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eltanin-malfoy · 4 years

Text

Epilogue (Kill Or Be Killed VI)

pairing : draco/fem-collegestudent!y/n

word count : 3.8k!

Table Of Contents

warnings : my sad sense of humour, cursing, a bit of a plot twist

a/n : okay i know IM SORRY I HAVEN”T POSTED IN SO LONG I HAVE NO EXCUSES. i have a bunch of fics fully written which i feel super insecure abt. (even a spicy drarry one) at this point i’ve kind of gotten into this circle of being overly critical of what i write and overanalyzing every detail to the point i can’t really tell if what i wrote has any worth. nevertheless i’ve been putting this off way too long so i’m finally gonna post this! and i hope that y’all like it. this is def gonna be different than what you may have been expecting but i implore you to read all of it!! up till my author’s note at the bottom.

taglist: @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword @lilyreachelcassidy @socontagiousimagines @andreasworlsboring101

What does one do when they’re on the run, you ask?

Well, Draco doesn’t really know either. It’s pretty obvious. In fact, he isn’t even sure whether you’d call wanting to hide from someone you almost murdered who now wants to kill you “being on the run”. He thinks it’s somewhere between hiding and just.. being a right coward.

He runs a few blocks, takes a shortcut to his house, packs up his belongings and wipes any clear identifiers of him off the place. Driving licenses, passports, just anything. Even those little clear strands of hair he’d usually just ignore. Then he covers his hair up with one of those ridiculous beanies, slips on a turtleneck sweater and covers his mouth with it. (He would have covered his nose up as well if it hadn’t been for his.. giraffe-like neck)

It doesn’t take him very long to start to venture out of his house, scoping the vicinity for any prying (Y/N) eyes. He’s alone in the alleyway, except for a homeless man sitting at the edge of the road. Covering himself with a blanket. He seems to be asleep until, well, Draco very gracefully stumbles against some cracked up bitumen. The man sits up, stirring slowly. His eyes blink rapidly as he comes to, the sun shining down bright just at the spot he’s decided to rest at. His eyes are a brilliant blue and they almost glitter in the sunlight. He meets his gaze, just for a second. There’s something so nostalgic about it. Something so familiar, yet so very strange.

Nonetheless, Draco is still very much supposed to be getting out of there. So, he turns to the side, and starts to.. jog. Running would be abnormal at this time of day after all.

He jogs and jogs and jogs. His skinny, dainty looking legs are strangely useful for this task. He gets to a tube station just far enough from his place to avoid suspicion. Then, he does what anyone would do, and heads into the public restroom for a nice, long (and mostly silent) cry. He rushes into a cubicle, locks it behind him and then turns to face the door, covering his face. He weeps and weeps and weeps.

He was in love with her, wasn’t he! He was so stupid! How couldn’t he have known! How could he have idolized someone and somehow have completely missed out the fact that the man had had kids! Should he have just left her like that? All alone in her apartment after she’d been crying about him? Well.. it was true that she was planning on killing him. But oh dear god, she’d definitely been near changing at that final moment… oh dear god, what was he going to do? Where was he going to go?

He thinks he sniffles too loud at one point and an oddly gruff voice in the cubicle to his right just goes “That shit not going too well, son?”, and then he laughs. Ugh.

Draco waits until he’s pretty sure that that man is gone and then he steps out, heading straight for the washbasins at the front. He’s wiped his face with toilet paper enough that he hopes it isn’t too obvious to anyone outside. A man, somehow even lankier than him, is standing at the washbasin beside his, rubbing at his hands so hard with soap you’d think there was something stuck to it. His hair.. isn’t looking too good. Neither is his face. The man notices him step to the front and seems practically captivated by him, keeps staring at him for 10 seconds straight, until he finally says, “You know you’re not allowed to do crack in here, right?”

Draco then blushes a fierce pink.

***

Draco’s quick after that, topping up his Oyster card and calling his broadband provider to cancel his wifi subscription. He even gets his number changed while he’s on the train. There’s more people there than he’s used to, but he looks ridiculous enough in his get up that most people sit as far away from him as they can. He’s thankful Y/N hasn’t found him yet though. Although, as he’s thought about it now, she probably wouldn’t follow him. At least not too far.

Then he changes lines a bunch of times and rides the train all the way to Heathrow Airport. Aha! Do you think he’s about to take a flight out of the country? Because he isn’t! Instead, he calls up Blaise and almost cries about needing help.

“It’s an emergency, mate, I swear!”

“Oh my god, Malfoy.”

“Please, Blaise, for old time’s sake. I’m not too far from your house too. I’m at Heathrow. It’d take you five minutes…”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve just woken up, and this is what you’re calling me for? After months of not speaking?”

“I texted you but you never responded, mate. Come on… please? I thought we’d be buds forever.”

Blaise scoffs.

“Fine, blondie. I’ll be there in half an hour. Be at the pick up place when I get there, or I’m leaving. And you really fucking owe me, you know that.”

Draco sighs. “I know… thank you so much.”

“Yeah, bye.”

It isn’t long before Blaise shows up right where he said he would. And Draco is right there! His turtleneck pulled down now. He runs forward as Blaise steps out of his car and throws his arms around his abdomen.

“Oh, god, bruv.” Blaise pushes him back gently. “I was only coming out because I thought you’d have luggage or some shit. Were you travelling light for once?”

“I… I wasn’t here to catch a flight. Or get off one”

“So.. you were going to drop someone off?”

“No…”

“Oh god, you came here just to get me here, didn’t you? Jesus fuck-” He turns around, assumingly getting ready to leave.

“Bini, please.” He puts a hand on the top of his beanie.

“I should literally just run you over for that one.” His face knits up slightly and he pauses, before soon beginning to smile. “Okay, I guess. I’ll drop you where you want me to..”

“I.. I kind of don’t have a place to be dropped off at.”

“You don’t? Where you planning on going then?”

“I was… kind of hoping…”

“Draco… always a needy little fuck, aren’t you?” He brings a hand to his temple, pressing his fingertips to it.

“Please, Blaise.. I let you stay over all those times as well.. all those times at my manor when we were kids… ”

“Christ, you don’t stop with the sentimental stuff, do you? Why do you have to know all of my weaknesses… okay. But only because Mum’s out of the country at the moment. If she knew you were staying over.. she would have gotten real mad.”

Draco doesn’t really say anything after that. He supposes Esme has somewhat of a reason to not want Draco around. What his Father had done wasn’t exactly... good for the reputations of those associated with him or his bloodline. But it was definitely nice of Blaise to offer him a place like this.

“Thank you.”

Blaise looks over at him at that.

“Did roughing it up on your own teach you how to be nice, Draco?”

“Maybe it did.”

***

So, yes, Draco does stay at Blaise’s place for a while. He does come clean to Blaise about everything that happened (“You… tried to what a girl, mate?”, followed by Blaise running out of the room and attempting to hide from Draco, while Draco running after him, trying to apologise and explain himself) And yes, he does agree to go to a therapist. A nice, motherly one who allows him to cry in front of him with little interruption. (Just a little “D’you want some tissues, love?”) And yes, he does spend a lot of time thinking about Y/N. He cries and listens to Harry Styles and Frank Ocean some. (Even though he hasn’t actually had his heart broken or anything of the sort! Draco is one hell of a dramatic little bitch, huh?)

What he does begin to understand is his own constant self-victimization. He’s always found a way to find someone to blame for every little trouble in his life. His parents were why he was so bitchy and spoilt all the time, Potter was why he wasn’t as popular as he deserved to be at school, Granger was why he wasn’t the best student at school, his mum was why he wasn’t so open to having a girlfriend much too different from him and… well.. this was all bullshit, wasn’t it?

He was being childish. He was so bitchy and spoilt, well, because he thought he was better than everyone else. He did for so long, all the time. He could only play it down when he needed to, but if he really didn’t like anyone he made it very clear that he thought they were inferior to him. He wasn’t popular at school because he treated everyone like he was better than them and Potter was just… nicer and understandably more famous than him (Draco still hates him though). He wasn’t the best student at school because Granger.. was simply more hardworking than he was. (Hey, he had to accept it at some point, didn’t he?) He wasn’t anywhere near how damn good she was… at everything.

And he wasn’t so open to having a girlfriend much too different from him because… he was too used to everything being the way it had always been for him. He had grown up in the same house, stayed in a similar friend circle his whole life, always had the same taste of.. basically everything. That’s why he was so goddamn angry when everything just blew up for his family. Everything he was used to… was gone. He was no longer rich, no longer privileged the way he had always been. And again, he reacted by… well… channeling all his anger towards the person who had seemingly been responsible for that. He didn’t need to be as angry as he had been at his father. Sure, he was smuggling artifacts and even keeping some illegal works as decoration for their estate, but it’s not like Draco hadn’t known about it for as long as he had. He’d even been an adult when he… enabled everything that he knew happened behind closed doors.

But his father did do everything he did for him. He did thinking he would best be able to provide for Draco and his mum that way. It was true that he was never much too generous, but he wasn’t only because he wanted to invest the money towards his own family’s wellbeing. He supposed he could understand that. And his parents were always, always mindful of his wants. Whether it was buying every boy on his secondary school house’s team a new cricket bat so he could get on with them, to what he wanted to study at uni, his parents always had his back.

Obviously, their “work” hadn’t exactly been safe and Draco wasn’t properly insured to be able to keep up his lifestyle without them or their accounts, so that had been irresponsible on their part. But his childhood could not be considered less than good. At all. He was only ever upset because of problems he kept making up himself. And because of him distancing himself from others by thinking he was too good to mix with them.

This whole change in lifestyle had done more harm than good in terms of his personality, in a way. He’d grown a conscience. It had started by him getting angry at everyone in the place of privilege he’d once had. First, he’d gotten mad at his father for getting him where he was, then he’d hated his friends from pulling back from him, and then… well.. he’d begun to hate Y/N for being able to study and afford nice things for herself.

His stupid fixation on Hoyt was him looking up to someone he really, really shouldn’t have. Instead of looking up to actual great chemists like Lavoisier or Avogadro, he’d idolized... someone who’d used his knowledge of chemistry for all the wrong reasons. Again, him trying to get back at people who’d stayed rich while he’d lost all his wealth. Instead of working to be more successful than them or anything of the sort, he’d gone straight to the extreme and tried to think about how best to kill one he’d grown envious of.

The interesting thing is, he doesn’t come close to seeing (or even thinking about) Y/N for a while. He lives harmoniously. He writes to Oxford and tries to get back into his second year. He writes to his college there and even applies for a need-based scholarship.

What’s surprising is, he gets it! He gets back in! His grades back then were reason enough for him to be readmitted into the program, and he just feels thankful for a second that Granger was never interested in taking up Chemistry at uni. He gets himself a job near Blaise’s place, rents another apartment, has a birthday party for Blaise there and meets up with his old friends again. They’ve all grown apart a bit now (understandably so, he was sort of.. the one who bossed everyone to be together most of the time). He even grows closer to them than he ever has before. Actually feels like they’re his friends.. rather than his minions.

It’s springtime and there’s still a lot of time until he has to get back to Oxford that fall. Somehow, even with his parents still in custody, everything seems to have somehow fallen back in place. Even better than before. Everything seems… peaceful.

That is, until he runs into Y/N at his therapist’s office! (Yes, you read that right! :)

He’s only sitting in the waiting room, reading something silly on his phone when he hears… that voice. Stepping out of the therapist’s office.

“Thank you so much, again.”

The woman inside mutters something inaudible in response and Y/N giggles softly. Oh, dear god.

He looks straight up at her, slowly pressing his phone into his lap. Oh no, oh no? Should he be here right now? Should he have told Molly Y/N’s name when he was explaining everything? Has Y/N told her about him? Has she connected the dots at all? Has Y/N followed him here? If Y/N actually has no idea he’s here, how on earth is she going to respond to the sight of him? Should he hide, for her sake? Would Y/N think he was stalking her again? Would Y/N think he was doing the same thing now and have some sort of attack in the office? He quickly looks to his lap again, trying his best to somehow hide away from her. Even though he was alone in the waiting room… and he was quite a bit taller than the seat he was sitting in.. and his blonde hair wasn’t exactly subtle. Maybe he really should have dyed it darker, that time he was considering it, maybe he was right about that. Maybe it’d even su-

“Draco?”

Oh, fuck.

He looks up at her, meeting her gaze a little slowly, eyes scoping out every plant pot in the back before they finally… reach.. their.. target. His ears are burning now, and it’s so quiet there that he can hear the blood rushing through them. Neither of them says a word, until, well, she does.

“Either this is everything all over gone or this one mother of a coincidence.”

She grips her purse a little tighter but she smiles at him brightly. Draco… then… smiles back. He should be careful, shouldn’t he? She’s lured him in once like this. And there’s no reason for her to be so nice to him. Not… after everything. She should hate him. She really should. Is she on something? Does she take meds? Or is she nicer when she doesn’t think worse of you? But shouldn’t she be thinking worse of him? If anyone should be doing that, it should be h-

“Hello?” She’s waving her hand in front of his face. Her nails aren’t manicured as they were before. “Why do you keep spacing out? Should I call her or something?”

“N-no. I’m just- I wasn’t expecting this today… not exactly… prepared. I- I guess I never really got to say it to you then.. I’m sorry. For everything… I-”

“Draco, maybe this isn’t the best place to… you know… just openly talk about this.” She gestures towards the receptionist in the corner, who looks up for a second, then, noticing the gesture, quickly looks down again. “Why don’t I.. um.. I’ll wait for you outside, yeah?”

“Y-you will?”

“I- well, yes. I don’t see why not. Not really in a rush to get anywhere right now. I have some chores to do round here. Why don’t I meet you at the cafe round the corner after your appointment? It’s an hour long, right? The one facing the Waitrose?”

“Yeah, um.. you’re not scared or.. anything like that? I totally understand if you are.”

“No.. I mean.. we know whom between us is that much better at self defense anyways. And I suppose it’d be best for me to take it in my stride after everything.”

“If you- if you really think so, I’m down for it.”

“See ya then. Good luck.”

And with that, she heads out. She’s wearing a light pair of jeans this time. With a full sleeved green top. The jeans are tight. In the best way possible.

He shakes his head and gets himself out of it. What the fuck is wrong with him? He is not seventeen anymore. He needs to get back to himself. He can’t just get hormonal at the sight of a pretty girl.

He rushes into his therapist’s office, and very soon, begins to pour his heart out to her. He tells her explicitly what happened with Y/N herself. And Molly, oh dear me, is a little overwhelmed. She’s just as lovely, though.

“Oh my. You’ve gotten yourself into something, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose-, well, what do you feel you should do about this?”

“What do you mean? What do you think? I’m confused!”

“I- you have to decide what to do, don’t you? I’m here to listen, clear your head about it and let’s help you make a judgement.”

“Molly!”

“Draco! Now, go on.”

***

Somehow, within that space of an hour, Draco does come to a decision.

The decision to risk it all and try to go out with her again!

He does stay much safer this time around, though. He sends people he’s close to his location. And tells them what to do if he doesn’t wish them goodnight that night. (“just call the police”)

He sits down with her at the cafe and he pours his heart out to her as well. God knew this morning would involve him literally having to do this with two grown woman! Well, at least the one of them was expected. The other… however… also seems to empathise with him as well. To some extent.

“I… well… I suppose I can’t exactly forgive you for just deciding upon killing me the way that you did. That’s mighty fucked up. But… I see the position that you were in.”

“I- yeah.” Draco just shrugs, offering a sort of tightlipped smile. “I get it.”

“It’s amazing to finally be able to wrap my head around it somewhat, though. For so long, I thought you were still lying to me about… the… my father thing. But now I can.. somewhat grasp it. I suppose.”

“It was extremely messed up.”

“It was. But it’s not like I didn’t-”

“I mean, that seemed more like self-defense to me than anything. Yours made a lot more sense than mine.”

“Oh, that’s for sure. I’ve… kind of always been super paranoid about anything to do with… him. My mother always tells me to be careful so I kind of… took it much too far. That’s sort of why I started going for therapy. I would get such bad anxiety from the simplest of things. I’d taken a long self defense course last year, even though my mom's already had me doing Tae Kwondo since I was in primary school. And you saw what I did with you. I had knives, pepper sprays, everything and anything I would need. I’d set up an alarm system in my apartment and always spoke to someone when I went to sleep and when I woke up. I was just… constantly on edge. And you kind of just… tipped me over it, you know.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry about it. Still. I have no excuses.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

She smiles at Draco. And he does the same. Something flutters up and down his stomach.

“I’m so glad we could talk this through, yeah? But I should get going. I do have to study and everything.”

“I-” Should Draco give up on this chance. Is this worth it? Could she ever even say yes? Perhaps she would. “Should we trade numbers? Just so we can keep in touch about it.”

“I’m-” She sighs and looks down at her lap, then up at him again. She sets her elbow on the table and leans forward the slightest, setting her chin on her palm. “I’m really sorry… but with the way things went last time… and with my recovering mental health, I just- I wouldn’t feel comfortable with it. I’m so so glad we could go over everything and come to some mutual understanding but… I don’t think I could-”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry. It’s all good. I totally get it.”

To his surprise, his heart didn’t sink. She reaches over and gently squeezes his forearm.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, huh?”

“Maybe we will.”

And Draco walked out of there, not unhappy, but finally feeling like he’d received some closure. He’d erred greatly and he really did deserve what he’d gotten (or not gotten). He’d really tried to get over her already, so it really didn’t sting when she said what she did.

For once, he knew what to expect. And he felt happy about it. Maybe he didn’t get to do bits with her, but that hardly mattered. At least now she knew the truth about him.

What mattered most was that the next chapter of his life was only leading him forwards.

a/n: thank you so so sos os so sososososososooooo much for reading through this series. this is very close to my heart and i appreciate each and everyone who’s managed to keep up with all of it. This final part i also chose to end without really bringing the characters together because… Y/N does not deserve it. for her, that would be the bad ending. i did this because i just think that girls often do not realise that they deserve more than the attractive guy who tries to be bad. this sounds hypocritical coming from well… me… someone who runs a draco blog, but what i’m trying to say is, we shouldn’t settle. a lot of times i feel like we forget to place ourselves in the shoes of the actual character. for what reason would you ever go out or sleep with someone who had ever planned to kill you! their good looks just won’t cut it if so, no? i feel like this is the best ending for the both of them, because draco learns to actualise his potential and to stop blaming everyone else in his life for all his problems, and y/n learns to heal from the struggles she’s had and both their endings are left pretty open. also, i feel like a lot of fanfic endings/plot developments are compromised just to get the main pairing together in the end. so. yeah. also mental health is something i really prioritise, and i thought doing this just does so much justice for both of them mentally. i’d be happy to hear your thoughts and any feedback you have! thank you so much for reading through you all of this as well. love you so much <3

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco #hp #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #hp imagine #angst #romance #murder

25 notes · View notes

phobiadeficient · 4 years

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Could I maybe request a fem!speeding bullet drabble where either of the two is really insecure about their body and usually hate people seeing them naked and the other trying to comfort them throughout it? Your writing is absolutely amazing and I'm real curious how you'd go about this!

could’ve gone with either of them i think but frankly i feel like scout’s the type to gush at any given partner with even the barest possible excuse to do so. also fem!sniperscout headcanon, sniper calls scout princess. that is all

Scout went still, pulled back, looked at her, apparently noting the tension in her shoulders. “Uh,” she said. “Sorry. I—we can stop.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sniper assured, even as she forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle, flashing an admittedly tight smile at the girl straddling her lap, whose room they were occupying in that particular moment.

Scout frowned. “Snipes, seriously, it’s okay if—like, you don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do. It’s okay if you aren’t ready for stuff.”

“It’s not that,” Sniper insisted, and then winced a little at herself.

Scout tilted her head a little, looking confused.

