrew's blood boils before it comes down to a simmer, then fades completely. Andrew never asked to feel, but Neil is wearing him down everyday.
The thought repeats: Andrew doesn't know how to stop.
He clenches his fists, grabbing Neil's shoulder and forcing him down onto his side to lie next to him. Words won't work for him anymore, and he's not capable of touching or even kissing right now. But it's a concession, a thing he is learning to give without despising the weakness of it.
Neil gives a small yelp but goes with Andrew willingly, not resisting. His curls fan out on the comforter, one decorated with cats that Nicky gifted them. Andrew sighs; Neil has yet to make any sense to him, even when the entrance to the messy path ahead of him has cleared.
He'll need as much rest as possible to figure this out. It's too early to go to bed, but after all this Andrew needs sleep, and he hates how Neil being next to him has become the new normal.
"I fucking hate you," he says in the small margin of space between them, and closes his eyes before he can be blinded by Neil's idiotic smile. "Go to sleep junkie."
Andrew's memory feeds him Neil's smile anyways.
Neil sighs across from him, and Andrew immediately feels drowsy, like it's a spell over him. He falls into it, not resisting.
As the world fades in and out, the most important thoughts stay afloat, and he embeds them in his head. They're less like mosquitoes now, more like additional grooves.
Neil wants it, Neil is ready. There's no sense in Andrew dwelling on that issue further for now, so he bypasses the first lock of his mind. Of course, he was never so optimistic to think that was the only thing holding him back, and Neil pulled that out of him too.
The big issue, the one holding Andrew back. The striker's words flood his mind, blurred and echoed. 'You wouldn't hurt me.'
But is that the truth? There's only one way to find out, and Andrew isn't sure if it's something he's willing to risk. Neil never was and never will be someone fragile, but that’s not the point. That’s not what Andrew means.
Just the realization he has the power to hurt Neil with this, the way Andrew was hurt…it makes him shy away from any attempt.
After all, he decided long ago he wouldn't risk losing Neil, not for anything, returning words said on rooftops. And yet…Neil makes him itch to prove those things wrong.
He's not sure yet where to go from here, but he pushes it aside to think about later. He has as much time as he needs. With the first lock conquered, the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Neil thinks about it, wants it. So can Andrew.
Just like that, Andrew finally concedes; he lets the idea of want flood in.
This time, there's no guilt to be found. Neil, with all intentions, made sure of that.
--
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lyricalimerence · 4 years
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10 Things I Hate About You • 002
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masterlist • 001, 002, 003... coming soon
Chapter Two — Heinous Bitches & Cliché Bets
summary: intro to kacey & the bet is made between kelce + topper
word count: 2196
warnings: mentions of smut like two or three lines total, swear words, and high school stupidity. oh, how i miss the dickstains i go to school with 😌.
a/n: i actually love writing kacey's character. n e who, this is for @popcsheyward because i'm making jj simp for u
Deep in the heart of the high school, a class of bored and inattentive seniors doodle in their notebooks and up the exposed skin on their arms; others text, their phones “hidden” beneaths their desks. Kacey Brooks was in the middle of it all. Everyone knew her, whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was the advent of spring, encroaching on summer, and on an island, that means it is hot. But, there Kacey sat, in baggy denim jeans, cuffed above her ankle so the hems didn’t drag along the floor. Her hands were tucked underneath her denim-clad thighs as she leaned over the desk, tracing the looping font that said “Romeo and Juliet” on the cover of the book on her desk with her eyes. God, she hated that book. They read it in Sophomore year, and she didn’t understand why they had to read the stupid play again.
The English teacher, Mr. Martin stood from his swivel chair, picking up his own copy of Romeo and Juliet just to drop it down on the podium, catching the drifting seniors’ attention. “Okay, slackers. What did you think of the play?”
A girl in the back of the classroom, another clean cut Kook with pink lip gloss and tight crop tops raised her hand. With a smile, she rushed into her opinion, not bothering to get permission to speak. It was a well known fact that in the Outer Banks it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. “It was so romantic. I loved it.”
Kacey’s brows stitched together, not mulling over her personal rebuttal for more than a moment before looking over her shoulder at the girl. Her eyes were glossy, lost in her romanization of the play. Ever since the second semester of her freshman year when she just snapped, she had been braving each day, treating it as a singular battle in the war against high school ignorance. “Romeo and Juliet was not romantic. It was two people having a teenage rebellion and wallowing in their own angst. They simply wanted an escape from their family lives. And Shakespeare? He was a racist, anti-semetic misogynist who is praised when he couldn’t decide on one way to spell his own name.”
The entirety of the class rolled their eyes, including Mr. Martin. It hadn’t been the first time Kacey had spoken out on her take on the social issues that came with the authors of novels and how they correlate to modern day society. Kelce, a Kook Prince of the highest degree and sitting to the left of Kacey, pokes at the metaphorical bear. “As opposed to a friendless, holier-than-thou wench?”