Sniper wished this didn’t happen. She and Scout had been dating for months, and it was pretty obvious that Scout wanted… more. At first more than Sniper gingerly taking hold of her hand when they were driving into town, then more than Sniper swooping down to give her quick pecks on the cheek in moments of courage, then more than gentle kisses before parting ways in the evening.

Graduating from softer kisses to what they’d managed to escalate to—Scout sitting on her lap and kissing her absolutely silly, hands tangling in her hair and mouth working harder than it tended to do with her constantly firing off at the rest of the team—had taken a long time. And the first time they’d ended up making out outright had ended abruptly when Sniper had suddenly been hit with nerves, and she stammered out that she wasn’t sure she was ready to push much further, and Scout looked a little disappointed but was quick to assure her that they weren’t in any rush.

So that was how it tended to go. Scout kissing her so hard her head spun and backing off the moment Sniper started to seem uncomfortable. And admittedly, at some point down the line it stopped being that Sniper was uncomfortable with the idea of pushing further, and just being…

Well, self-conscious, to put it simply.

Scout exhaled, hands moving to rest on Sniper’s shoulders. “Snipes, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed.

“I know you said that you’re like, pretty new to dating and stuff but not like that new, right?” she asked. Sniper nodded. “Okay. But like… are you new to like…”

Sniper waited for the end of the sentence. Scout huffed out a breath, apparently deciding to cut the bullshit.

“Snipes, are you all nervous about this stuff because you’re a virgin?”

Sniper blinked.

“Like, it’s fine if you are, or if you aren’t, whatever, I just… I dunno what’s got you all freaked out about this and I guess I’m just… curious, y’know?” Scout asked, entirely blunt but not unkind. “Like, if that’s it, then we can work with that. I just kinda don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta be embarrassed about stuff around me, y’know? Like, you don’t gotta keep secrets. If there’s somethin’ up, I want you to feel like you can tell me about it.”

It was just like Scout to manage to cut right to the core of something, even if it was from the wrong direction.

“No, I’ve… it’s not that,” Sniper said. “I’ve had sex before. A few times.”

She steeled herself, considered her words.

“Always with the lights out, though,” she finished.

Scout tilted her head in question, blinking.

Sniper exhaled, hands situating on Scout’s waist, eyes dropping off to one side. “I s’pose I just get all… embarrassed. Because I’m just… I know I’m not all that much easy on the eyes and all, and I—“

“Snipes, are you serious?” Scout cut in, sounding legitimately surprised. “Like, you’re not doin’ a bit?”

Sniper nodded.

“You really don’t think I like how you look?” Scout asked, tone serious. Sniper nodded again. “Aw, Jesus. Snipes, of course I—hey, I didn’t say nothin’ like that, did I? About not likin’ how you look?”

“Don’t… think so,” Sniper said carefully. “You’re generally sweet to me.”

“Well then… why wouldn’t I?” Scout asked, confusion increasing. “Of course I like the look’a you. I mean, Jesus H. Christ, babe, I’m datin’ you, aren’t I? And like, slobberin’ all over you every chance I get?”

It was hard to believe, still. Sniper searched for words, and found herself blurting insecurity like some kind of broken spigot. “I know, but, I’m just, I know I’m too tall—“

“I really like tall,” Scout assured. “Means you can pick me up and stuff, it’s awesome. And you can reach shelves, or I can climb you to get to stuff.”

That was true. Scout pretty regularly employed Sniper as a stepstool. “Well, I’ve got weirdly broad shoulders, it doesn’t fit me.”

“Do you?” Scout asked, frowning, looking over Sniper. “…I mean, you’re all strong-lookin’, if that’s what you mean. It kinda works since you’ve got muscly arms and stuff, I think they’re pretty good.”

“Not… too muscly?” Sniper asked tentatively.

“Hell no! You kiddin’? It’s hot. Okay, like, okay can I sidebar real quick about somethin’?”

Sniper’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Because it just kinda feels like you’re real embarrassed right now and maybe if I say somethin’ kinda embarrassing too maybe it’ll help.”

“Alright, you have my attention,” Sniper said, smiling a little.

“Cool. Because like, you bein’ all tall and stuff, and these big muscly arms and whatever,” Scout started in, lightly squeezing the arms in question. “Y’know in like, cheesy romance movies when there’s—like, usually it’s a guy and a girl, and they’re in a suit and a dress and whatever but like bear with me here—like they’re dancin’ and stuff and then the person gets dipped and then they kiss and it’s super cliché and sweet? That’s like, the thing I always think about with these. Like literally all the fuckin’ time I’m like “man wouldn’t that be really great though if Snipes did that?” because it totally would, but also it’s like literally the most cheesy shit in the world and I know you’re not all that into that.”

Sniper’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Scout paused. “Okay. Sidebar over. What the fuck were we talking about?”

Sniper paused, reoriented. “Things I’m embarrassed about,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Go on,” Scout said, surprisingly patient.

Sniper shifted a little, distracted by the feeling of Scout’s hands drifting up to rest on her shoulders again. “Well… I also don’t… keep clean enough, I don’t think,” she said carefully.

“Aw, sheesh, is this about how Spy keeps calling you smelly? Because she says that to like, literally anyone who doesn’t drench themselves in perfume like she does. And she still always smells like fancy-pants cigarettes anyways.”

“No, it’s…” Sniper felt herself flushing. “It’s that… you take good care of yourself and it makes me wonder if I don’t.”

“Huh?” Scout asked.

“You’re just…” Sniper chewed on her words. “You’re always just… smooth and pleasant, and you always smell so nice all the bloody time, and your hair’s all soft, and I’m just… not.”

“You think I smell nice?” Scout asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s perfume, it’s this sort of… soft vanilla sort of thing…?”

Scout laughed a little. “Oh, yeah, that’s my shampoo and conditioner that I use. Guess I can’t tell as much anymore unless I’m fresh outta the shower. But, aww. You’re sweet.”

“I’m just worried that… next to, to this, to all this,” Sniper said, gesturing at much of Scout, “I just look like some sort of… messy, sort of…”

“What do you mean messy?” Scout asked, frowning. “You keep clean too, probably about as well or better than most of the gals.”

“But I don’t hardly ever shave, and my hair’s not as soft, and I don’t smell as nice—“

“You shouldn’t have to shave if you don’t wanna,” Scout protested. “I mean, mostly I just do that outta habit at this point, and because I like havin’ my legs smooth so I can get on my socks for my uniform without it feelin’ weird. And I’m blond, so it’s harder to see anyways when I skip a day. You’ve just got way darker and thicker hair than me, nothin’ wrong with that, it’d be way more of a bitch to take care of, and it isn’t like it matters much anyways. You don’t gotta put long socks on, and who’s gonna judge you about it? Mr. Pauling? He only likes dudes anyways.”

Sniper blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. So, uh, that two and a half years was a little bit of a waste. I kinda wish he told me up front, but hey, what’re you gonna do?” She shifted. “Shit, that reminds me, I gotta pass along this one phone number to him from this guy I met a couple weeks ago—okay, whatever. What were we talkin’ about?” She paused, thinking hard. “Oh, yeah. But yeah that’s not really a hygiene thing. You shower pretty much on the daily, and it’s alright if you don’t use some kinda fancy soap to like, smell like a goddamn summer breeze or whatever. That’s, like, optional.”

“I still feel odd about it,” Sniper said quietly.

“That’s okay!” Scout assured. “It’s fine if you feel weird about that stuff. Nothin’ wrong with that. But… I guess I just want you to know that I don’t mind it, and don’t judge you.”

Sniper nodded, falling silent.

“So… just to be totally clear,” Scout started in slowly. “That’s what has you all nervous to do more stuff? You’re… worried about me lookin’ at you?”

Sniper swallowed, nodded. “Hardly anyone ever sees me naked,” she said. “And I’m just… worried you won’t like it.”

Scout considered that. “Well, I like you,” she seemed to decide, a hand dropping to rest over Sniper’s heart. “All of you that you’ve let me see so far—physically and every other way. So I feel like I’m probably gonna like the rest of you, too. Not just because you’re hot—which you totally are—but because it’s… y’know, you.”

Sniper smiled at that, even as she tried to fight it down. “You’re sweet,” was what she settled on saying after a moment’s consideration. She paused again. “Now I feel properly bloody ridiculous.”

“Aww, what?” Scout pouted.

“All that was holding me back from moving forward on… this,” she said, gesturing at the point where she and Scout met, “was one conversation that wasn’t even that difficult.”

Scout perked up, attention piqued, blinking at her once or twice.

“…Got somethin’ to say?” Sniper asked.

“…I mean, yeah, but also I don’t wanna be a total horndog, Snipes. I’m not an animal.”

“Got somethin’ to tell me there, sweet’eart?” Sniper taunted, starting to dig fingers into Scout’s sides, grinning at the way she immediately barked out laughter, squirming to get away. “Somethin’ to say?”

“I’m gonna friggin’ kill you, Snipes!” she giggled helplessly, finally managing to escape and standing, forcing the giggling down to instead glare, fixing her clothes back in order. “Nevermind, you’re the worst. I hate you. Not cool.”

“Aww,” Sniper teased, lounging a bit more comfortably. “That’s all it took, then?”

“Yeah. Now I hate you forever.”

“What if I did that thing you said, dipped you like we were dancing and pashed you silly? Would you forgive me then?” she urged.

Scout fought valiantly to keep a grin off her face. “…I’ll think about it,” she sniffed, and Sniper laughed.

Mere days later, they found themselves back together again, the pieces resetting, Scout on her lap as the camper grew dim under the force of sunset, mouth working expertly against her own and fingers tangled in her hair, starting to mess up her braid, not that she particularly minded. She was more preoccupied with the taste of whatever chapstick Scout had put on, probably labeled strawberry or cherry or something but mostly just tasting sweet and red, especially lovely in the heat building between them.

Her own hands could only rest at Scout’s waist idly, and it occurred to her that for all intents and purposes, she didn’t have much to worry about. Scout wanted her, she’d said as much over and over again since their conversation, had taken to laying into Sniper with compliments like a duck to water.

And she wanted Scout, for sure. So she decided that it was only fair to demonstrate.

Her hands drifted up, slowly, carefully.

Scout pulled back for a moment to gasp a breath, looking at Sniper with her eyes half-lidded. Then she blinked, apparently only then noticing that Sniper’s hands had drifted up her ribcage, and she pointedly dragged the nail of her thumb along just below where she could feel the ridge of her bra starting.

It was a bolder move than Sniper had maybe ever made before, and it prompted Scout to sink right back forward into her, kissing heatedly, loosing a soft noise into the minimal distance between them.

Sniper moved slowly, giving Scout every opportunity to stop her as her palms traced up even further to cup at Scout’s chest, and she never protested, instead leaning forward and whimpering almost desperately, needing to part for another moment, eyes locking onto Sniper’s. “Babe, do you wanna—are you—d-do—“ she stammered, losing track of her words as she became flustered, all the more as Sniper leaned in to start nipping at her neck near her hairline.

“There’s a beauty,” Sniper murmured, her voice falling low the way she knew Scout liked, gripping more firmly, squeezing, kneading soft noises out of Scout with surprising ease.

“W-wait,” Scout finally managed, and Sniper pulled back in an instant, surprised, but Scout didn’t let her get far. “Okay, wait. We gotta… we, look, I gotta know what you’re okay with, I don’t wanna assume—“

“I trust you,” Sniper blurted, and Scout blinked at her, going more alert before her expression promptly softened. Sniper hurried to elaborate. “If… if anything’s too much, or too far, I’ll tell you.”

“Promise?” Scout urged.

“Cross my heart,” Sniper swore, “I want you.” And that was apparently enough for Scout, because she leaned right back in to slot their lips together heatedly, desperation redoubled.

Scout’s hands slid out of her hair to instead feel at Sniper’s chest, and Sniper’s soft noise was overshadowed by Scout’s, who broke apart again to speak softly and quickly just next to Sniper’s ear. “Okay I’m glad because I really really want you too but also I didn’t wanna pressure you into doin’ something before you were totally 100% cool with it but also I just seriously couldn’t stop thinkin’ about doin’ this,” she rambled, emphasizing with a squeeze to Sniper’s breasts that had her gasping, “and I kept feeling super bad because I keep thinkin’ about you and feeling like I was being totally creepy but I can’t just look at you all day and kiss you like that all the time and not want you and I’ve got needs, okay—?”

“Well now that you get to have me, maybe you should focus more on that and less on talking, eh princess?” Sniper suggested with a little laugh, amused by Scout’s babbling, and apparently she agreed, because then they were kissing again.

Sniper’s permission seemed to be enough to really unlock some part of Scout that had been craving taste and touch, because her hands were everywhere, feeling out every part of Sniper that might otherwise have been deemed too inappropriate to touch, gripping and groping and kissing deeply and heatedly and lewdly, starting to grind down on Sniper’s thigh in rabbity little thrusts of her hips.

Sniper stopped her with hesitant then confident hands gripping at her arse, one hand drifting around her hip once she’d stopped moving, palm drifting slowly down below the high waist of her pants.

Scout jumped bodily, then whined urging noises into Sniper’s mouth, and then voiced them further when they parted for air and for Sniper to nose Scout’s hair aside to kiss at her throat. “C’mon, don’t be a tease, Snipes—“ she pleaded, and whined again when Sniper’s hand withdrew entirely, only to relax and exhale when she felt Sniper popping open the button on her pants and starting to work them down her legs.

This was the part that was a little more familiar, and Sniper was pleased to find out that undressing people was much easier with light available.

Scout’s hands fumbled in trying to return the favor each time Sniper nipped at her, and there was a distinct roll to her thighs when she shifted to flat-tongued laps against her pulse point. Overall, she was extremely pleased to find that Scout was just as reactive in this context as every other context she was faced with.

“Snipes, fuck’s sake—“ Scout finally complained, breathy as it was. “Take your fuckin’ shirt off.”

Sniper hesitated. Scout backpedaled.

“If-if you want, I mean. If that’s okay. With you. If you want,” she said quickly. A pause. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” Sniper assured, and paused for another few seconds, but then she started working on the buttons of her shirt, carefully as she could.

She shrugged it off, then pulled off the tank top she wore underneath, and Scout took that as her cue to shimmy out of some of her own clothes. She ended up depositing herself right back on Sniper’s lap, down to her skivvies and clearly trying to look composed.

“Cute bra,” Sniper said flatly, raising an eyebrow at her.

Scout flushed a little, rolling her eyes and raising a hand to adjust the bra in question a little, adorned with cute, flowery lace. “I just thought it was cute, okay? We get paid enough that I can afford to get a cute new bra sometimes,” she said defensively.

“So you didn’t put this on special, hoping you’d get to show it off?” Sniper asked, hands wrapping around to find handholds at her ass again. “And the matching panties?”

Scout flushed further. “Maybe I just always wear these when I want a little extra confidence, you don’t know,” she challenged.

“It’s cute, really it is,” Sniper assured, smiling a little, leaning in to kiss at her collarbone idly, hand drifting down her lower stomach again.

Scout breathed all sorts of affirming words as Sniper’s fingers first ghosted then pressed at her through the thin, humid fabric, rolling with her motions and quickly turning to jelly.

“Doesn’t take much for you, then, does it?” Sniper teased.

“Nah,” Scout confirmed, and her hips jumped when Sniper suddenly nipped at one breast without warning. “I’m… used to tryin’ to make it, f-fast, and… I kinda just… mmh.”

“What was that?” Sniper asked, fingertips trailing at the seam of her thighs where fabric gave way to skin just to make her shiver.

“It doesn’t help that I’m like…” Scout started, and trailed again. She dropped her head to rest on Sniper’s shoulder, making a soft sound. “Promise you’re not gonna laugh at me?”

“Cross my heart,” Sniper promised.

Scout still didn’t speak for a moment. “Well, when I can’t really go walkin’ into a bar somewhere to get laid on the weekends, which, y’know, that’s been the deal since we started dating,” she said, clearly trying to keep her voice at least a little level. Sniper hummed. “Well, kinda just… all pent up with nowhere to go, means I kinda… just, all the time, kinda playin’ around. And then when I really am tryin’ to get off I’m so pent up that I gotta try and get off a couple times just to get the energy outta me. And it’s been a little while since then, so I’m just… kinda desperate a little bit, y’know?”

Sniper hummed, nosing into her hair a little bit. “Tell me more, princess. How’s it usually go? Like this?” she asked lowly, finally slipping her hand beneath to touch Scout skin-to-skin, very pleased with how worked up she clearly already was.

“Y-yeah,” Scout gasped, rolling into it. “Harder. More—mmmh, yeah, like that, fuck—“

She continued to make pleased little noises as Sniper drew her up and up through her first orgasm of the night, expertly tugging and rolling her fingers against her clit and dipping against her labia on the downstroke, pleased with the shivery puddle Scout melted into by the end of it.

She came out the other end still making little noises, still rolling her hips, clearly pleased with the low-key oversensitivity of it, only giving a happy little sigh when Sniper finally pulled her hand back.

“Ought to have gotten a towel, I think,” Sniper suddenly noted.

“I’ll grab one,” Scout said, standing on slightly-shaky legs and stretching a little bit. “You should get your pants off.”

“You don’t have yours off,” Sniper pointed out.

Scout rolled her eyes, starting to dig through a cabinet. “Sorry, your trousers, bugger bloody hell,” she said, absolutely butchering Sniper’s accent. “Oi, holy dooley, bugger bugger, rugby—“

She was hit by Sniper’s button-up shirt, and laughed.

“Hey, is it okay if I hit the light?” Scout asked, coming back up with a towel.

Admittedly, it was getting pretty dark in the camper. Sniper hesitantly nodded, and Scout flicked on the little lamp by the counter, casting still-dim light over the small space, just enough to see a bit better.

It was enough to bring her nervousness back to the forefront of her mind, though, even as she finished stripping.

Scout returned with the towel, and Sniper found herself self-conscious enough that she shifted their positions, turning Scout to face away from her, lying between the Y of her legs against her chest as Sniper returned to playing with her idly.

And she found herself thoroughly enjoying it, enjoying bringing Scout into a wiggling, desperate puddle, teasing her, feeling her fingernails—so often bitten short—digging into her thighs as she crested the edge, it was heavenly. Scout couldn’t seem to collect herself enough to speak properly, trying to murmur phrases and words and getting too caught up in what all Sniper was doing to her. She mostly had to rely on the context clues of Scout rolling and tensing and gasping to find out exactly what she liked, but she gathered some things more directly when Scout managed to stammer out syllables. She seemed to be very fond of Sniper’s callouses, and her head kept rolling back from where she was watching Sniper work to instead rest heavily against her chest, a goofy little smile on her face. And it was nice, nice enough that Sniper found herself getting a little desperate as well.

But some part of the idea of Scout reciprocating, focusing entirely on her, taking the time to look her over and pull her apart… she didn’t know if she could do it. So she kept just pulling Scout apart, slow and steady, careful not to overwhelm her.

Somewhere around three—she was pretty sure it was three—Scout started getting more insistent, though, hands stroking further and further up her thighs, head tilting back harder. Soon enough she tilted to make eye contact with Sniper outright, pouting visibly. She shot Sniper with puppy-dog eyes, and she knew she was done for.

“Snipes, babe, c’mon,” Scout whined, shying away from Sniper’s hands a little, clearly oversensitive. “Your turn?”

“Dunno,” Sniper hummed, hands stroking up the expanse of Scout’s abdomen and back down again. “I’m rather enjoying this.”

“Could enjoy it some more,” Scout mumbled, bottom lip jutting out that much further.

Sniper shifted slightly.

Scout sighed, her eyes falling closed for a second. “Look, I get it, you feel kinda embarrassed. That’s okay. But I’m gonna feel really bad if I’m the only one that has any fun.” She made a soft noise as Sniper pinched just below her breast teasingly, eyebrows furrowing for a moment. “And I’m having fun, promise. I think I need a breather, though.”

Sniper considered that, tracing her hands against Scout a little while longer, more gently than before. “Alright,” she finally said, voice quiet.

Scout looked back up at her. “You’re sure?” she asked, clearly working hard at hiding the excitement from her voice.

“Just… don’t stare,” Sniper said, tone firm even as she hesitated, and Scout nodded quickly, and flipped around.

To her credit, she indeed didn’t stare, instead leaning in and kissing her firmly, hands finding her shoulders, then drifting down. Scout’s hands moved in steady gropes and squeezes against her, drifting alongside her attention and exploring with idle fascination even as she kissed Sniper absolutely silly.

Everything felt more electric. More… real. Just more.

“Fuck,” Scout mumbled between them, kissing at Sniper’s cheek, her ear. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, seriously. You’re sure you wanna date me?”

Sniper managed a laugh, relieved at Scout’s ability to cut through any given moment like butter, the overwhelming nature of everything fading back for a moment. “I could be asking you that,” was her reply, then she was jerking, gasping, as one of Scout’s hands dipped down between her thighs with intent.

Scout pulled back enough to look at her, and her gaze only drifted for a second before she caught herself and she instead locked eyes pointedly. “I, I know you’re kinda askin’ me not to look at you too much, but, I… I mean, I kinda wanna just slide down a little bit and go to town and some amount of that is gonna have to involve me lookin’ at you, so, I guess I just kinda wanted to ask—“

“Just bloody get on with it,” Sniper said, laughing a little, trying to ignore the fizz of nervousness bubbling away at the confidence she was trying to fake just then.

Scout nodded distractedly, and then she was down between Sniper’s legs, kneading at her thighs, and then Scout’s mouth was on her—

Bugger, and she knew Scout was good at kissing and all, and had idly wondered if that skill could be applicable elsewhere, and now she knew with certainty that it could.

And usually this sort of thing wasn’t… well, any number of things happened, but generally Sniper would find herself getting antsy very quickly and wanting to shift to a more equal footing in terms of giving and receiving because she felt far too self-conscious, but just when that thought was starting to occur to her again despite Scout’s best efforts (and great enthusiasm), Scout was shifting back for a moment to breathe, to kiss at her thigh in a way that was almost sloppy and very, very self-satisfied, and…

And she was saying all sorts of things, all kinds of soft endearments, some of them more like dirty talk of course but mostly just words of absolute unadulterated affection, and it made her heart swell, and she didn’t feel so horribly aware of each individual flaw, each scar and mark and interruption on her skin, each place that previously she would find herself glaring at in the mirror and wishing was different, instead she was just aware of a feeling of ticklish warmth nestling deep into her chest and the desire for Scout to both keep talking and also to get back to what she’d been doing before.

She tangled fingers into Scout’s hair and pushed her back down again, and she took the hint without a moment’s hesitation, setting right back into work, mouth pressing mesmerizing rhythms into every sensitive point she could find.

It wasn’t until she was panting and relaxing, thighs trembling and chest heaving, Scout settling back up against her side again, that the self-consciousness returned, making her aware of the feeling of Scout’s hand kneading soothingly into her too-soft stomach, but she also felt so strangely at ease that she couldn’t seem to make herself care too much about it, instead just tilting her head and letting her lips trail a line down just beneath Scout’s jaw, nosing her hair aside to do so, starting to suck a mark when Scout made a pleased little noise over it.

“Was that good?” Scout asked, sounding satisfied on several different levels.

“Mmm,” Sniper hummed in agreement, a hand trailing up to grip at one breast idly and making Scout lean into her, giggling a little bit. “And you’re a damn sweet-talker when you like to be, princess.”

“It’s not hard to think of sweet stuff to say about you,” Scout teased, pinching her side lightly just to make her laugh. “I could write a fuckin’ book about it, swear to god.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Sniper huffed, and kissed one more time before pulling back to look Scout in the eye. She looked terribly pleased with herself, and pleased in general, a mirror to the contentment making a nest in her own ribcage. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah?” Scout asked, brightening.

“Yeah. I feel… a little better,” she admitted. “I at least know you don’t plan on… on poking fun, or, or some other thing. I—I dunno what I expected, I… I’m just… I feel better now, is all.”

“I’m glad,” Scout said earnestly, kissing her soundly on one cheek.

Sniper hummed, looked her over, saw the subtle shifting she was doing and futilely trying to hide, the flush that was present across her skin, the heat of her. “…But you know what would make me feel even better,” she purred, nosing in at her neck again and drinking in her little gasp, “is if you laid back and let me return the favor. How’s that sound?”

Scout managed to choke out a breathless agreement, and that was that.

And frankly, getting a pretty girl to make as much noise as she managed, well, surely she was doing something right.

#//sniperscout #//fem!characters #//tenderness

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marvxlousqueen · 5 years

Text

Warren Worthington- Let Me Help (smut)

warnings: smut, lil insecure!warren :(, shower sex, poorly written lowkey bc its been a minute since i’ve written anything oof

word count: 1.5 K

summary: best friend!warren needs help washing his wings, things get steamyyy (haha shower jokes)

A/N- shout out to @thoughtlesspace for giving me this idea a few months ago oof sorry i took so long to write it, ily

not proof read lmao i’m posting this at like 2 am

Warren had woken up at 6:30 on Saturday morning, fumbling out of bed trying to make sure he wasn’t late.

Every Saturday for the last few months (Y/n) and Warren had gotten up extra early, taken a small walk out into the open yard behind the school, and trained for an hour or two.

(Y/n) was a fairly new student to the school just like Warren. She had started there only a few months prior to Warren, meaning she was always pushing herself to get stronger, trying to make sure she could keep up with her classmates who had been training for far longer.

Warren truthfully didn’t need the extra training. He was already light on his feet and knew how to take down any enemy, but when (Y/n) had asked him to help her, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend more time with her.

Warren pulled on an old shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants over his boxers before slipping on his sneakers, realizing it was already almost 7. He rushed out of his room, quietly closing the door behind him. By the time he reached the back door of the school it was already 7:04.

“You’re late, Worthington. Get it together.” (Y/n) was dressed in her usual shorts and big t-shirt.

“Yes ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes, giving his clothed shoulder a shove.

“Oh shut it.”

The two raced off to their usual spot in the yard, placing down some water bottles and watching the sun rise for a bit before getting started.

“You ready for me to kick your ass, Worthington?”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

(Y/n) stretched one final time before lunging out towards him, leg raised as she practiced a side kick to the head. Warren took a leap into the air, pushing her leg over once he moved out of the way.

“Too slow.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, swinging this time with her fist, but only being able to punch his thigh because of how high he was.

“Come back down and fight me.”

Warren shook his head, moving a little bit higher. “Nope.”

“Fine.” (Y/n) let out a groan as she grabbed Warren’s ankle, trying to pull him out of the air.

“Wait, (Y/n) stop that.”

She started pulling with more force, jumping up and dragging him down slowly.

“Come down bird boy! We need to train!”

Her words set Warren into a laughing fit, making him lose some of his balance in the air. “Wh-what the FUCK did you call me? (Y/n) HAHHA!”

(Y/n) gave one final tug on his leg. Warren, too focused on calming his laughter, came crashing down on top of her.

(Y/n) groaned as Warren’s knees collided with hers, pushing her into the wet grass. “Fuck! Get off me, that hurt.”

“It’s your fault!”

Warren moved his head up, meeting her eyes dead on.

“Warren.”

(Y/n)’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “huh?”

“Move. Or you know what, I’ll do it.”

(Y/n) pushed up and was able to roll him over, leaving her on top of him. She then jokingly grabbed his arms, pinning them.

“Pinned ya!”

“(Y/n).” Warren pulled his arms back, wanting to get up before he got grass stains on his white wings.

She grabbed his hands once more, “pinned ya again!”

“(Y/n) stop.”

She moved closer, pressing him harder into the ground. “Why? God Warren, you’re no fun.”

There were now two reasons Warren needed (Y/n) to get off of him. 1. His wings were going to get dirty (and they are such a pain to wash). And 2. He could feel the blood rushing into his face and his crotch from having her pressed against him.

“J-just please get off.”

(Y/n) pulled back quickly, rolling off of him. “Okay, okay, sorry.”

Warren hopped up, turning around hoping to hide both his red face and his hard on. He started making his way back towards the school.

“You okay?” (Y/n) put a hand on his shoulder before noticing his wings. “Shit, you’re like covered in grass marks.”

“Great.”

(Y/n) walked to be in front of Warren, “It’s my bad, I can help you clean them when you shower.”

Warren stopped, “W-what? No. I’m good.”

“Come on, it’s no big deal. You always complain about how hard it is to clean them.”

“(Y/n) no.”

They had reached the school, but (Y/n) grabbed Warren’s hand before he sped off. “Let me help.”

Ten minutes later, Warren was sitting in front of (Y/n), shirt off, as she softly scrubbed on his wings. Her hands moved slowly down his back. When she started brushed the spot where the wings protruded from his back, Warren had to bite his lip to keep quiet because of how good it felt.

“I think you need to rinse off now.”

Warren nodded, standing up to go shower. He turned to face her, waiting for her to leave.

“What? I said I’d help you and I’m not done yet. Let me rinse them off.”

“What?”

“Just get in the shower, I won’t look. Promise.”

Warren’s face burned as he stepped into the shower and slid off his pants and boxers, thankful his erection had calmed down. He looked over his shoulder to see (Y/n)’s hands covering her eyes.

“Now just turn around and I can wash them off.”

Warren hummed in response, not trusting his voice at the moment.

(Y/n) opened her eyes and immediately broke her promise to Warren, taking his entire backside in. She grabbed the shower head and turned on the hot water, gently washing off the dirt. She let her hands slide through his feathers as she cleaned them.

Warren let out a soft groan at the feeling of her hands on them. “Fuck.”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing. Nothing”

(Y/n) ran her hand through the feathers again. Rougher this time. Warren’s breathing got faster as she did so.

“Does that feel good?”

He nodded, letting out another breath.

(Y/n) stepped out of the shower, making Warren look over his shoulder at her. By the time his eyes found her she had already slid off her shirt and sports bra.

“Fuck. You look- you’re- I mean. Goddamn.”

Her hands moved down to her shorts, slipping them down her legs, her underwear following.

“(Y/n)..”

“Let me help, Warren. Let me make you feel good.”

(Y/n) moved the shower head back to the top of the shower before stepping in, standing in front of Warren this time. She let her eyes shamelessly run down his body. Her hands moved to his wings behind him as she pressed her lips against his.

Warren moaned into her mouth as she scratched down his back. (Y/n) slipped her down into his mouth as he moaned. Their lips stayed locked as Warren’s hands made their way down her body. Grabbing her waist, he pulled her closer, pressing his now hard cock against her core. She broke away from his lips, pushing her face into his neck.

“Warren, oh fuck.”

One of his hands moved down to her core, pushing two fingers up into her.

“Jesus Christ, you’re tight.”

(Y/n) bit down on his neck, nails digging into his sensitive back, making his hips buck forward. Warren moved his fingers faster, going deeper.

“Please- please, Warren.”

Warren pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean before grabbing (Y/n) by her thighs, lifting her up and pressing her into the shower wall. She wrapped her legs tight around him.

He lined up with her entrance. “Can I?”

“Yes, God yes, please.”

Warren slowly pushed in, his cock immediately being squeezed by her tight walls.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight.”

He pulled his hips out before snapping back into her, making her scream out. Warren pushed his head into the crook of her neck, leaving love marks and he pounded into her.

“God, fuck Warren!”

He let out a groan as she sunk her nails into his back.

“Fuck, (Y/n), do that again.”

She scratched at him harder, making him thrust into her quicker.

“Fuck, Warren- I’m close.”

He bit down on her neck again as one hand moved to rub her clit.

“Warren!”

Warren pulled out after (Y/n) had tightened around him, finishing.

(Y/n) quickly dropped to her knees, taking Warren’s hard cock into her mouth. She ran her tongue over the tip before slowly taking in what she could down her throat, gagging slightly on his length.

She swallowed around him, tightening her throat as much as possible, while swirling her tongue.

“Shit, shit- I’m- fuck!”

Warren shot his cum straight down her throat with almost no warning.

(Y/n) swallowed, giving him one last lick on his tip, before standing up.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, Warren. I mean, that was- wow.”

He nodded, standing underneath the water, which was cold by now. Warren let out a long sigh, tired from their activities.

(Y/n) hopped out of the shower, grabbing a towel, Warren following her suit after shutting off the water.

“Thanks.”

She let out a laugh, “Yeah, no problem. It was uhh fun for me too.”

“Oh, I meant the wings thing, but yeah definitely. Fun. A lot of fun.”

“...hopefully some fun we can have again sometime..” Her eyes were on the ground, scared to face him after suggesting they fuck again.

“God yes. Definitely.”

taglist: (hmu to be added!) :)

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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How Far I'll Go - Chapter 3 (Nina West/Monet X Change) - Meggie, Mia Ugly

A/N: They aren’t REALLY writing an entire season of All Stars, are they?

Thanks to everyone who’s been reading/liking this so far, as well as the Branjie discord for being awesome on the daily. This is a long chapter, almost 10k, so settle in. The link to the original song will be posted later today; I wish I could say that was a joke but it isn’t.

Chapter Three - Heart ablaze, banners high

“Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was won.”

Nina struts into the Werk Room, poses briefly with his hands on his hips before firing a round of bubbles into the air. The first thing he hears is “Bitch!” in Vanjie’s unmistakable voice. After he crosses the floor to meet the other queens, Vanjie is the first one to hug him.

“Yaaas!” Vanjie says with his arms around Nina’s neck. “Come through, girl.”

Nina introduces himself/has a small meltdown over the other queens. Asia O’Hara is perfection on legs, dressed in a very short, sexy caterpillar costume which shouldn’t work but does. Blair St. Clair has ditched the Broadway baby look for full-on seventies supermodel. Nina Bo’nina Brown is padded for the gods and serving I Dream of Jeannie realness. She and Vanjie are all over each other; Nina had forgotten how hilarious they are when they’re together. Also there, also sickening, is Shea Coulee (Nina resists the urge to immediately kiss the crown goodbye. This queen, this fucking queen).

The next through the doorway is Laganja Estranja (“Is it four-twenty up in hurrrrrr?” DEATH DROP) who hasn’t changed. At all. Following her is Ivyyyy Wiiinters who is - a lot hotter in person than Nina expected. He knows he should be strategizing already but he’s so overwhelmed and grateful to be back in the game that it’s hard not to feel anything but excited.

He needs to put himself inside the head of - someone like Brooke. Brooke would have clocked everyone’s weak spots by now, would be thinking about who he’d want on his team and who the first girl home was going to be. Nina - frankly hasn’t got a clue. It won’t be him though, it absolutely cannot be him.

The next queen to enter the room is - oh.

Lovely.

Miz Cracker. Fan favourite and smart as hell. Nina smiles at her, hoping that whatever happened at Drag Con was a one-off. Cracker looks past him like he’s wallpaper, even as she shrieks and laughs and hugs all the others.

Not good, Nina. He can already feel the weight of rejection on his chest. It’s stupid, problematic, and familiar. That need to be liked rises to the surface any time he feels insecure or out of his depth. Like now. Now is exactly that time, and it’s also the time he should care about making friends the least.

Head in the game, he tells himself. It’s not RuPaul’s best friends race.

There’s only one queen left to arrive. Nina watches Vanjie watching the doorway, waiting for the last entrance. Nina has a couple predictions in his mind, but nothing he’d feel confident betting money on.

And then -

“Oh bitch.” Vanjie exhales sharply. “Fuck.”

Because Brooke Lynn Hytes has strolled through the door, wrapped in black and red studded straps, reminiscent of his Orange Alert runway and the bondage fantasy from the finale. It’s full on dominatrix mode, right down to the black stilettos and riding crop in his hand. It’s a look and the bitch is turning it, but… God, Nina feels bad for Vanjie. Because apparently, even the happiest exes alive don’t share everything.

All the color is gone from Vanessa’s face.

“You didn’t… He didn’t tell me either,” Nina says softly, but he knows it isn’t enough. If this surprise hurts him this badly, he can only imagine what it feels like for Vanessa.

Vanjie shakes his head and studies the floor until Brooke makes his rounds to greet everyone. Brooke embraces Nina tightly (and okay, Nina loves him, is happy to see him) but pauses in front of Vanjie, as if unsure of what to do. Vanjie bristles a little before pulling himself upright and stretching his arms out to Brooke.

The cameras are on and they are both professionals.

They hug, but Nina can feel the tension between them, and wonders if the rest of the queens can as well.

It’s going to be an interesting season for sure.

He doesn’t have time to speak again, however, because the door opens and Ru’s voice rings through the Werk Room. “Hello, hello, hello!”

Everyone cheers, but Nina’s smile feels a bit false. He’s got to put this whole thing with Brooke and Vanjie to the side; he’s here for himself, not to be a supporting character in their story. Focus, Nina.

“Welcome to All Stars! My darlings!” Ru comes down the stairs, smiling. He’s dressed in a powder blue suit with tiny feathers printed on it and looks exactly like he did when Nina last saw him.

“When I look across this room at all your beautiful and familiar faces, only one word comes to mind: security!”

The camera crew moves in to catch the queens all laughing. It’s kind of scary how quickly you get used to it, the scurrying motion of people and technology like insects. Nina chuckles like he knows he’s supposed to, trying not to look at Brooke and Vanjie out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh.” Ru mimes getting a note in his ear piece. “You’re all supposed to be here? Even better! To recognize the charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent that got you past the metal detectors, I’m throwing the event of the season and your first maxi challenge: an All Star Talent Show Extravaganza!”

Nina knew this was coming. He’s ready for it.

“But - there’s one more thing.”

Nina feels Vanjie reach down and grab his hand, nails digging into his wrist. Ru makes a show of counting the girls up, and Nina’s heart fucking drops.

“Ten queens. That’s a nice even number, but - as it is All Stars Season five, I think we’ve got room for some more. Oh laaaadiiies!”

One of the side doors opens, and Vanjie starts murmuring, “no no no no,” under his breath. Nina doesn’t even have the time to imagine who might be coming in before - Chad Michaels? - steps through the door. He’s not in drag, looking ageless and wiry in a faded t-shirt and jeans.

“Hi Chad!” Ru exclaims, fake-surprised and delighted. “So nice to see you! Did you come alone?”

“Not since the Uber. Oh! You mean -” Chad glances back at the doorway. “I’m sorry, I tried to lose them.”

“Hiiiiiiiieeeee!” Alaska sticks his head out.

The queens around Nina lose their collective shit, jumping up and down, snapping and cheering. Alaska is followed by Trixie fucking Mattel (out of drag like the others, looking adorable in a vintage cowboy shirt and bolo tie. Nina might have tears in his eyes all of a sudden - but look away, it’s fine).

Clearly, the winners of previous seasons are back. Which means -

Fucking hell, don’t -

Shit.

Trinity the Tuck comes through - followed by Monet Goddamn X Change.

The room erupts in cheers. Nina immediately glances away, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the fact that Monet looks objectively -

Monet looks -

Great. Obviously. Smiling in his round teal glasses and a sweatshirt covered with roses (Nina always had a weakness for thick-rimmed glasses, it’s his tragic flaw, it doesn’t mean anything). He carefully keeps his focus on Vanessa, makes a ridiculous “O” of surprise with his mouth, instead of risking eye-contact with the handsomest man in the room (who was also probably the best sex Nina’s had in an unfortunate length of time and whose number he never called and -)

Enough, Nina. Do some mindful breathing or something.

Monet and Trinity play up the jealous sibling angle as they cross the floor, holding hands while getting into each other’s space and jostling for attention. They come to stand in a line up beside Ru, who looks them over.

“Y’all look different than I remember. What is it? Oh right, you’re old.”