The girls pining after Kelce for his looks or trust fund giggled, despite his dig into the girl next him not being all that funny. Mr. Martin slapped the wooden podium with his Folger Shakespeare Library copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Pipe down, Slick.”
Kacey pulled the hem of her army green crop top to cover the slight bit of tanned skin exposed before quipping, “I guess having a dick and being a dick makes you entitled to our time.” The brunette pushed the hair falling over her forehead out of the way before waving her copy of the play in the air. “What about Sylva Plath or, I don’t know, Emily Bronte for all I care.”
Before Mr. Martin could respond with his own activistic rebuttal, Rafe Cameron walks into class, holding up a copy of the first Harry Potter book and raising his eyebrows, silently questioning whether that was the right book. He knew it wasn’t. “What’d I miss?”
A Pogue who was a known theatre nerd started humming the tune to the song from Hamilton titled What’d I Miss while Kacey all but spun in her seat. “Just the patriarchal values that run this lovely institution and corrupt the minds of dimwitted Kelce’s everywhere.”
Rafe nodded along to Kacey’s statement and through to her next breath, not having stopped in between words to breathe. “Good.” After his simple response, he immediately turned on his heel and walked back down the hall, rather enduring more uncomfortable conversations with the Dean than English class.
Kacey and Rafe had no ill will towards each other, only being able to base an opinion off the presumed stereotypes of each other that get passed around the school. Kacey and Rafe had known each other for a long time. When they were six, Kacey’s father was Rose Cameron’s obstetrician, seeing as he’s the best on the Outer Banks and the Camerons are the richest on the Outer Banks. That’s where they met: outside his stepmother’s hospital room, playing chopsticks with their fingers while they sat cross-legged on the tile floor, drinking apple juice from juice boxes. That’s where their friendship ended. They hadn’t really spoken since, only having that snapshot into reality before the doors were closed. Kacey was popular, had many more friends than Rafe did, and boys trailed her. When freshman year rolled around, he kept his distance because he knew he would walk away with a sharp pain in his groin. That was just how she carried herself, and he carried himself differently.
Mr. Martin attempted to call after Rafe, only to hear the cicadas buzzing outside.
“Mr. Martin, do you think we could get Kacey to take her Midol before class?” Kelce asks, his signature smirk gracing his face as he continued his quest to make Kacey’s life a living Hell. Snickers erupted from the class, causing Kelce’s smugness to go to his head, lifting himself onto his selfmade pedestal.
“One day, you’re gonna get bitch-slapped right across that brazen face of yours, and I’m not gonna do anything to stop it. Kacey, thank you for your input.” As Mr. Martin took a brief pause, Kacey smiled to herself, please that her social activism finally was justified by authority. He continued, “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to overcome upper-class, Kook oppression. It must’ve been awful.” Her chest puffed out with pride deflated at his words. She knew he was right. “But the next time you storm the school board campaigning for more recycling bins or whatever you white girls complain about, ask them why they can’t buy a book written by a Black man!”
“Understood. Anything else?” Kacey asked, looking straight past Mr. Martin and out the window overlooking the quad behind him.
“Yeah, go to the office, you’re pissing me off.” Her neck whipped to look at her English teacher at his words, opening her mouth to argue, but he shot her a stern look and pointed towards the door. In Kacey’s rageful frenzy, she decked Kelce in the face with her bag as she stormed out of the classroom towards the office.
The Dean sat in her office, her rouge painted nails clicking against the keys on her keyboard as the sleazy thoughts in her head transferred onto the Word document housing her novel. She whispered to herself as her fingertips ghosted the letter labeled keys on her laptop. She snapped her head up, calling out to the secretary, asking for her to look up another word for ‘engorged’ despite being able to pull up the thesaurus on her computer.
“Tumescent?” Kacey suggested as she walked into the small, pink office.
The Dean snapped her fingers, pointing at Kacey as she morphed her hand into a finger gun. “Perfect!” Kacey swung her bag off her shoulder and onto the ground next to the chair in which she seated herself. “I hear you’re terrorizing English class again.”
“Last time I checked, it wasn’t just English class, and expressing my opinions is not a terrorist action.” The eighteen-year-old raised her eyebrows indignantly, her head nodding slightly in authoritativeness.
The Dean smiled sarcastically at Kacey, “The way you expressed your opinion to Topper Thornton? His testical retrieval operation went quite well, if you’re interested.”
“I maintain he swung his own golf club up his legs like a field goal.” Kacey crossed her arms over her chest. She settled into her chair. Her conversations with the crude woman in front of her always went the same way; Mr. Martin threw her out of class for existing, and her previous deeds suddenly have updates that the Dean thinks Kacey should know about.
“The point I’m trying to make is that people think you’re a heinous bitch and you should work on it.” Her eyes flickered to her still open laptop and back up to the eighteen-year-old. “What do you think about blood sex?”