There’s laughter but it’s a bit weak. Clearly none of the competing girls have any idea what’s going on. Nina doesn’t think Ru would throw five new queens into this season, but - worse things have happened. And the returning queens aren’t in drag. They look good, though - some of them look extremely good and… probably taste like mint and… Jesus Christ, get it together.

“For the first time in All Stars herstory, I thought I’d give you girls a little professional help. ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you need it.” Ru gestures to his returning queens. “Ladies, for this season, each of you will be matched with one of our reigning All Stars. Now, these All Stars are here to act as your mentors only; they will not be competing for the crown. And you will still be judged individually, regardless of how your other teammate performs. As always, All Stars rules do apply.”

Okay, okay, this situation is still salvageable. They’re here to act as mentors, Nina can handle that. She’s not going to have to go toe to toe against Monet in some sort of horrifying lip-sync. They aren’t going to be the Branjie of the season, led to the slaughter for ratings, laid bare at the reunion for the entire world to rub salt in the wounds. It’s okay.

“However. Mentors, if one of the queens on your team wins a lip-sync, you will receive a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

Nina wonders how long is too long to look at Vanjie. It’s probably been too long already - he’ll look at Ru. There, that’s fine. Just keep your eyes somewhere - safe. And smile. Or don’t smile? What’s the appropriate reaction right now? Nina is missing pieces of this conversation.

“And if a queen from your team is the winner of All Stars Season Five, not only will she win one-hundred thousand dollahs and a spot in the Drag Race Hall of Fame, but you will win a bonus prize of twenty-five thousand dollars. So choose your team wisely - cause some of y’all clearly need the money.” Ru eyes up Chad Michaels, who nods and gestures at his face.

“I won’t say no. All of this is about to expire.”

“Girl, we can tell,” Trinity shouts over at him.

“Oh, I just love these family get togethers!” Ru laughs and clasps his hands together as he studies them all. “But however shall we pick teams?” He presses a finger to his chin as he pretends to ponder the situation.

Nina’s stomach churns, but - Ru doesn’t know. No one knows. Unless -

“A draft!” Ru announces gleefully. “That’s something from sports, I think. Nina West, you know about sports right?” Ru makes a broad-shouldered motion with his hands, and Nina smiles tightly.

“Ask me anything at all about locker rooms.”

“Come find me on the break,” Ru says very seriously. “Now, mentors - each of you will get to choose one queen for your team twice. I think it’s only fair to go in order.”

There’s bickering between the mentors - Trinity and Monet are of course pressed that they’ll have last pick - but Trinity eventually relents, after Monet reminds her that age should come before beauty.

Nina steels himself as the draft starts. He’s never been the kid that gets picked first for anything, and it’s hard not to immediately go back to that middle school shame-place that still lives somewhere in his lizard brain. He just hopes he isn’t picked last. And deep, deep down, he kind of hopes that Trixie chooses him. They’re similar, he’s always thought. Campy, musically inclined. He’d love to learn from her, really pick her brain, score a guest appearance on UNHhhh, where he’d sit with her and Katya and they’d all be best friends and - that’s enough.

Chad makes a show of looking the queens over before he makes his selection and it’s so obvious. “Brooke Lynn Hytes,” he announces with a grin. Of course Brooke’s first.

Brooke claps and smiles, but Nina doesn’t miss the way Vanessa’s eyes roll back in his head. Honestly? He feels kind of the same way.

Alaska chooses Nina Bo’nina which makes total sense. They’re both quirky queens who are all about their brand, and it feels like a good fit.

Trixie’s pick is next. Nina feels himself straighten involuntarily, but Trixie barely hesitates before she trills, “It’s time for Crackerrrrrr!” and holds out her arms to the smaller man.

So that’s - that.

There’s the next round, of course, but does Nina really want to be on a team with a queen that hates him for no apparent reason? He sighs, the tension in his shoulders building. It’s going to be Grade Six kickball all over again.

The Tuck chooses Blair (also not surprising). Then it’s Monet’s turn, and, oh God, he’s looking past Nina, which is… Probably for the best. Definitely. Definitely probably for the best.

Then Monet’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. He crosses his arms over his chest, purses his lips together (and Jesus, what Nina remembers about those lips on his own and wrapped around his - not the time).

“Nina West.”

Nina’s head snaps up. He doesn’t move because - surely this is a joke. But Monet is standing there in front of him, the most neutral expression on his face, watching him.

“That’s you, girl,” Vanjie whispers beside him.

Nina nods. Nods again. He got chosen before Vanjie? In what alternate universe is this All Stars season happening?

He plasters a smile across his lips and walks forward, embraces Monet, plants air kisses on both of his cheeks. (His skin tingles where their faces brush. He should have called. At the very least texted.)

The draft starts from the beginning again while Nina awkwardly frets over what to do with his hands. Chad chooses Shea Coulee (clearly), and Alaska chooses Laganja, which is… Well, it’s a choice, certainly, but Nina believes in giving people second (and third and twentieth, most of the time) chances. Then it’s Trixie Mattel’s turn and she doesn’t pause a second before calling out, “Miss Vaaanjie.”

Nina isn’t jealous. Genuinely, he isn’t. The look on Vanjie’s face when Trixie calls his name is like the opposite of jealousy. Nina can’t help but glance over at Brooke to see if he notices it too (he does. Nina can tell. Brooke thinks he’s being cool but the way his eyes shift when Vanjie smiles is just - it’s kind of sad. And kind of obvious. And it makes Nina wonder why he ever thought he had a chance with this blonde goddess when - the way Brooke looks at Vanjie is something completely different).

Monet hassles Trinity into letting him pick next and is practically vibrating with excitement over drafting Asia O’Hara for his team. Which leaves Ivy Winters, who does not look pressed at all about being chosen last and bounds over to join Trinity and Blair.

“All right ladies. Now you’ll have time to meet with your mentors and plan your act. And tomorrow night, you’ll perform in front of a full house in my All Star Extravagaaaanza! Gentlemen, start your engines. And may the best All Star… win!”

* * *

“Okay, Team X Change. I’mma call you the X-Queens, what do you think? The Tuck is calling her girls ‘The Holy Trinity,’ and we can do better than that.”

Monet has pulled a chair over to Asia and Nina’s stations, which they’ve set up beside each other. Nina is trying to be the least embarrassing version of himself possible. He might regret bringing bubble guns.

“Obviously, I’m Professor X.” Monet gestures to his bald head. “You can be Storm,” he says to Asia (who seems extremely happy about that, and justifiably so). “And you -” He looks at Nina, who swallows anxiously.

“Wolverine?” he manages, and Monet laughs.

“Girl. Nah, you’re a Jean Grey. Just use those powers for good, okay? Don’t want no Dark Phoenix up in here.” Monet smiles but the smile is a bit forced, charming only on the surface. Underneath it, there’s something else. “So what you all thinking for this challenge? I got money on the line, remember that.”

Cool, flawless, beautiful Asia laughs, but Nina’s laugh doesn’t quite squeak out of his throat.

“I’m just going to lip-sync,” Asia says. “What I do best.”

Monet nods. “Yes, I live. I’ve seen you girl. What about you, Nina West?”

Nina was counting on this challenge coming up at some point in the season. He’s got an idea but - he’s not sure how well received it will be.

“I was thinking of maybe doing… magic?”

Asia stares at him.

“Like last season we did a magic show. And I thought -”

“Like real magic?” Asia asks, dubiously. “With wands and shit?”

“Girl! She’s not a fucking wizard.” Monet laughs. “Well, that sounds - unique. That’s something I want to see. You going to cut someone in half or something?”

“Maybe. Depends if I can find a saw.”

“And we already know you can make yourself disappear, so -” Monet stops. He meets Nina’s eyes with a sudden look of panic - but the look is gone just as quickly. So quickly Nina thinks maybe he imagined it, because Monet’s smiling widely again, poised and professional. “So we’ve got a plan. Good job team, mentoring done. Cut the cheque!”

They spend a bit of time talking about Asia’s dance number before splitting up so that Nina can practice a couple of the tricks he’s learned since Season 11. He was feeling pretty confident about it initially, but now that he’s surrounded by some of the most talented queens working today, he’s wondering if it’s too little. Or too much?

Fuck it. He puts on shows for a living, it’s what he does. The judges were in love with his magician character last season. He just has to build on it. And - no shade, of course - but at least he isn’t lip-syncing and dancing to his own single like ninety percent of the other queens seem to be planning. A magic show will stand out. In… some kind of way.

They break for lunch a bit later, lining up at the craft services table. Nina checks in with Vanjie and also tries not to ask too many questions about what Trixie Mattel is like in real life. He was worried he might start fangirling like an idiot when he saw her, but as soon as they called for a break, Trixie made a very intense sounding call on her cell phone (which apparently the mentors get to keep on them) and disappeared.

“She’s good,” Vanjie tells Nina as they eat some sort of lettuce wraps that keep falling apart in their hands. “Though just you try to get her off her phone. She on that grind twenty-four seven, maybe. How’s Monet?”

Um. (Really cute. And sweet. And an astonishing kisser, Nina’s feeling a bit dizzy just thinking about it.)

“Great,” he says.

Vanjie gives him a look.

“That sounded fake as hell.” For all that Vanessa is a terrible actor, he’s pretty good at clocking lies in other people. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nina stammers. “He’s - it’s great.”

“Why you being all weird and shit? You talking ‘bout him like he’s a snack cracker. It’s great! Kids love it!” Vanjie does his best cool dad impression, and Nina almost chokes on his wrap.

“Oh my God, please stop with that voice.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this voice, ho. I’m -” But before he can say anything else, Brooke comes into the break room. Every muscle in Vanjie’s body seems to stiffen. Nina watches it out of the corner of his eye, a slow tightening of Vanjie’s arms, straightening of his back. Defenses going up.

“I - I gotta have words with your girl,” he says softly. “Catch you later.”

Nina watches him cross the floor to Brooke, watches Brooke’s face go through a weird and painful series of expressions as Vanjie gets closer (hopefearlustlonging).

Those two idiots, Nina thinks, and the thought is so loud in his head that it should basically be telepathy (is that a Jean Grey thing? Or is that telekinesis? It’s been years since Nina dug out his old comic books).

As he scans the room, he accidentally makes eye contact with Monet.

Shit. Abort, abort. Look anywhere else. Pretend that you’ve gone blind.

It’s too late, however, because Monet is nodding at him. Smiling. And oh fuck, oh God, he’s coming over.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Nina (who has suddenly forgotten how to eat, is just moving his wrap around on his plate as it falls to pieces). “Can’t wait to see your show tomorrow. Magic!”

He does an impression of Nina’s ridiculous catchphrase, and Nina laughs awkwardly. Nina is doing too many things awkwardly right now; pick another adverb, Mary.

“Feel good to be back?”

“Still, um, getting used to it. But yes.” Just fucking say it, just - get it over with before there are cameras on them again. “Listen, about - that night. The - uh, finale -”

“Girl.” Monet holds up a hand, stopping him from saying anything more. “I get it. I ain’t pressed about it. So just put that outta your head, okay? We’re cool.”

And Nina might be imagining it, but Monet seems - a bit redder than usual. The edge of his cheekbones, the tips of his ears.

Nina looks away.

“Just you focus on the crown, right?” Monet continues quietly. “It’s yours if you want it. I know what you can do.”

The quietness is - unusual. For him. Nina knows Monet as this commanding presence at the centre of every crowd, able to hold court in a packed bar, able to revive a dying audience with a wave of his hand. The weird fragility is a side Nina hasn’t seen before, and he has no idea what to say in response. Silence stretches between them.

And then Cracker runs across the room and throws herself into Monet’s arms.

“Cracks!” Monet cheers. “How you doing?”

“So much for friendship, dick,” Miz Cracker says with a smile as she hugs Monet. “I thought you’d want me on your team for sure!”

“It ain’t my fault Miss Trixie scooped you up, though I can’t blame her.”

“Well, you should have won an earlier season!” Cracker responds with a smack to Monet’s arm. She glances at Nina, looks him up and down with cold brown eyes. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten - stuck with the questionable choices.”

Nina takes a step away, and then another. Pulls a Miss Vanjie, walks backwards until he’s not so up in Monet’s personal space, and Cracker’s weird hostility. Neither of them are distractions he can afford right now. Monet said they were cool. So they’re cool, right? And whatever Cracker’s problem is, Nina’s got to put it out of his head.

He tries. As he rehearses his act on the main stage, he tries. But Cracker is there, too, just out of the corner of his eye. Her head is bent low, talking quietly and intensely with Monet, who looks… Annoyed? Maybe? It could be wishful thinking.

That night, he and Brooke eat cold pizza in Nina’s room (the door is open at the P.A.’s insistence, and Nina feels a bit like a teenager, but whatever).

“You should have told him,” Nina says and Brooke doesn’t even have to ask what they’re talking about. He nods.

“I literally couldn’t.” He repeats Nina’s own words back to him. “If he knew - everyone would know. The moment I stepped into the Werk Room. He’s - both of us are - not the greatest actors.”

“Hmm, not the greatest, bit of an overestimation -”

“Fuck off. You know it’d be obvious as hell. And - I didn’t even think I’d say yes. I kept thinking - but then after the finale, when they asked -”

“So why did you? Say yes. They’re going to make this the Branjie story again, right? Of course they will. Is that what you want?”

“No. I mean - I don’t know.” Brooke pauses. Sighs. “I guess I just felt like I couldn’t say no. He’s fucking furious, by the way.”

“I’m sure he is.” On some level - Nina gets it. He’s glad Brooke’s got another chance, of course he is. Brooke’s perfection and he deserves it. But it’s hard for Nina not to feel like he doesn’t stand a chance with Brooke in the mix. Brooke almost won last time. That last lip sync was so close, it could have been either of them. (Nina might have a theory as to why it wasn’t Brooke, and the fact that Brooke’s sitting across from him in the hotel with Vanessa a few doors down is doing a lot to confirm it.)

“So you said yes because you felt like you had to,” Nina says slowly, “but you already knew Vanjie was coming. You knew I was coming.” (Though Nina doubts that would have affected Brooke’s decision at all.) “Why didn’t you tell them you’d come for the next season?”

Brooke tosses his pizza crust onto the paper plate on the bed and shrugs. “You never know if you’re going to get next season. If I’d said no, they could have written me off, or—”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re golden. They love you.” He normally isn’t this firm, not with Brooke, but Brooke also isn’t usually this avoidant of the truth. And Nina knows he isn’t getting the truth from the man sitting across from him. It bothers him. He’s good at reading people, great at reading Brooke after a decade-long friendship, but there’s been a boundary up ever since the season ended. Really - ever since he broke things off with Vanjie.

Nina might have been too firm, because Brooke lowers his eyes and shrugs. Starts to shut down. So Nina tries a softer approach.

“Why are you really here, Brooke?”

“Maybe - I’m just tired of always being the first runner-up. Never being enough,” Brooke finally says, and there’s pain there; a real, raw ache that is palpable from the timbre of his voice. “I won Continental and then…” He shakes his head. “First runner up. Always. Almost, but never quite - I just… I thought maybe on All Stars I could…” Brooke meets Nina’s eyes again, gives him a self-deprecating smile. “Show them I’m enough.”

For God’s sake. Nina hugs him, pulls him tight to his chest. “You’ve always been enough for me.”

“Thanks.” Brooke sniffles.

“But, and I need you to hear me very clearly,” Nina says, “even though I love you, you’re going to have to work, bitch. Because I fully plan on sending your ass back to Canada the first chance I get.”

Brooke throws back his head and laughs. “Just try it.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than try. I’m taking the crown this season.”

“Not so congenial anymore.” Brooke is still laughing, so Nina laughs too. And just for a moment, with the cold pizza and laughter between them, he could almost forget that they’re back at Drag Race, back in the (second) most important competition of both of their lives.

That night, when Nina lies in bed with his headphones in - listening to the potential lip-sync song for the next day, not that he’s counting his chickens or anything - he feels like maybe he can do this. Maybe he should be here, even in the presence of all this greatness. Even if - even around - someone like Monet.

(“If I’m shining everybody gonna shine,” Lizzo sings in his ear, and Nina closes his eyes tight. Hopes that he can be shiny enough to stay.)

* * *

The mentors aren’t in the Werk Room the next day, but they’re going to be in the audience at the show. That’s - maybe for the best. For all that he tells himself to focus, Nina is still acutely aware of where Monet is in the room, and it’s - unsettling. He doesn’t need that weird sixth sense distracting him right now. (He’s pretty sure that isn’t a Jean Grey thing.)

He paints in the mirror between Asia and Brooke, only half listening as Laganja and Vanjie’s conversation gradually gets louder and more snarly. There’s something off about Vanessa today. It’s clearly nerves and Nina kind of wishes he could go over there and hug him, but he’s not going to step between Vanjie and Laganja and risk getting an acrylic to the eye.

Nina takes in a few deep breaths, blocks them out, focuses on blending his eyeshadow. Purples into pinks. Pinks into whites. Black liner wings. Thick. Thicker. Thickest.

Then it’s frighteningly quiet all of a sudden, and Brooke is gone from his side.

He shifts his focus in the mirror and sees Brooke holding tightly to Vanessa’s shoulders, speaking quiet words to him. And while Vanjie still looks pressed, still shoots death glares across the room where Laganja has stormed away (and is, naturally, still talking), he isn’t vibrating with rage anymore.

“So use it,” he hears Brooke say softly. “Channel it. Win.”

And Vanjie nods, shrugs out of the hug Brooke tries to pull him into, and walks straight out of the Werk Room.

Brooke returns to the mirror at Nina’s side and heaves a long sigh.

“All good?” Nina asks, gluing on his lashes.

“Sure,” Brooke says with a smile that seems a little forced. “All good.”

When they’re finished painting, the P.A.s come by to grab them, take them to the main stage. Nina is the ninth act up, and so he gets to sit with the audience in the meantime. The mentors are there as well, in full awards-show drag, and it - only knocks him one step backwards when he sees Monet in black sequins. Sheer panels down each side. Purple lipstick.

“Hello, my X-Queens.” Monet smiles broadly as Nina and Asia walk past to find their seats. “Asia, look at you girl! Stunning. And Miss Nina West -”

Nina flinches a bit, not knowing what to expect. He’s going for campy, not glamourous, and compared to Asia - or Monet - well, there’s no comparison. None.

“Gorgeous,” Monet says simply, smile turning soft.

Nina swallows. “You too,” he chokes out through a throat that is suddenly completely dry, the Sahara Desert. He sounds more like Harvey Fierstein than he did during Snatch Game.

Abort, abort. Nina gets away as fast as he can, grabs an empty seat without really caring if it’s his.

“You okay?” Asia asks him, and Nina nods, doesn’t dare try to speak again. He’ll grab some water before his act.

A second later, Vanessa slams into the seat beside Nina, legs folded and arms crossed. Nina gives him an anxious look and decides to risk it.

“What’s going on with you and Laganja?”

Vanjie just blinks his eyelashes.

“Bitch is just running her mouth about shit that don’t concern her, like who gets to come back and when. Shit like that.”

“Oh.” Nina thinks back to Brooke’s hands onVanjie’s shoulders, voice quiet and intent. “Are you all right?”

He hears Vanjie take a deep breath. Sees his chest rise and fall in his peripheral vision.

“I’m gonna use it.” He casts a pressed look over at Nina, pursing his lips. “But don’t tell that blonde bitch I said any of this.”

Which one? Nina wants to ask. Brooke or Laganja?

“Never,” Nina swears, and then the rest of the queens file in beside them and the show begins.

Blair St. Clair is up first, singing. She struts slowly toward the standing microphone in the middle of the stage, dressed like a sixties songstress. As the torch-song instrumental track kicks in, Blair looks up and catches Nina’s eye.

And starts to sing:

“This is awwwwkward.

He’s seen you naked, now you’re on TV.

I’m pretty sure the other queens can see

How obvious you’re being,

Nina…”

Nina - cannot be hearing this right. He looks at Asia and Vanjie beside him, but neither one of them seem to think anything is weird about Blair’s song.

“This is awwwwkward.

You have to work together on this show

Now it’s a countdown ‘til the judges know

That you got drunk and made it awkward…”

Someone has turned on a disco ball, and the stage is covered with spinning flecks of mirrored light. The music picks up, beat growing harder.

“You can’t blame tequila for this.

Blame it all on a kiss.

Blame the night, the mood

The way you were feeling….

You can’t say it was a mistake

Cuz girl I see your hand shake

When you push it down inside you

Though you try you cannot fight the -”

At this point, Blair stretches out her arm, fully pointing at Nina in the crowd, while she takes the melody up an octave.

“Awwwwkward

You thought you left it in the past somewhere

But good God girl don’t let him see you stare

Nina West I swear

You’ll make it awwwkward…”

People are clapping, but Nina hears it coming from another room, as if there are walls between him and the rest of the audience. That couldn’t have been - that wasn’t -

“She kinda all over the place, huh?” Asia whispers to him

Nina has momentarily forgotten how to speak. He tries to clear his throat.

“What was… Um. Her song was called what again?”

Asia laughs. “Girl, I don’t even know. ‘Heathered’ or ‘Flickered.’ Some shit like that. Why, you wanna buy it on iTunes?”

“Not, um. Not ‘Awkward’?” Because he knows what he heard. A song directed right at him. Because his instincts were right and everyone knows what happened the night of the finale.

“No.” Asia narrows her eyes. “Though that could probably be a song about her career since Season Ten. Oh, bitch - ‘Ganja’s act’s up.”

It’s… An act. It’s supposed to be some kind of lyrical dance piece, and Nina knows that Laganja is an incredible dancer, but this is… Well. Not great, to be honest. It’s an excellent distraction from his incoming panic attack, and Nina almost sighs in relief. He can at least do better than this number, if nothing else.

Nina Bo’nina Brown shocks the hell out of everyone when she produces a silver flute from underneath a caftan and skillfully plays a rendition of Sissy That Walk. Ru looks impressed, if maybe a little bored. Nina tries not to bite off his acrylics.

The real wildcard is Ivy because everyone remembers her stilts and everyone remembers her voice, and if it were Nina, he’d sing an aria while parading around on stilts because hey. Work what you’ve got.

But instead they cut almost all the lights, and Ivy performs a shadow puppetry show full of jokes that Nina’s sure he could process if only he wasn’t so damn nervous.

Shea lip-syncs, and fucking slays it just like Nina knew she would. There are three reveals, if he’s counting right. Vanjie’s fingers have gradually tightened around Nina’s wrist, and by the time Shea’s act is over and Vanessa is up, Nina’s fairly certain he has bruises.

Vanjie stands, straightens his silver beaded gown, and sucks in a deep breath. Then Brooke leans forward and fixes a strand of fringe that’s snagged on Vanessa’s pantyhose. Vanjie jerks away like he’s been scalded.

“Break a leg,” Brooke says softly, trying his hardest not to look hurt by the reaction.

Vanjie nods and sets his jaw before marching backstage.

Nina shakes his head, focuses on his own routine instead of the drama playing out in front of him.

Whatever’s happening between Vanessa and Laganja, whatever’s happening between him and Brooke, Vanjie absolutely channels it. Nina can’t remember how many times he’s seen Vanjie perform, but this is unparalleled. It’s like lightning set loose on the stage. He’s a whirlwind of silver beads, white feathers, peach hair, spinning-melding-mixing to the throbbing bass of a Lorde song Nina’s heard but can’t place. Despite his nerves, Nina can’t turn away. Behind him, Brooke is steadily tearing his copy of the lineup into confetti.

That’s a legitimate fucking All Star.

Asia dances the house down, then Miz Cracker has Ru and Michelle hanging onto each other and crying from her standup. Whatever weirdness is going on between Nina and Cracker is beside the point. The bitch is hilarious and that could be a problem for him.

He knows there are acting challenges to come (All Stars is infamous for them), and it would be nice to have Cracker on his side. Whatever this rift is, he needs to mend it and quickly.

So when Cracker comes off stage, Nina reaches for her hand and congratulates her. “You were great!” he says with enthusiasm.

Cracker gives him a terse smile, flips her hair, and takes her seat next to Blair. Nina guesses a terse smile is better than a look of pure vitriol. Progress. Progress is good.

Blair… Blair’s been crying quietly ever since she came off stage. Apparently she’s very upset with her number. To be honest, Nina’s pretty upset with her number also. He knows what he heard. What he can’t figure out is why no one else seems at all shocked about it. (Okay, so maybe Nina might be hallucinating. What’s a bit of light hallucination between friends?)

A couple of P.A.s set up Nina’s props for him while the cameras are resetting. He feels himself spiraling, but shakes his head, refusing to be rattled. He tries to focus on his character, on the challenge that he’s about to fucking slay. He tries to focus on the crown.

But as he walks out onto the stage, blinking at first against the lights, the only thing he can see is the corner of Monet’s mouth, lips curling as he says “Gorgeous,” eyes warm and intent like - like he means it (which he doesn’t, which he can’t, which -)

“Ladies and gentlemen and gentlemen and ladies and gentlemen!” Nina greets the audience.

He takes a breath -

- and by the time he exhales the act is over. He’s walking off stage, hands trembling with adrenaline.

They laughed, right? He’s pretty sure they laughed. Did Ru laugh? He might have. Nina can’t remember most of it.

As he moves on autopilot back to his seat, some of the other queens congratulate him. It couldn’t have been a complete disaster then? He catches Monet’s eye, and Monet smiles. (Nina feels that smile like electricity, running through his nervous system and lighting it up like a Christmas tree.)

Stop it.

Vanjie squeezes his arm when he sits back down. He’s beaming.

“Bitch, it’s over. That’s the show, sis. Cut the cheque.”

“I - really? Thank you, I mean. Really?”

“Don’t be all modest and shit, you must’ve heard the judges laughing. Thought Ru was gonna die, I’m serious. Trixie probably already dialing 9-1-1. Bitch is on that phone enough.”

Nina has no idea what Vanjie’s talking about, but he hopes to God it’s true. Especially because Brooke’s up next, the final act of the evening. (In all honesty, the one that everyone has probably been waiting for.)

The Canadian has gone full Black Swan for this performance, right down to the black feathered pointe shoes and jagged wings that look like they’re protruding out of his skin. As Brooke starts to dance, Nina hears Vanjie swallow.

Sees him look away, turn his head slightly to the left (it’s like the sun, maybe. You’re not supposed to look at it directly or it will blind you).

Brooke’s beautiful and vicious and fatal on stage, and Nina’s pretty sure Vanjie is holding his breath. His hands are clenched together in his lap, knuckles turning white. Nina still feels the ache of Brooke’s beauty sometimes. It comes and goes, especially when he’s been drinking. He imagines that it always will.

He reaches out, puts his hand over top of Vanjie’s. Vanjie flinches in surprise. Then he lets out a quiet breath, and Brooke finishes his routine, falling gracefully to his knees.

Perfect. Flawless. Everyone else here is completely fucked.

“Meh,” Nina whispers in Vanjie’s ear, maybe to reassure himself just as much as Vanessa. Maybe.

But it makes Vanjie laugh just the tiniest bit, and it settles Nina’s stomach, and it’s the least he can do for now.

* * *

He’s lost track of how long they’ve been standing on the runway, but he knows his feet are numb, and he doesn’t think Monet has blinked once. He’s just… looking at him. At all the queens, probably. Clearly.

Shea, Ivy, Asia, and Miz Cracker are all declared safe and sent back to the Werk Room. Nina’s heart sinks a little. He wanted to think he was in the top if Vanjie’s glowing comments meant anything, but he isn’t sure he was better than Cracker. That’s terrifying because if she’s safe that means Nina’s… potentially… not.

But there’s Monet again, smiling at him from the audience. Nina takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the critiques.

“Ladies,” Ru says. “You represent the tops and the bottoms of the week. Now for the judges’ critiques. We’ll start with Nina Bo’nina Brown.”

Michelle says it fell flat. Ru says it was flat. Ross loves everybody and finds the silver lining (literally - Nina’s wearing a pink gown with silver lining). Either way, they aren’t impressed. Nina West relaxes a little.

They gush over Vanessa, and they should. Ross says it’s some of the best work he’s ever seen from him. Ru agrees. Michelle says she’s just so happy to see a dress and not a bikini and cape. And, oh yeah, she tacks on, the dancing wasn’t bad either. Passionate, fiery. This is the Vanjie they wanted all last season and didn’t quite get. (To Nina’s left, Brooke ducks his head, accepts the blame silently.)

Laganja’s critique is the opposite of Vanjie’s. The judges are confused to put it lightly… Offended if they’re being honest. And of course Laganja can’t keep her mouth shut.

“I guess I just don’t understand why some people are getting third and fourth and fifth chances while the rest of us are up here working our asses off–”

“Ain’t none of us getting fourth chances, Mary,” Vanjie interjects, and Nina prays he keeps his cool because after a critique like his, the challenge is as good as won.

“I’m just saying that this is your third season in a row, and it might be oversaturation.” Laganja shrugs.

“That’s a big word,” Vanessa retorts. “Where’d you learn that word?”

“Vanj…” Brooke says quietly, which is maybe the worst possible thing that can happen.

“Don’t.” Vanessa’s voice is low, threatening. “I need you to not talk to me right now.”

Brooke physically wilts, collapses in on himself. Nina focuses on the spot on the wall just above Michelle’s head.

“Moving on,” Ru says and diplomatically ends the conversation. “Nina West!”

“So glad to have you back, Nina.” Michelle smiles (she smiles!) “You are still a delight.”

Nina could melt into the stage. Could just become a puddle of vaguely Nina-shaped goo and it would be okay because Michelle is beaming at him, praising him for his newly acquired magic skills, and Ru is nodding along.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in years,” Ru admits. “You really can tell that you’ve taken our critiques from last season and applied them. It absolutely shows.”

Ross also has kind words (when doesn’t he?), but Nina’s lost in the high of hearing Michelle and Ru praise him, lost in the feeling of success.

They move on to Brooke, whose black eyeliner has run just a little. You could hardly tell from the way he’s holding himself upright, one leg behind the other, perfectly poised. Perfectly Brooke. Perfectly perfect. With the exception of that one streak of eyeliner, a single tear track down his face that he quickly wipes away.

The judges don’t seem to notice, praise instead his going out of his comfort zone, the grittier performance of his Black Swan instead of the grace he was known for on Season 11. Nina guesses they’re right; Brooke seemed to let go on stage, throw himself more into the performance. It was still flawless, every move calculated and textbook, but there was more emotion behind those grey eyes today than Nina thinks he’s ever seen from Brooke on stage.

Brooke thanks them, bows his head demurely, clasps his hands in front of his body.

Then they come to Blair.

“Oh, Blair.” Michelle shakes her head. “It was just a mess.”

Blair nods. Blair nods through most of it. Nina tries to listen, but still can’t reconcile the fact that apparently the entire room heard something completely different than what he did.

“I know I let you all down,” Blair says through tears. “And I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll do better.”

Ru smiles, but it’s tense and forced. “Based on the judges’ critiques,” he says, looking up and down the line, “I’ve made some decisions.”

Nina’s heart is in his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t focus, can’t keep himself upright.

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, Nina West: you are the top two All Stars of the week.”

Nina’s heart bursts. Actual sparks are shooting from his chest (okay, not actual, but you couldn’t prove it by the warmth that radiates through him). He ventures a look out towards the mentors and sees Trixie and Monet on their feet high-fiving each other. And Monet’s looking at him and smiling, smiling, smiling.

Down the line, Vanessa is laughing. His hands are clasped together in front of his chest and his head is thrown back like he’s praying, but he’s laughing.

“You’ve each won a seven-night stay at the Atlantis Hotel in Nassau Paradise Beach, Bahamas,” Ru says, and Nina almost faints. “Nina Bo’nina Brown, Brooke Lynn Hytes: you are both safe.”

Nina hears Brooke exhale before he lifts his head and smiles up at the judges.

“That means Laganja Estranja and Blair St. Clair: I’m sorry, but you are in the bottom two.”

Blair cries even harder, and Nina kind of wants to hug her.

“Vanjie and Nina,” Ru continues, and oh shit, Nina might have forgotten this part of winning in All Stars. “Each of you needs to decide which one of the bottom two you will eliminate if you win the lip-sync.”

Nina’s heart is in his throat. He’s got to send one of his sisters home.

“While you deliberate backstage, the judges and I will… perform trust falls.”

It gets a laugh, but when they all file into the backstage lounge, Nina realizes he’s shaking. A couple of the girls grab cocktails (not Vanjie or Brooke) but Nina doesn’t need anything affecting his focus right now. He feels simultaneously sick and elated. Also a bit worried this might all be the result of a head injury or something. Maybe he tripped and fell on the very first day, and everything from then on has just been in his mind. It would explain whatever the hell happened with Blair’s performance.

“Congrats Top Two!” Asia raises her glass at Nina. “X-Queens represent. How you feel girls?”

The producers have been very clear that they’re supposed to talk this whole thing over, but Nina is having trouble finding the words. Vanjie’s quiet too, and he catches Nina’s eye from across the room, gives him a small smile.

“It’s good, you know. First challenge win, right. It’s gotta feel good.”

Brooke’s watching him, silent, with eyes that are so soft.

“Congratulations Vanjie,” Nina says the thing that Brooke would clearly say if his nerves would let him. “You deserve it.”

“So how are you going to decide?” Nina Bo’nina asks. “Every year they ask that, you gonna follow some rules or -”

“Hell no.” Vanjie cuts her off. “I don’t think that’s somethin’ that works out. You gotta listen to the judges but also - listen to yourself, right? I ain’t gonna just lay it all out now -”

“So I guess that means I’m fucking going home.” Laganja’s voice is shrill and sudden, and she stomps away from the group, heading towards the mirrors.

“No,” Vanessa calls after her. “I ain’t saying that, bitch. Listen -”

“Well you’ve already made your mind up!” Laganja shouts back. “So fuck me, right?”

Nina wants to make himself as small as possible. He knows that his eyes are probably wide, and his smile is probably crooked.

“No one is saying that, Laganja!” Shea doesn’t turn her head, but says it loud enough to be heard across the room.

“Yeah fucking right!” Laganja screams back, and Nina is - above all, a ‘nice’ person, and he’s not going to keep a conversation going like this, so -

He takes a deep breath and crosses the room to go talk to her.

They end up sitting in a corner somewhere that a P.A. has set up big velveteen chairs specifically for the purposes of these conversations. Laganja isn’t crying but her eyes are watery, and Nina can’t help but feel sympathy.

“Listen,” he says, because that is a respectable way to start a conversation. “I think you’re a great performer, I think you deserve to be here.”

Laganja sniffles miserably.

“We don’t have to talk about anything, but I wanted to - if you wanted to - give you a chance -” To what, Nina? “State your case. Or make an argument. Whatever you like.”

Laganja looks up at her.

“Or we can just sit in awkward silence, that’s fine too,” Nina says with a shrug. “I did attend a lot of waspy family dinners in the Midwest. At this point, I have a PhD in awkward silences.”

Laganja - actually smiles at this. Then she sighs.

“It’s sweet that you think you’re going to win.”

Oh.

Okay.

After that, the conversation dies a pretty natural death. Nina doesn’t know what else to say. She wishes Laganja luck, and then Laganja straight up refuses to talk to Vanjie. Fine. She’s making her choices.

Blair cries through most of her time with Nina (which is too bad because Nina is trying to figure out the least alarming way of asking her what the hell she sang about). Nina doesn’t know if Vanjie talks to Blair, but - really, it probably doesn’t matter. Maybe Laganja will be ready for a later season of All Stars (hopefully her edit will be kind) but she’s clearly not there yet. Even though she was kind of the worst, Nina almost feels bad for her. She’s talented, she just needs to get out of her own way.

They film him and Vanjie as they pick out their lipsticks. Nina plays up the conflict, but he can’t imagine it’s a huge choice for either of them. He smiles at Vanjie, squeezes his hand as they prepare to go back on stage with the rest of the queens.

The lights feel brighter than they were before. Nina hasn’t been this nervous since the last time he stood on stage waiting to lip-sync against Silky. It doesn’t make any sense when he thinks about it, because the stakes were so much higher that time. He knows he’s safe this time around, knows he’s coming back for another week regardless of how this whole thing with Vanjie plays out. The $10,000 would be nice, but is it worth it to have to send someone home Week One?

Fuck it. He wants the validation. Wants to prove that he is a good lip-syncer. Wants to shove aside all the shame that still burns hot in his belly when he thinks about giving his everything to stay on this stage and having it not be enough.

Production stops him and Vanjie just behind the stage and lets the other girls get into position before they walk onto the runway. Vanessa takes the opportunity to turn to Nina and pull him into a hug.

“However this goes, girl,” he says into Nina’s shoulder, “there ain’t no one else I’d have wanted to share this win with.”

“Same.” Nina breathes a shaky sigh into Vanessa’s hair.

Then production waves them in and they walk down the runway side-by-side. Nina blocks everything else out, tries not to see the other girls (especially Laganja and Blair, who stand to the right of the stage, barely visible in the lighting.) Nina doesn’t risk a glance at the mentors. He can’t handle seeing Monet and that perfect Goddamn smile right now.

Nina holds his head up high, focuses on Ru, runs the lyrics over and over in his head.

“Welcome back, ladies,” Ru says quietly. His entire demeanor is different now that it’s time to send the first queen home. “Two top All Stars stand before me. Ladies, this is your chance to impress me, win ten thousand dollars, and earn the power to give one of the bottom queens the chop. The time has come for you to lip-sync for your legacy. Good luck, and don’t fuck it up.”

The lights flash (Nina knows they will make this look far more dramatic on TV than it does on the stage, but it doesn’t help settle his stomach any) and the feel-good, pop beat of Lizzo’s “Juice” blares through the speakers.

Nina – goes insular. Doesn’t focus on Vanjie, doesn’t focus on anything other than the words of the song, the rhythm, the moves he’s making. Spin here. Dip there. Prance across the stage and pose. Hip rolls.

He couldn’t tell you what Vanessa’s doing, not until they reach the bridge, when Vanjie grabs his shoulder and points at the back of the stage to Brooke Lynn.

It takes a minute, then Nina realizes what part of the song they’re on.

“Somebody come get this man

I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what?

You better come get your man

I think he wanna be way more than friends, what?

More than friends

What you want me to say?”

Nina shrugs, so Vanjie waves him off and they finish the song together, egging each other on through the last chorus until Vanessa ends with a triumphant death drop.

RuPaul, Michelle, and Ross are clapping and laughing, and it’s the exact opposite of the “meh” Nina got the last time he finished a lip-sync. He feels like he could fly. The mentors are on their feet, applauding, and there in the center is Monet, nodding and looking at him with eyes that are far too beautiful and soft.

Nina makes himself look away, looks at Ru, at the judges’ panel. There’s a brief camera break while production hands back their lipsticks and they secure them deep in their outfits. Vanessa opts for his bra; Nina goes with the sleeve of his leotard.

Once Ru is given the cue, he clears his throat. He looks them both over for a moment. And then:

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, you’re a winner, baby. You’ve earned a cash tip of ten thousand dollars. That means Trixie Mattel – you are also a winner, baby.”

“Oh, yay!” Trixie yelps from the mentors’ seats in the audience.

“You’ve won a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

Vanjie’s doing that clasped-hand-prayer thing again, so Nina immediately walks over and hugs him. (He’s a hugger, even if Vanjie isn’t. Vanjie might be. Nina isn’t sure. Today, it would appear, they all are.)