“Okay, yeah, this has been lovely, however,” grabbing her backpack, she swung it over her shoulder as she rose from the uncomfortable chair. “I think I’ll let you get back to Chris chokeslamming Jackie into a wall.”
As Kacey left the office to walk the halls of Kildare County High School, the Dean seemed to take her words into serious consideration, whispering Kacey’s final sentiment under her breath as she typed the word ‘chokeslam.’
. . .
Kelce leant against the stone wall that surrounded the courtyard and only rose to about waist-high of even the shortest of students. His best friend and fellow poster child for the effects of affluenza, Topper Thornton ( who is very acquainted with Kacey Brooks and her golf club swing ), stood next to him, the two of them surveying the inhabitants of the grassy lawn in the back of the school. Topper noticed Gracie walking through the gap in the stone wall, her Spanish textbook pressed to her chest as she nodded along to what Arianna said next to her. The familiar breeze carrying the scent of the ocean and the feeling of home blew the short strands of Gracie’s hair that framed her face in almost an angelic way, and her sundress that fell to her mid-thigh swayed as she walked. Gracie and Arianna were picturesque, almost like they actively strived to be compared to Cher and Dionne from Clueless.
With a carnal smirk, Topper elbowed Kelce, muttering “Virgin alert” as the sophomore passed the two guys, smiling and waving at Kelce as they went.
“Lookin’ good, ladies.” As if Kelce’s remark was a que, Gracie and Arianna pushed forward, leaving the hormonal teenager guys watching them like they were prey for them to catch.
“No way, Bro. They’re outta your league.”
“No one’s out of my league.” Kelce’s eyes didn’t leave Gracie as she distanced herself from them.
Topper pulled fifty dollars out of his pocket, “Wanna bet?”
“Nah, I’ve got money. This’ll be for fun.” Kelce pushed Topper’s hand that was holding onto the bill away and dapped up his empty hand, sealing the deal. Kelce was about to embark on one of the most cliché, tropical bets of his high school experience.
“Just look at her, man.” JJ watched Gracie and Arianna pass him, John B, and Pope. He followed her with love struck eyes and wistful pining.
Pope tilted his head, the cap that sat on his head almost falling off his head as he tried to understand his friend’s mindset. “She’s just so…”
“Perfect?” JJ offered.
John B and Pope shared a glance, rolling their eyes at JJ’s suggestion. “I was going to say ditzy.” John B replied.
“How can you say that?” JJ turned to glance at his friends who were totally unimpressed by the girl that captured almost all the guy’s hearts at the high school. “She’s totally…”
“Narcissistic?” Pope said, getting a nod from John B in agreement.
“That’s her sister, c’mon, guys.” JJ waved his hand in the air for emphasis. There was no way Gracie was like Kacey. They were too polar. “There’s more to her than you think. See her smile? She’s totally pure.”
“Yeah, pure money. She’s a Kook, dude.” John B ran a hand through his overgrown brunet locks. “What’s there is a snotty princess wearing a dress that was purposefully planned to make Pogues like you realize you can’t have her and Kooks like Kelce and Topper want her.”
“Besides, JJ, you know the rule. It’s not like she could date you even if she wanted to.” Pope added on, readjusting his baseball cap to fit snugly on his head.
“Put her in the Spank Bank and move on, Bro.” John B and Pope started walking in the opposite direction, lunch was about to start.
JJ jogged to catch up, shaking his head in denial. “Nah.”
“Move on, man. Jizz Wizz and then dip.” Pope reiterated John B’s sentiment as JJ held his arm out, stopping them in their tracks in front of the bulletin board to the right of the door into school.
“She needs a Spanish tutor,” He ripped the paper advertisement off the cork board.
“You can’t even speak Spanish.”
“What do you mean?” JJ looked at John B as he traced Gracie’s phone number printed on the paper.
“Broken Spanish and fantasizing about lobsters from Yucatan doesn’t mean you know Spanish.” Pope pulled the paper out of JJ’s hand, ready to tack it back to the board before JJ took it again.
“Okay, so I don’t know Spanish, but I will.”
tags — @perkily @mortifiedposts @poguequeen @abigailpankow @curlybrownhairedboys @steverogers123 @outerbankslut @jayjaymaebank @jjssarah @whOreforharry @wowitswondergurl @anonymous0writer @kodi8314 @outrbank @aestheticcraze @kylosleftbuttcheek @x-lulu @dailygrace06 @calswildflower95 @insanitysparkles @prejudic3 @ilovejjmaybank @apoguecalledjj @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @calumbroutledge @rudys-pankow @bxllasanosa @write-from-the-heart @thelocalpogue @fandomsinapile @starkeymarkey @lovingxjj @beatement-l @drew-starkey @beckester @butgilinsky @kayak-huesgen @everydayimfangirling @delinquentstarkey @g4bster @crumpetsandmarmite
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