It’s okay that he lost, Nina tells himself. There will be more lip-syncs, and he’s safe for another week. So he didn’t win ten thousand dollars, so what? He’s going to the Bahamas! And he doesn’t have to make an enemy yet. Everyone knows how that worked out for Shangela…

“Nina West,” Ru says, glancing at him, “you are safe. You may join the other girls.”

Nina pulls away from Vanjie, squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, and takes his place beside Brooke.

“Congrats,” Brooke whispers, reaching for his hand. Nina just nods in acknowledgement. His head is still spinning too quickly for him to think clearly.

“Will the bottom two queens please step forward?” Ru asks.

There’s a pause and the room goes deathly quiet as Blair and Laganja walk to the center of the stage, grasping hands. Blair has cried almost all of her makeup off. Nina’s heart aches for her. If she stays, Blair is the next person Nina’s going to hug. He’s drafting a list.

Ru shifts in her chair. “Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, with great power comes great responsibility. Which queen have you chosen to get the chop?”

Vanjie swallows hard, takes a deep breath, steels himself. “I just wanna say that the person I chose is fierce as fuck. I was so excited to see her back in the Werk Room because I think she didn’t get a real good shot last time. I wanted to give you another chance, I really did, but you still letting your personal opinions about people and things get in the way and there ain’t room for that on All Stars.” Vanessa reaches into his bra and pulls out his lipstick. “So I’m sorry, but I gotta send you home, Laganja.”

Laganja just nods, tilts her head with a bit of a wry smile. (She did know it was coming, even after everything they did to assuage her fears. But Laganja’s always been a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.) She turns to Blair, gives her a quick hug, and then Blair practically runs to the back of the stage.

Nina opens his arms immediately, and Blair practically melts into him. He cradles her head, wipes the runny mascara from beneath her eyes.

“You’re still here. It’s okay.” If he’s got to be the mom of this season, so be it.

“Laganja Estranja,” RuPaul says, “as it is written, so it shall be done. You are and will always be an All Star. Now, sashay away.”

“Thank you so much,” Laganja says. Then she presses her forefinger and thumb together, brings them to her lips, and mimes taking a long drag from a joint. “It’s always four-twenty when ‘Ganja’s in the house, okurrrrrr?”

They clap and bid Laganja farewell (Shea rolls her eyes a bit, but not in a super obvious way). Nina feels himself relax for the first time all day.

“Con-drag-ulations, All Stars,” RuPaul says to them with a broad smile. “And remember, if you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else, can I get an amen up in here?”

“Amen!” the queens chorus in unison. Nina takes Blair’s hand and leads her back onto the runway as “Kitty Girl” plays over the speakers and the mentors join them on stage.

Trixie and Brooke both head straight for Vanjie, but Trixie wins the race. She embraces Vanessa, begins a slow, hilarious two-step that doesn’t match the music at all, but makes them all laugh.

Then there’s a tap on Nina’s shoulder and Monet is standing behind him. It catches Nina by surprise because he smells the same. Like mint toothpaste and sandalwood and hairspray.

Monet doesn’t speak, doesn’t have to. He just hugs Nina.

And Nina swallows down the stupid, pointless ache in his heart, and lets him.

57 notes · View notes

a-secondhand-sorrow · 5 years

Text

I can finally see you’re as fucked up as me (so how do we win?)

I love dodie and kleinsen and I have many regrets but this has yet to become one of them. give it a hot second tho it’ll happen

trigger warnings: suicide, suicideal idealation, alchohol mention, depression

***

“You’re just a family friend. Speaking of which, could you mention to your mom I’ve been being nice to you? I need my car insurance payed.”

Jared’s already flinching inwardly at how crass he sounds. It’s not even distancing; it’s straight up dickish. But he makes sure to keep his face the same calculated blank expression as always, and Evan nods, an expression Jared can’t quite read on his face.

But really, Jared knows. He knows he’s not fooling Evan when he says they’re only family friends. He doesn’t even believe himself.

***

Jared’s not quite sure when he became an asshole.

Or, no-he’s pretty sure he’s always had the asshole-ness inside of him. More accurately, he’s not sure what made him share it.

(If he’s honest with himself, he knows damn well what. But honesty has never been Jared’s forté, especially with himself.)

Since he doesn’t care much for honesty, he can just continue on being a dick, without much problem.

He’s already invisible to everyone; no one really cares about him, and he knows they can’t stand him. He can’t even stand himself.

But there’s Evan. Evan, with the patience of a goddamn saint. Evan, who puts up with him being an asshole who blows him off and says he only hangs out with him to appease his parents. Evan, who has never once turned Jared away when he needed human contact.

(Evan, with the most beautiful eyes and glowing personality and infuriatingly nice hair, even though his anxiety may mask it.)

And Evan is all he has, which he’s perfectly fine with because he’d be fine with only Evan for the rest of his life, except for the fact that every time he sees him he screws things up and he knows that one day Evan will be done with his shit and finally leave. It’s a day Jared knows has to be coming, since he’s such a fuckup and he’ll have to wake up. Jared can’t even handle himself. And if Evan ever knew just how deep things went—

He could never know.

So Jared pushed Evan away and kept him at arms’ length with the assistance of “family friends” and cruel jokes. He could almost ignore the pang in his chest every time he saw him frown at one of his jokes or stare at the table during lunch. He could almost ignore the way Evan walked on eggshells around him. He could almost ignore the sleepless nights where he wondered how Evan was, what it would feel like to be able to reach out without letting down his carefully curated veneer.

And that was fine. It wasn’t good, or enjoyable. But it was fine. He was fine.

Until he realized there was nothing else for him, besides Evan. All his middle school friends had ditched him long before when he became too “clingy,” both his parents worked full-time, and he didn’t do anything.

He slapped a crooked smile on his face and sharpened his wit so he’d always have a joke ready to deflect with. He forced himself into seats at lunch tables with barely-even-acquaintances. He broke into his parents liquor cabinet and drank himself asleep.

Words became his weapons as he wrapped himself in humor like armor, wielded his cruelty like a sword, wore a fake confidence to cover all of his insecurities. He was never anywhere but he forced himself everywhere. He didn’t think he was funny but he built himself around his jokes. He was never happy but he was never upset, either.

He could almost convince himself it was all true.

Jared became one hell of an actor.

And that’s...fine.

And if Evan finds him having a panic attack in the bathroom one day because the acting was just too much, he never talks about it.

If Evan, with the tiny crease between his brows as they furrowed in concern, with his hands gripping at his shirt, with his eyes nervously darting to Jared’s but knowing exactly what to do, was the only thing that could actually calm him down, he didn’t think much of it.

If he wanted nothing more than to apologize in that moment, if nothing else, or to lean in and kiss him and feel Evan’s arms wrap around him as panic finally left him, to leave the bathroom hand in hand and never let go, he never said it.

And if he knew, in that moment, that he’d fallen in love, he never let on.

If he bit out an insult about how much of a freak Evan was and how he’d never need help from a loser like him, he’d never admit it.

If he could feel his heart tear as Evan’s eyes watered and his hand dropped and he rushed out of the bathroom leaving Jared to resume his uneven breathing, he refused to acknowledge it.

If he sunk to the floor and dropped his head into his hands and finally let himself cry, for the first time in several years, he never mentioned it.

He told himself all of that, anyway. He never was one for honesty. He could almost believe it, too.

(He never quite did.)

And that’s fine. Even though it’s really not fine...it’s fine.

It’s not good, but it’s normal, and Jared will take it.

Change is just too much.

Senior year is just another step in the road. After senior year, he’s off to college and finally away from the suffocating persona he’s crafted for himself.

And Evan has a broken arm.

Which would be normal, except Jared knows damn well that as much as Evan loves trees he’d never climb one.

Unless he was planning something drastic.

He sees something, something deep within the set of Evan’s shoulders and the depths of his pupils. Something he’s felt echoing in his own mind increasingly, broken and distorted.

But Jared’s one to talk.

It’s almost as though he’s willed it into existence, but a few days later Connor Murphy kills himself.

Hey, loving the new haircut, very school-shooter chic.

When he finds out, he takes the day off of school. Something settled in the pit of his stomach, a dark and writhing shame that felt like a question.

His mother tries to find out what’s making him so sick, but eventually he convinces her to let him stay home alone. She’s against it, and she means well, he knows she does, but for once he really wishes his parents could just say no.

Once she’s gone, he crawls his way out of bed and makes his way through the house with slow, heavy steps. He’s never noticed how filled the house is with pictures, mostly of him as a child, all beaming at the camera with that opened-mouth smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt happy enough to smile like that. He couldn’t imagine ever feeling like that again.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. And that’s fine.

He’s in front of the liquor cabinet before he knows he is. Unconsciously, he’s pulling out that bottle of vodka he knows has been sitting there for years, taking a swig that’s probably a little heavier than recommended with an upset stomach.

It’s habit. It’s normal. But it feels different, almost.

Jesus, Connor Murphy’s dead days after you call him a school shooter. You might as well be dead too, huh?

You’re the fucking freak.

He takes another swig out of the bottle, feeling it burn on the way down.

No use being alive when you’re already invisable, right? Who’s gonna grieve you? Your parents who never make sure you’re okay? Your classmates who laugh at your jokes but call you clingy? All the people you torment just because it makes you feel like you have some social standing? The boy you’ve been desperately in love with for three years who deserves way better than a dick who won’t even be seen with him in public?

If this is his life, than living isn’t worth shit.

There’s sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet upstairs. Or he could clear out the liquor cabinet and hope that that’s enough.

Either way, another drink wouldn’t hurt.

He thinks of Evan for a moment. There’s nothing for him but Evan, but he doesn’t deserve a minute of Evan’s time. There’ll be no pain for Evan if he’s gone. The only pain will be what Jared is feeling, and once that’s out of the equation...

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door, frantic and sporadic.

Shoving the bottle back into the cabinet, Jared smoothely makes his way to the front door, hoping he looks sick enough to pass.

All he gets is another wave of nausea while Evan stares up at him, hair disheveled and breathing ragged.

“Oh my god,” Evan says, and it’s only then that Jared realizes Evan’s entire body is shaking. He launches himself at Jared, arms wrapping around his neck. He’s shaking so hard Jared is surprised he was still standing out there.

Without thinking, Jared wraps one arm around Evan’s shoulders while attempting to close the door around him.

They stand like that for another moment before Evan attempted to explain himself.

“I’m sorry, I just, god, I know you don’t want to hear from me and I know you hate me but I’m in a really bad place and I can’t believe Connor Murphy is dead and I feel so horrible because he stole my letter—”

Jared pulls back. now that he can feel Evan becoming steadier, and cuts him off. “Wait, wait, sorry, just—”

“I, um, I had to write letters to myself as a therapy assignment and I was printing one on the first day and Connor saw it and freaked out and the whole thing sounded like a suicide note—”

“What?”

“And,” Evan continues his word vomit. “I think—I think that might have been part of why he’s—oh god.” which is punctuated by Evan dropping his head into his hands.

Jared blinks once, trying to process everything. “Wait, but, why...did it sound like a suicide note?”

Evan doesn’t move, but Jared swears he can hear a sniffle.

“Evan,” and this time, his voice is soft but clear, coercing him into looking back up. “Were you going to...”

Evan’s eyes go wide. “No! Not then. I don’t think. Except,” he pauses, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “It wasn’t— it was earlier this year and-I don’t know why I’m here, I’m so sorry, just, bye, I’ll leave—”

“Jesus Christ, Evan,” Jared said, trying to sound just annoyed enough that the affection and worry in his voice would be masked. “What is it?”

“I didn’t fall.” He blurts, and Jared is silenced. “From the tree. This summer. I let go. I...”

Somehow, Jared knows what Evan was going to say. His tone is flat as he fills in where Evan left off. “...felt like you could disappear? Like it would be better if you did?”

Evan nods, not quite meeting Jared’s eyes.

Puzzle pieces start to click in Jared’s brain, even through the fair amount he’d had to drink. “And that’s why you came here. Because you thought that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to stop.” He was suddenly aware of his palms shaking and stomach turning over, vision tunneling so all he could see was Evan. Evan wanted to die, and it was his fault, at least partially.

Jared could’ve burst into tears. He just managed to swallow the lump down.

We’re just family friends.

Evan’s saying something, but Jared can’t remember what. There’s the bottle of vodka, and there’s the sleeping pills upstairs. They’re sorely tempting, but Evan’s standing in front of him. How could he want to die when Evan is standing in front of him, needing him to save him?

He wanted nothing more, but how could he save Evan when his own brain wanted nothing more than release?

How could he save Evan when he’d been part of the reason for his destruction?

Now it’s Jared who can’t meet Evan’s eyes, and he begins to ask “how did you knows this?” His eyes fall on the hastily hidden vodka bottle and the cabinet which had fallen open in Jared’s haste to get to the door.

Jared scrambled to explain. “I-I just, I was a dick to Connor and I was horrible and he’s—no one cares about me anyway but I’ve still been horrible enough to someone that they killed themselves and—now it’s like, you felt...like that, and it’s just—how can I keep going in like this? I’m just,” he broke off for a moment, choking over his words, “all I do is hurt people.”

“No,” Evan breathes, looking more crestfallen than before. He shoots himself forward again, lips crashing against Jared’s, and the world crashes to a halt just for a moment. It’s desperate and hurried and frantic, but Jared feels that he could smile again, even if this moment is his last with Evan. Or last ever.

There’s a million unsaid things in the air, but somehow in the space of a moment he hears all of them. They’re everything he’s needed to hear for the last seventeen years. I need yous and you’re important to mes and it wasn’t yous and I love yous.

Evan pulls away too quickly, murmuring another no as he buries his face in Jared’s chest. “No. You can’t... I wouldn’t...”

“Oh yeah?” Jared says, voice choked with tears. “How do you think I felt when you said it, asshole?”

Evan laughs a little, a wet, discordant thing, but still reaches up to kiss Jared again. And then they’re both crying, not quite sure how to move forward but desperately grasping at each other to make sure the other won’t disappear.

Those unspoken things hang in the air again, but they ignore them for a moment. There’s an adrenaline rush coursing through their veins, terrifying and intoxicating and suffocating at the same time. There’s only one thing that’s abundantly clear: they’d both been ready to see the end that day. It turned out that this was just another beginning.

Neither is fine, but fine is overrated anyway.

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talons-mcbeak · 5 years

Text

The cool and fun thing that is happening in my brain right now is that I am interpreting “not currently actively engaged in interactions with friends” as “they all have forgotten that I even exist and somehow simultaneously are relieved to have forgotten that I exist.”

Which, like, that’s insane, right? Not only the logical inconsistency in what my idiot brain is telling me, but just like the fact that I apparently don’t understand that other people have indeed mastered object permanence?

I mean, I very much remember that my friends exist and that I love them, even when I am not interacting with them. And I have no real reason to think that they don’t do the same, other than that my brain is a bullshit liar and for some reason it wants me to trust a bullshit liar over the large body of evidence that my friends do, indeed, care about me and are glad I exist and still love me even when they aren’t directly interacting with me.

So my brain - and I am very intentionally referring to it as a separate entity because I’m at war with it, goddammit - has taken “I am currently by myself” and wildly spun it into “nobody wants you around, they’re happier without you, they don’t want to be reminded that you exist, they all hate you, they barely tolerate you, everything you do is wrong and annoying, you are a burden and a nuisance, why would you ever think you deserve friends, they’d be better off not having to deal with you anymore, and you’ll never be good enough for any of them to want to keep you around.”

Which is

G A R B A G E

And I’m trying so fucking hard to just kind of listen to that garbage voice, hear it out, let it shout whatever it wants at me, and then respond with “okay, but counterpoint: you’re a bullshit liar and nothing you just said has any basis in reality, so how about you go fuck yourself.”

Writing all of this out is kind of the first time in a long time that I’ve been able to remember, in real time when I’m currently being shouted at by Garbage Voice, that I do have the power and the ability and the option to just say “no, fuck off.” I don’t think I’m really able to say it all that convincingly right now. And just like any well-practiced abuser, Garbage Voice is a master of gaslighting, shouting right back that “you don’t know what you’re talking about, you can’t trust your own memory, you can’t trust your own experience, don’t kid yourself, you know I’m right...” the usual routine.

But also, fuck that.

Motherfucker, I just got away from an abuser. (More accurately, my best friend just got me away from an abuser, and that’s some goddamn dedicated friendship. See? Of course my friends care about me. Jesus fucking christ.) Point is, I just got done dealing with an abuser, and I sure the fuck don’t need another one living in my own motherfucking brain.

I don’t need some fucking jackass constantly shouting abusive lies at me and trying to ruin the relationships that make me so goddamn happy.

I don’t need some asshole telling me that I need to hurt myself in a literal, physical sense in order to atone for being just such a terrible person which I’m actually fucking not.

I don’t need to feel constantly on edge and insecure and hair-trigger anxious because some goddamn shithead keeps trying to convince me that everyone I love is one awkward interaction away from abandoning me forever.

And I very much don’t need to be dedicating so much brainpower to fighting off an abusive fuckhead that I don’t have any energy left to devote to creativity, empathy, humor, caring for myself, caring for people I love, all the things I would very much like to be able to do again, right fucking now.

I deserve better.

Hoot hoot.

#hoot hoot #brain fuckery #remember this

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iknowyoubutyoudontknow · 5 years

Text

Little help requested.

((Connor rk800 x reader((I think?))))

I want to get better at writin' storys/one shots, to do that I need ya'r feedback.

And please be truthful, what did ya' like and what not, what is ok/good and what needs to be improved.

Here's the story, NOT Ac, but DBH, I couldn't get the idea out of my mind.

_____________________

"No!" exclaimed the [H/C] haired girl as she promptly closed the door, right in front of hanks face, before hurrying to her bed.

"[Y/N], move your ass out of that room, there's God damn nothing you have to be afraid of!" after a few moments of silent his fist began to rudely loudly knock on on the door, causing the female to jump further away from it. "They're evil! Never! Over my. fucking. dead. body!" Came the furious answer, still hank heard the little crack in your voice, knowing very well how frightened you are.

"If you aren't coming out of there right now-" her [E/C] eyes widened as she looked around the room for a hiding place. A hopeless chuckle escaped her dry lips as she focused her glance once again on the door.

Connor is here as well, she is sure of it, Right outside of the door, the fact that Hank never finished his threatening and the soft whispers made your heart beat faster in fear. Noticing that you still hadn't found a hiding spot made your hands begin to sweat and after a while you began to back up to her window, like a deer standing in front of wolves.

After all your bedroom wasn't very large, a bed to your left and the old table, wich you still had from your childhood, stood right to her, next to the door stood a simple shelf. Nothing too big or small, a normal room.

"[Y/N], I apologize in advance, as I see myself forced to break down the door if you won't open it." called Connor, already standing before said door.

A gasp was heard from inside, Connor looked questioning to Hank, who just shrugged and knocked again. "Kiddo, better back off before the door hits you." As expected a crash came as Connor broke down the door, Hank looked around before focusing on your open window, muttering a few curses under his breath. "For Fuck's sake!"

You ran as quickly as you could, not even sparing a glance back. Connor and Hank clearly knew you were gone by this time, for sure. A small grin showed itself on your lips, not today, guys. Not today.

((I think my writing-style changed past here))

The female slowed down a bit, trying to catch her breath. A lost look on her face, not exactly knowing were she was, the streets weren't really busy around this time, so she couldn't hide herself in the crowd.

Frustration clearly showed in her eyes, how was she supposed to hide a whole day if a detective AND an Android followed her? Maybe in a store, in most of them was Android-free zone, but thinking back, Connor never really followed that rule.

The [H/C] haired girl hugged herself in hope to warm up a bit, not noticing the quick steps that approach her. A faint red covered her nose and cheeks, creating a bit warmth on her skin.

A hand fell on her shoulder, without thinking much she turned to the person "Can I he-.. Hank?" he grabbed her wrist before she could pull away completely. "Yeah, kiddo, end of the game." gruffed the older male as he tried to pull her with him.

You tripped a few steps before you could even understand what had happened, not too long after that you started to pull in the other direction. "H-Hank, C'mon, I trusted you! You C-can't do that to me,.. Can you?" the sentence sounded a lot more insecure than wanted.

You didn't stop to pull at your wrist, wanted nothing more than to run away again, as pathetic as it might seem, fleeing was a better option than being brave right now. "Jesus FUcking ChrISt, [Y/N]! Stop with that childish attitude of yours and come to your goddamn senses!"

A part of you wanted to flinch, but the other understood that Hank just cared about your well being, still his tone frightened you a bit. Hanks eyes held a bit sorrow as he watched you silently.

"Listen, I just want your best, even if it doesn't seem so. But if you still insist on doing this the hard way, wich is not a pretty opinion, we're going to do it the hard way."

This time you flinched, looking down like a child that is being scolded.

"W-Where's Connor?"

Actually, you felt like a child, God, you are going to be full of shame the next days, for sure.

"Right here, is something the matter that you asked for my presence, [Y/N]?"

The red on your cheeks grew a bit but you stubbornly refused to gaze up from the pavement. A yelp escaped your lips when Hank pushed you toward Connor, who smoothly takes your right wrist and handcuffs it to his left.

You froze for a few seconds, starring at your wrist and then at Connors. "[Y/N], is everything alright? Your pulse quickened in the last two minuets, if your heart beats any faster you could run the risk of suffering a panic attack."

Connors words seemed way to far away from you to really understand what he was implying. His slight sorrowful eyes focused on you as your breathing became hectic, the free hand pulled on the handcuff, trying to get it off your wrist.

"I'll wait in the car, son."

Connor was utterly confused, you're having half of a panic attack and Hank is going like nothing happens.

"Excuse me Lieutenant, but I don't think It w-"

Tears well up and bring your [E/C] eyes to shine, a fearful touch in them.

"Shadup, she's always that way."

And with that Hank went away, the only problem Connor had now was calming you down, a quick scan showed that you were utterly afraid of something causing your adrenaline to jump up, causing you to breathe like you ran a marathon. Your shaky hands found their to his jacket, gripping it thigtly to not fall, Connor slowly lowered himself with you in a sitting position, seeing that it was the safest of you sat down.

His hands found their way to you cheeks, holding your head and softly wiping away the already fallen tears. Your left hand follows unwillingly, still cuffed to his right, as you grasped on his sleeve. Connors system automatically lowered its voice to a more calming sound, trying to get your attention without scaring you.

"[Y/N]?"

Connor knew that the way you reacted is a paranoia, the problem his system showed him was that he don't know what caused said paranoia.

"[Y/N], If you could look at me for a few minutes then I can help you, but I need your attention to do so." his brown eyes held something that you just couldn't turn away from, your breathing was still way to quick, but luckily you concentrate on him. The android quietly nodded after you mirrored his action to show that he got your attention.

"I know you're scared and it seems the cause is your medical appointment today, but you need go there. There's nobody who would possibly wants to harm you, it's for your health, remember that."

Your breathing calmed down a bit, maybe because of the closeness, his voice or the gentleness, clear is that Connor reached something. "Do you understand..?" Hestination shone in your eyes as you open your mouth to protest, wich he quickly silenced with his thumb on your lips.

"Please concentrate and think again.."

Connors tone was still soft, yet held such authority that you actually did what he requested. A unwilling Nod is the result as your lips part again, not in protest.

"I-If.. I-" Your eyes search for something to focus on, to find safety in, God you were embarrassed.

"Don't- just don't.. H-have to g-go there.."

In the end your gaze fell upon the handcuff wich chained you to him.

"..Alone..?"

The word was whispered, but Connor heard it nonetheless. After a bit of silence he let his hand fall off your cheeks, a soft smile was seeable on Connors lips as he stood up, gently pulling you up with him.

"Everything's fine now?".

You just nodded, way too ashamed to say anything, maybe even a bit angry at yourself, how could you make such drama just because you're scared of something that's supposed to help you? You commented your thoughts with a sigh.

A little tug on your right wrist caught your attention, Connor stood on your left side.

"Uh- C-Conor, what are yo-"

The squeal that left your lips as Connor heaved you into the air let something flutter inside of him.

"Well there's a 47.8% Chance you would have another breakdown, or an other 33.4% chance of you injuring yourself caused by accidents because you are in a dazed like state. Then again there's also a 13.8% you could try to run away again and a 5% choice of you passing out caused by emotional stress"

Said Connor in a matter-of-factly tone as he shifted you a bit in his arms, one under your legs and the other Stabilizing your back. You flinched a bit in its arms as Connor began walking towards Hanks car.

Hank knew you were going to be snappy and angry at them tomorrow, but your health comes first.

_____________________

Please, leave feedback, I kind of beg ya'.

#Connor rk800 x reader?#I tried ma best #'Don't really know if I did it right

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nightmaretyrantvantas · 5 years

Text

I am not my insecurities reflection- a truthful based oneshot

IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE PLEASE READ

Ok, this will be a long author’s note but please bare with me as this is very important for you to understand this oneshot. For some context here because I havent posted alot about her yet, this is a oneshot about my Dc oc Gracie Lucio, set kinda in the same universe(i guess) of the teen titans judas contract movie( with Damian as robin) and its a oneshot written partly out of a vent of my own body image issues and partly out of an expression of how I’ve learned to look past said issues slowly.

But this gets very angsty until the end

Now to give a bit more context for the piece itself. The oc herself, Gracie Lucio( because I havent posted any art of her yet) for the reader’s understanding, she is not human, she is a werewolf(it feeds into her story so dont get me started on it alot of research went into this aspect of her character and it plays into her body issues)and body wise looks similar to Dick in the first season of Young Justice. Shes a naturally thin figured , broader shouldered girl who could( if she really wanted to) pass as a feminine boy with short jaw/ barely chin length hair( think of a thick messy longish pixie cut of dark hair). So shes naturally lean and lanky and a little underdeveloped for a 13 year old girl and as a heroine she has toned muscles from years of hero work. Most wouldnt see her having too many insecurities about her body image and appearance, but in truth shes riddled with them. She ages a bit differently than humans, it takes her body longer to develop and even then in some areas it develops differently all together. She struggles to gain any extra weight or build up natural feminine curves, something she wants. She WANTS to look like other girls her age, with more developed and heavier bodies, with curves and more weight and an actual figure. But with a supernaturally high metabolism added on top of a already genetic based thin figure and a intense and sometimes rigorous training and workout routine plus her work as a heroine gives no leeway to gain really any extra weight, its always worked off one way or another. And this causes...comments to be made about why she looks that way by civilians. and though she never shows it publicly she takes many of these, usually not flattering and sometimes cruel and rude, comments to heart(much like I used to unfortunately) and it worsens her negative feelings. This is a small story of her seeing those problems and issues and trying to face and overcome them. This is more centered around Gracie and Dick and Jason and their platonic and sibling like relationship as they help her through her darker times( again, this is partly me expressing my own personal struggles with body image (which arent the exact same as the character but the language and the comments are very similar)and partly how those two helped inspire me to have more confidence in my body no matter what I look like) and also a deeper peek into her complex relationship with Damian(but thats not the biggest focus) Sorry this was so long I mightve info-dumped a little but its important to understand the story. I hope you guys enjoy?

This is also told in Gracie’s point of view

This will cover some pretty deep kinda issues like body image problems and over eating and weight loss/gain and mentions of eating disorders without really discussing them and bullying so if that upsets you in any way now is the best time to scroll past for your own sake, I dont want you to upset yourself over my crappy emotional writing

I do not look that bad.

That’s what I have to force my mind to accept as I look into the mirror, meeting my own aqua green eyes hesitantly.

I always hated looking in the mirror lately, especially after training or after bathing, like now as I stood in the middle of my room in a slightly loose training type sports bra and spandex shorts. I don’t even want to glance down at my body, out of fear for seeing the same thing I always do.

‘She so skinny...is she eating right’

‘She needs to eat more and gain some weight’

‘what a twig for a superhero’

‘how have bad guys not snapped her in half? Jesus Christ I could probably break her with a sneeze!’

‘What a bad influence shes setting for young girls with such an thin figure!’

‘I think He needs to eat more Christ that poor boy must be starving! Why isn’t Nightwing feeding him more’

The flashes of comments flooded my mind the moment my eyes flickered down to the rest of me. To my thin, unfeminine figure. My underdeveloped and flat birdcage of a chest. To my lanky, toned, too flat stomach. The pinched waist figure. The flat empty expanse I called hips that blended too well into my too dainty looking bony legs. I looked too fucking skinny. And maybe they were right...as a hero I was a role model to those younger than me, and I promoted a Bad Body Image for girls to idolize with my lanky boy figure.

And it was a horrible body type I had no goddamn control over.

My species was not an easy one to live as, especially not intermingled with humans. The team knew, the team understood, but the rest of the world didn’t. As a lupinotuum pectinem, or lycanthrope which in easy translation is simply “Werewolf”, my whole body inner workings were different. Most of my kind were naturally lean and thin, like tall healthily thin model athlete body types and in general the females, even alpha females, were practically born twig like almost. And on top of that our bodies developed....differently. I was not raised by a pack or by my own kind after age 8, so even I didn’t know the full extent but females bodies took longer to grow and it made it very hard for them to gain weight because of the unnaturally high metabolism. Add being a superhero who once trained under a certain league member to the mix and you go from being the “healthy and admirable” type of skinny to the “unhealthy and concerning”type of skinny.

I hated it, and I hated my body. I hated pictures of me from the neck down, because they all looked the same no matter who they were with. And I saw the comments everyone made. Whether its a surprise photo Garfield took dragging me into the picture to commemorate something or another or me taking pictures around Gotham or Blüdhaven with Dick on the social media Gar helped me set up, or even the rare photos I’d get to take with Jason or Damian or Tim and get to post. Every time the flood of comments were the same. The same things I now repeated over and over as I looked over my body angrily.

OMG look at that poor girl is she ok??? She looks like she needs to be hospitalized!

Christ almighty BB isn’t it too early to be posing with skeletons?? LOL

Dude not funny that girl must be anorexic or something.

Such a cute sibling couple but sweetie you need a fast food break to add some fat to those bones!

Fuck kid go eat something instead of taking pictures

Awwww you two look real happy! I hope you’re on the way to lunch or something!

Holy shit your guy’s size difference is so vast its almost worrying

how are you even alive with that little weight

Go eat some junk food or something before you pass out

OMG look at her shes so small and stick like! Her clothes look like they’re hanging off a scarecrow!

That girl cannot be healthy tell me someone is making her eat more

Every time its always the same damn thing....

I couldn’t do it anymore. I turned away from the mirror nearly in disgust and went back to changing into more casual clothes, bitterly noting how my clothes did in fact seem to hang awkwardly on my body as if I was too thin for them to fit correctly. Like they always did lately.

Ew look at her she looks so gross all stick-like like that!

What a fucking twig of a girl! Are those her ribs poking through her shirt??

Bitch go eat a fucking hamburger you need some damn food in you.

God that weight cant be healthy you need a doctor!!

“Kid? Yo kid you in there?” My head jerked up from the comments flooded screen of my phone to meet Jason’s eyes, catching the quirk of his eyebrow as he sat across the diner table from me. We were at a diner he favored whenever he came into town to visit, a little family owned treasure with delicious and greasy food and the sweetest staff on earth. We frequented the spot during his visits, our own personal little thing since we’d gotten closer. I plastered on a smile and ignored the slight narrow of those blue eyes, the small furrow of his brow got as I snapped off my phone and set it aside.

“Sorry Jay, BB tagged me in something dorky and I got distracted. So what were you saying?”

He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t the most convincing at that moment but I kept that damn plastic smile on my face and snagged some of his curly fries right in his face, making him crack a smile and smack my hand away from his tray.

“ Hands off my food, eat your own wolfie.” I rolled my eyes at the stupid nickname I’d been branded and let the plastic smile slowly be replaced by a more genuine one as we began chatting again, grabbing my over sized cheeseburger and finishing every last bite and moving onto the large fries and two milkshakes, hopelessly praying that maybe this time the calories would stick and trying to push away the comments to the back of my mind. I was with Jason and we were having a damn good time, and I wasn’t going to let those comments ruin his visit...not again.

You should be ashamed. All you’re doing is promoting bad eating habits looking like that.

You’re such a bad influence for young girls who idolize you with such a horribly unreachable appearance.

Shes too bony to ever be considered pretty

Does she have a eating disorder or something?

I stiffened instantly startled by a hand on my shoulder, turning off my phone instinctively and making the endless comments disappear into darkness before whoever could see them over my shoulder. The hand was big, calloused, and gentle and I felt myself relax as I looked up behind me with a smile.

“ Hey Dick, did you need something?” He smiled down at me with that big bright smile that made all the dark thoughts and feelings melt away and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, blue eyes meeting aqua green.

“ Well I was wondering if you’re doin’ anything right now or if you’d want to go catch dinner with Kori, Dami, and I. I noticed that you’d skipped your usual early dinner....” I wasn’t surprised he noticed, he normally did...

Once again that smile plastered itself on my face as I told him I’d love to, and to just let me go get changed into something better. I saw his hesitation at the fake smile, practically smelled it on him and prayed he wouldn’t bring it up right now, god please don’t ask now or I might just break...

Maybe god is listening because he didn’t mention it and just told me to meet them by the front doors of the tower in ten.

How are you not dead yet?

Jesus Christ stop promoting your eating disorder like its a good thing!

She looks so sickly is she ok? :(

Yeah shes sick, sick in the damn head for posting such disgusting pro-Ana pictures

How can you post pictures with a clear conscience looking like that?

Some “superhero”

I was wrong, no god was listening to me.

Dinner was rough to get through, even if it didn’t start that way.

For once I didn’t have to worry or dread possibly checking my phone for anything, I turned it off by the time we got to the restaurant. I even got a small compliment from Damian on our way in, though it was more a snark at me not tripping up the stairs. But it was Damian so I snapped right back with a smile, knowing he didn’t really mean it. Sitting beside Dick and across from Damian, I nudged his foot with mine in a silent gesture to cheer up even a little. He huffed through his nose but I saw his body relax and it made me relax. Those moments before the food came, our chatter and soft laughter as we looked over the menu, and the soothing knowledge knowing that Dick pulled me and Damian along to this dinner so we would go out on a date ourselves, ever the best brother and wingman. The mood was light and pleasant and I could see even the ever sharp and moody Dami lighten up a little by the time we ordered. Maybe the mood shifted into something different as we waited for our food and I was sipping on my tall glass of iced cola, when Damian’s fingers casually brushed over the top of my unused hand that laid peacefully on the table. The gesture was subtle and light, quick enough to miss if your senses weren’t sharp. I didn’t acknowledge it and neither did he, a silent understanding that words would just ruin whatever this was. I accepted that happily, as he was much more engaged in the conversations and even smiling a little more during them as he debated with Kori on leading strategies. Things were pleasant, comforting at that table in those few seconds before the decline, Dick smiling and chuckling at his lover and little brother, Said lover and brother having a more upbeat discussion about different leadership styles and their effects, and lightly debating which work better for what. And Damian’s hand next to mine, ever so lightly brushing against it in his wordless way to say I was still there and at even the smallest twitch I’d have his attention again. Dick ruffled my hair and asked how my online courses were coming along, since I didn’t attend schools publicly and I was more than happy to babble about my classes, and my current work in them. It was nice and I was happy, all the horrible feelings from before draining away as I tuned everything else but these three out of my enhanced hearing. Why had I even felt so shitty when I had great people like them in my life?

Then I heard it as that damned supernatural hearing tuned back in to the rest of the world.

The words and whispers and mutters and the blatant gossip and bad mouthing.

“Look at that younger girl sitting at that table dear...shes so thin I think she should be in a hospital not a restaurant.”

“Ewww mom look that girl looks like a skeleton!”

“ Honey shush….”

“Is….is that girl ok?”

“Dude of course she isn’t just look at her shes unhealthy as fuck. Probably has some kind of eating disorder too or something.”

It all flooded over me and all of my happy mood washed away under the wave. I couldn’t tell if the others could hear them so I grit my teeth tried to tune it all back out, trying so hard to focus more on Kori’s explanation of her points. My hands began to curl up subconsciously, making Damian’s attention snap to me. Fuckin I….no, I cant tell him...I shouldn’t. I forced my hand to uncurl and that stupid smile sprawled across my lips as if someone had put tape over them. I saw his eyes narrow and near begged mentally for him to not say anything or for Dick to distract him...anything.

“Ahem….your meal.”

I have never more thankful to a waitress before in my life...until I saw the look she gave me as she placed my admittedly large order of food in front of me, something that was normally a platter for two people’s worth of beef and sides. I caught the judgmental and suspicious look she had glancing between me and my food and I felt shame burn all over, starting to hang my head to avoid that damn look.

“ If this is all our food then your job is done. Don’t you have OTHER tables to be serving?” Damian’s curt and sharp tone cut through the air and briefly through my shame. This waitress knew nothing about me and i certainly owned no one any explanations about my eating habits, so why was she hanging around giving me looks about my food…?

“ Damian don’t be so rude!” Dick cleared his throat and I felt his strong arm wrap protectively around my shoulder as he leaned close to the edge of the table while Kori’andr apologized for Damian’s attitude vaguely. But I could hear it, there wasn’t much life to her apology. It sounded like a politely required apology, almost...defensive?

“ I am so sorry about my little brother Miss. He’s also sorry. But do you need anything else since we seem to be all set here but you’re still hanging around when you must be very busy…?” Dick’s words were sweet and cheerful, but there was an edge to his tone that gave a clear warning. His arm around me tightened a little protectively as he gave one of his signature charming smiles that could light up half the damn city as he then inquired if there was some sort of problem. The waitress stammered that there wasn’t any problem and that it was fine and for us to enjoy our meal before scampering away to continue her work. I felt other patrons eyes most DEFINITELY on us now and I couldn’t help shrinking into the taller man’s side to hide.

“ I’m sorry this keeps happening…” I murmured to him as our respective dates started eating and slowly reviving their conversation, moving on to mission recounts and training while Damian shot a dark look at the other patrons that made them look away. Dick gave my shoulder a squeeze and i moved closer for that familiar warmth and comfort...my chest felt heavy and my appetite had died and I wanted to curl up in my room and die of the shame. But I couldn’t, he wouldn’t have let me. So instead I instinctively sought out the safety Dick’s presence brought me, like a protective older sibling whose arms I could be enveloped in and forget about the harsh world outside them.

He knew without words, catching my body language before anyone else at the table. He knew me best.

“ Do you want to leave? We can get to go boxes and enjoy this meal all the same back at the tower, or even mine and Kori’s apartment. Is that what you’d rather do?” It was tempting, oh god it was so tempting to just say yes and let him lead me away while I re-gathered myself, same way he did when we were both 13 and living under the same roof...before…

I shook my head and forced those thoughts to the very back of my mind. I was in a dark enough place of mind already without that.

“ N-no...you guys set this up...i...i don’t want one nosy waitress to ruin our whole meal. Lets just eat ok D?” He smiled at the nickname and ruffled my hair with a nod, both him and Kori making sure I knew if things got too uncomfortable we could leave and the heaviness eased a little at their consideration. I started picking at my food and slowly regaining my appetite, once again nudging Damian with my foot to start up conversations. I ignored the words for the majority of the dinner, we even began to enjoy ourselves again. The last straw was probably as we were paying and putting leftovers in to go bins. I was admittedly nibbling on food out of my bin, despite starting to feel full.

“ I swear you are a bottomless pit sometimes Gracia.” I rolled my eyes at Damian’s remark and gave him a small smirk as I licked my fingers clean.

“ This bottomless pit can still kick your ass in training wonder boy~” He grunted and I saw the challenge glow in his eyes as he smirked back, an excitement for tomorrow’s combat training flaring up between us.

“ You really shouldn’t mix up your delusional dreams with reality alpha PUP.” I said something snarky back and we began to bicker halfheartedly over who was winning. I finally snapped shut my leftover box and stood with Damian as we stared each other down confidently, Dick chuckling at our competitiveness.

“ Tomorrow morning’s combat training will certainly be interesting with these two all riled up already.” The words didn’t fully process as I cracked my knuckles and squared up to the admittedly….taller boy.

“ Last I checked Damian I was ahead 11-10. And tomorrow, I just cant wait to make it 12.” He gave a hard laugh to my face and faced up to me with a smirk as our other two companions stood and shooed us more in front of the table so they could leave their seats. He opened his mouth to say something likely scalding and snarky back at me when the worst comment pierced between us both like a goddamn bullet.

“ Damn, I never knew such a sickly, too skinny bitch like her could eat like such a fat fucking pig.”

I think I stopped breathing as my body flinched at the following laughter. The man was clearly on the tipsy side and sitting at a larger table with a group of laughing friends, though the one who said it was standing next to the table with a drink that reeked of the cheapest alcohol this restaurant probably sold, and he didn’t stop there. Oh god of course he didn’t stop there. He kept laughing and loudly making obvious comments at me and openly mocking me and how much I ate to his table, either fully aware of what he was doing and that we could clearly see and hear him or too drunk to really care as more insults and name calling that I had heard and seen and read plenty of times before fell from his mouth. My heart was pounding in my ears as the next few moments happened slowly.

I thought I had seen anger plenty of times before, the worse being the one and only time someone made a malicious joke about my appearance to my face when I was walking beside Jason and it took all my supernatural strength to drag him off and away the guy before he murdered him in broad daylight and to keep him walking to wherever we had been heading.

I had seen pissed, but I had never seen downright hellish fury until that moment when I looked at Damian and Dick.

I had seen Damian mad, and angry, and pissed, a few times in our first meetings at me personally. I had seen Dick mad, angry, and pissed off a a fair chunk of times, even if they had never been directly at me. I had never seen this expression on either of them in those times. And in those few moments that passed almost in slow motion and Damian began to lurch forward with murderous intent the thought finally hit me. ‘ Was this...the first time these two had really heard the comments about me? Oh god…’ I felt like I was moving in honey as Damian stalked past me and I tried to reach out to him slowly, a gleam to his eyes that made my blood go cold.

If someone was to ask me in the future what I believed Death looked like, I would say with completely conviction that death would have the exact eyes Damian had in that moment: lethal, merciless, and furious. And he would have Dick’s cold expression, a look I never wanted to see on the normal cheerful man’s face ever again.

Time snapped back to a normal speed like a whip and my hand grasped nothing but air as Damian stormed over to the man.

“D...da--”

“What did you just say you disgusting drunk.” I might’ve shivered at his tone and I felt Kori’s hands on my shoulders tugging me back protectively as she looked down at me worried.

“ Gracie...don’t listen to him, there’s no reason to cry.” Cry? What was she talking ab--

That’s when I felt it, something warm and wet sliding down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. I...I was crying. My walls and my limit of bottling things in for one day was crumbling away as I watched Damian go to confront the man, my voice disappearing under the surge of hurt and anxiety. I couldn’t even say his damn name. I felt frozen and helpless as Dick stalked after Damian, fists clenched.

I had to do something say something anything to stop them before things went badly I had to I had--

“Eh?What the fuck did you say to me brat?”

“ You heard me you worthless piece of filth. Apologize to her, now.”

I needed to do something anything as I felt myself crumbling. Why wasn’t Dick stopping him why

“ And what if I don’t pipsqueak? You gonna hit me? Now scram. Maybe take your little bitch to a hospital for treatment instead of parading her around a restaurant with normal people!”

“ He might not do anything, But I will. Now take it back before things get messy.”I think my body began trembling as I watched panic swelling. I just wanted to leave and go home. I didn’t want to see this unfold, I just wanted to be home at the tower curled under my covers to simulate the warmth of another person holding me. I wanted to be anywhere, anywhere else then stuck in this nightmare.

So I moved without thinking and lunged, aiming for the back of Dick’s jacket to grab and ready to swallow any shards of pride and beg to leave. Instead I collided with Damian’s back and rolled with it, hugging him tightly from behind and tugging back with a whimper.

“ P-please you two...l...lets just leave...please lets just go home please…” Kori grabbed Dick’s arm firmly and tugged him back.

“ Dick...shes in the midst of an anxiety attack, let it go and lets leave. We need to get her out of here.” He took a difficult deep breath but nodded glaring down the man harshly enough that he flinched and scurried to the bar with his tail between his legs mumbling insults. One of his friends started to stand and began nervously apologizing, though one vicious look from the boy I was holding shut him up fast. It took me and Kori working together to drag the two out of the restaurant and the ride home was tense and silent. I couldn’t look at any of them, instead opting to stare at my feet wiping my eyes.

“ Does that happen often. People talking about you like that.” His cold tone made me flinch a little. At this point I was so upset and anxious and emotionally drained on the inside that I thought Damian was mad at me of all people for what happened. Those dark thoughts began to slowly bubble up to the surface and my insecurities screamed that he blamed me for what happened in the restaurant. I remained silent, too upset to answer. I heard his growl of annoyance and I began to hunch up, ready for a verbal fight.

“ Damian drop it for now. Shes in no right place of mind to talk about it.” Dick warned from the driver seat with a low voice that reminded me he was also upset and angry. When we got back to the tower I didn’t wait for anyone to say anything, I just bolted for my room as fast as I could, at a inhuman, unnatural speed that they couldn’t keep pace with.

I stayed locked in my room for three days, not willing to face any of them the next morning during training. Everything was heavy and hurt and it was hard trying to rebuild those shattered walls of protection, that image of unbothered confidence. I stayed in bed locked away from the world and curled up under the weak protection of my sheets mostly unresponsive to those outside it.

The first to come knocking and checking on me was Kori, asking if I was ok and if I needed to talk. She left after a little while of trying for a response unsuccessfully though, saying she’d come back to check on me later. It was maybe an hour later that Garfield came knocking, asking why I’d missed breakfast AND training. His voice was concerned as he asked if everything was ok and if I was even in there. The concern poked painfully into my silence, tempting me to speak and make myself vulnerable.

Vulnerability killed. I knew that first hand. So I forced myself to stay quiet until his knocks and footsteps faded away.

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a self deprecating blur, only marked by Kori’s two other attempts at my door. The last one I barely noticed as exhaustion kicked back in and I drifted off into an unsteady sleep

The next day after I woke up things still went by in a near timeless blur. I could hear my phone buzzing and vibrating and rattling for my attention but I left it there on the nightstand unnoticed and curled further under the sheets, lost in a slate tinted world of dark thoughts and darker temptations. But that day was harder to drift away through.

The first to stop by was Jamie, knocking a few times and calling out to me with concern and worry clear in his voice as he asked if I was ok. He asked if I’d eaten at all since yesterday, since he hadn’t seen me leave my room. The thought of eating made my stomach stir and my body curl around it ashamed. He knocked a few more times after that, his voice growing a bit more worried at the lack of answer. After awhile I heard him walk away and I barely lifted my head as I hugged my too skinny too unhealthy body close, feeling those blaring imperfections and flinching at myself.

It was no wonder everyone said those things...if so many people said them so often then they must be true.

The next to come by was Raven. She only knocked twice and gave a small sigh.

“ Gracie...I know you’re in there. If you need someone to talk to...my room is in the next hall over, and I will be here to listen. I wont force you to come out...just please remember you aren’t alone here. You have the team behind you.” I bit my lip hard enough to make it bleed to keep my ensuing whimper silent. The words, soothing and reassuring in context, stabbed into my heart and my resolve. I WANTED to depend on them, to throw open the door and break down under the assurance I could and would not be treated differently after, and be assured and comforted and remind of the positives. I wanted it so badly I was scared of it. Or maybe...I was scared of it NOT happening as those damn fears and insecurities and dark thoughts sowed heavy doubt through me. She lingered a little longer than Jaime, eventually her footsteps disappearing. I remember meekly poking my head from the sheets to stare absently out the half covered windows lost in thought, time slipping by me once more to the point I almost didn’t register Garfield and Kori both stopping by my door again at least twice more worried.

When Dick stopped by as the sun was setting was when the harder pain set in.

I heard the knocks and ignored it in favor of the changing color sky the sunset offered, my room washed in a dim orange and amber gleam. Then I heard his voice, soft and sick with worry from the outside and my heart thudded so hard it hurt. Hard.

“ Gracie...C’mon Gracie-girl please open the door. We’re all worried about you...I’m really worried about you. You haven’t eaten for a day and a half...Please let me in...” I almost broke completely at the pain in that familiar voice, the voice I never wanted to be the cause of being in pain or anguish again.

Well looks like I did a GREAT job of preventing that didn’t I?

He knocked again, asking and pleading and trying to reason, anything to get that door to open. My eyes burned with hot fresh tears and I curled up into a tight ball whimpering softly and breaking my vow of silence.

“....D-dick...p-please...j-just leave me a-alone…I-i just need some t-time alone…”

My voice came out pathetically weak and shaking with tears, which I know he heard. There was a silence for a few moments, perhaps shock that I actually answered this time. I felt warmth sliding down my cheeks as he sighed and reluctantly muttered that he’d come check back on me tomorrow and that there was leftover dinner ready for me to heat up on the kitchen counter before he slowly walked away. His fading footsteps echoing in my ears. Was my heart breaking on every step away? I couldn’t tell. That feeling slipped into the dark thoughts that followed the setting sun. Dark thoughts that also reminded me of the one person who HADN’T come to check on me, and the resulting pain of his absence.

The third day had been mostly quiet. It was almost a painful relief, quiet meant no additional pain of--

“ Gracia.”

That one word coming from Damian’s mouth sent so many things through me and sent any resolve I had spiraling away. His tone was a forced kind of neutral, he sounded as if he was trying to stay calm but it wasn’t exactly working. There was something to his voice I had no energy to figure out. He didn’t knock and there was silence for a few moments but I felt his presence remain.

“ You haven’t eaten since the restaurant.” No questions with him, he didn’t need to ask, always calm and analyzing.

“ ...You cant just stay in there forever Gracia.” A stern lilt to his voice, weakly enforced by the faint sound of his hand on the door. I could only whimper and curl up more. There was another stretch of silence before he sighed and his footsteps continued down the hall.

He was the only one to come check on me, a blessing and a damnation.

The day and night went by so listlessly I didn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up to banging knocks on my door. The volume grated on my sensitive hearing and made me flinch. Who would even be knocking like that…?

“ Oi. Kid. I know you’re still in there. Open the door.” Jason’s hard and no shit taking voice shot through me. Why...Why was Jason in the tower? Why was he in the city?

The knocking continued relentlessly, unlike the others. It even got louder and angrier.

“ Kid I said open this goddamn door.” There was no request or plea in his voice. It was a command, a harsh, cold command. I tried covering my ears with my hands and curling into a tight ball as the knocking continued. He wasn’t about to give up to a little girl.

I knew this too well.

“ Graciea Rosica Lucio I swear to god if you don’t open this goddamn door in the next couple second I will break it down. Now get off your fucking ass and answer me.” I don’t know what it was, but hearing his threat sent my body into mechanical motion, trudging over to the door and reluctantly unlocking it and letting it slide open with a low hiss, the banging finally ceasing. I couldn’t look him in the face, empty and ashamed it took threats to get me to open the door. So I stared dully at his boots and took in his scent as he grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged me back inside. I stumbled clumsily along with as he sat me on my bed and stood in front of me. I kept my gaze down towards his knees, the smell of nicotine wisping off his body in a way that told me he very recently had been smoking, no less than an hour ago most likely. Smoke and city is what filled my room. There was only a beat of silence before he spoke.

“ Look at me.” I lifted my head and stared at his chest and his crossed arms, unwilling to look him in the eyes. I couldn’t bare to see what kind of disappointed look he likely had on his face. Perhaps I didn’t want to see my reflection in his eyes, see the sickly, disgusting and bony figured girl with greasy hair and dark circles under dulled eyes and sallow cheeks. I heard the slight growl that rumbled from the back of his throat in warning and I briefly wondered if I would be forced to look him in the eyes. His arms uncrossed and I prepared myself for anything.

Anything except for two big plastic grocery bags filled with fast food bags and orders was dropped onto my lap, the contents still hot. I blinked slowly once, twice, and finally got enough courage in my confusion to look up at his face. When I did I was a little startled.

“ Eat. And you aren’t moving until those bags are polished off understand me?”

He looked visibly angry, eyes narrowed and mouth locked in a fearsome scowl with eyebrows furrowed. But his eyes were soft and worried and it took me a minute to realize worry was what was making his scowl so harsh. He crossed his arms across that broad chest again and I realized he was in his work gear, all the way down to the guns strapped to his thighs. All he lacked at the moment was his helmet and domino mask, his dark hair messier than usual and the white streak falling between his eyes. We had a staring contest and in those pupils I saw myself, I saw the shell I had become and it made me sick, breaking me briefly from the depressive haze.

How the hell had I let myself fall this far, this deep?

We didn’t speak until he grunted, eyes narrowing more in a way even those concerned blues didn’t weaken the glare as he spoke gruffly.

“ You better start eating before I start just shoving it down your damn throat.” I knew he would too. He wasn’t fucking around, I didn’t doubt he’d follow through with any threats made. Slowly I looked down at the pile of food and reached for the first bag, pulling it open and blinking fast as fresh tears stung my eyes.

It was from our favorite diner, and it was my usuals two cheeseburgers and large lightly salted fries with a second order of fat steak fries and fried pork strips. He’d even gotten all the little sides I enjoyed with it and I looked back up at him with a pained look. Maybe that look made him relax because his expression softened slightly, his voice quieting to something gentler.

“ C’mon now...I brought you all your favorites, now start eating...it’s been three days and your body cant handle that. We can talk after.” My shoulders slumped as all the tension stored in my body dissipated a little as he continued to speak, like a tightly pulled strong finally cut loose.

“ Kid I’m not mad at you. No one is. So just eat the food and then we’ll figure shit out, just like we do on any other visit.” I think the tears started falling because his face got blurry and there was warmth in my face. If I did start crying he didn’t say anything, just nodded at the bag. I gulped and slowly but surely pulled out one of the burgers and slowly took a bite, struggling a little to swallow it with a throat that was closing up from emotions. Once I did though my hunger kicked me hard and I began devouring the food, one bag after another.

It took me about a half hour to finish both plastic bags but I did, followed by slamming through at least two water bottles and one thick milkshake that almost made a mess. Jason simply watched over me as I ate from his spot in front of me. The silence was almost soothing, not painful as it had been before. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I looked back up at him and we made eye contact.

“ So are you going to tell me what happened? Really happened?” I broke his gaze to stare towards the floor as the acidic shame began to creep back over me. He sighed.

“ C’mon kid just let it out already. Who am I to judge? So why don’t you trust me like you USED to and tell me?” Those words shot through my heart and head.

I...I wasn’t trusting him...trusting anyone...I…i...

It was like Jason opened a flood gate.

It all came spilling out with a new surge of tears and mid sentence cracking sobs, my body physically heaving from the intensity as it all came out. All the months of insecurities and pain and doubts and fears and comments and negativity and hate and bullying came rushing out like a tidal wave and Jason took to all, listening to everything without a single word as I let everything out and let myself break down completely, wails and sobs replacing words eventually. I felt him shift and kneel in front of me, felt big strong sturdy hands grip my shoulders to steady me and keep me anchored as I buried my face into my hands and gasped out cries and pained wailing yowls that filled the room and spilled out of it. I vaguely remember the sounds of multiple hurried footsteps coming towards the door but I didn’t care. All I felt was Jason’s hands on my shoulders and his steady, continuous heartbeat in my ears as well as he strong breathing. One set of footsteps dared to enter the room and hurry over, only stopped by Jason’s calm voice.

“ Let her get it out, its the only thing that’ll help.” The footsteps stopped and eventually the wails faded into blubbering whimpers and whines and hiccups, constantly sniffling. I lifted my head to look at him through blurred eyes and got one brief sight of Dick standing behind Jason that sent me into a whole new wave of sobs.

God I’ve been nothing but selfish and now I’d fucking hurt Dick again even when I swore I’d never do that again and i--

I let out a high pitched whine that turned into pathetic blubbered and wailed apologies. Over and over like a broken record I couldn’t stop apologizing to them for everything even parts that weren’t my fault in any way I still apologized for it I just couldn’t stop. Jason’s grip on me tightened only slightly before slipping away and for a single moment I was terrified I’d annoyed him with all the apologies and was about to add that to my list of them when two strong arms wrapped around me and and Dick’s scent surrounded me.

“ Shh shh shh shhh….shhh Gracie its ok now shh shh its ok I got you its not your fault…” I sniffled and wailed out more sobs and begs for forgiveness as I clung to him like he was a life preserver. And at that moment he was. He hugged me tighter and practically cradled me into his chest stroking my hair as he murmured reassurances, assuring me I was well forgiven and it wasn’t my fault. Everyone got insecurities especially when facing so much negativity. How I was so strong for fighting it for so long regardless. But it was ok to not always be strong and be able to handle it. That he was there and it was ok now. It took awhile but eventually all my noise quieted down to sniffles and hiccups and the occasional whimper as my trembling and heaving finally eased away into a limp tiredness. I felt exhausted but in a way different than the past couple days. I felt lighter and the more Dick spoke gently the lighter and more relaxed I felt,all the pain easing as he banished every dark thought one by one.

“ You ARE a hero Gracie.”

“ you aren’t a skeleton or a scarecrow or a twig.”

“ You are not too bony.”

“ You’re beautiful.”

“ You aren’t sick and you don’t need any doctors.”

“ You’re ok. The way your body works and retains weight naturally is not your fault.”

“ You’re only thirteen you’re still growing kiddo.”

“ I was scrawny and thin until I was at least sixteen Gracie its not that uncommon.”

“ You do NOT have to hold yourself to stupid human beauty standards.”

“ You’re beautiful to us, that’s all that matters.”

“ You’re ok, you have us.”

Each and every statement cleared my mind and I slumped against him with tears still falling down my cheeks. His hand carefully cupped the back of my neck in a soothing gesture to ease the wolf side of me, adding a very small amount of pressure to ensure the sense of security and safety the movement brought. I whispered out a hoarse thank you, my throat sore and raw but already beginning to heal. He smiled into my hair and I let my eyes slip shut in contentment. I felt...stabilized, as if the whole world had been constantly tilted dangerously under my feet for months and now it had finally been returned to normal, balancing me once again.

I felt a second, no technically third, hand tangle itself into my thick and greasy hair and ruffle it affectionately, fingers tangling themselves in the dark chestnut locks.

“ We’re always here for you kid. Whether you like it or not. You can be honest and confide in your inner circle Gracie. We aren’t going to look at you any differently...so next time don’t keep your mouth shut.” My nerves settled and I leaned into his hand with a loud hiccup, making him snort. I looked up and saw both older men smiling down at me, both with their own kind of soft expressions. I rubbed my eyes and wiped my nose and smiled back shakily, feeling like everything was going to be ok for the first time in a long while.

I learned a few things a few hours later, after I’d fallen asleep in Dicks arms and woke up on the couch out in the Tower’s game room with Garfield and Jaime looking after me. My head was resting on Garfield’s leg and he had his elbow rested on my upper arm comfortably as he and Jaime played some kind of two player video game, keeping their voices lower than usual to be considerate of me sleeping. Opening my eyes was difficult as they felt dry and crusted and stung from crying so much. But my throat was no longer sore. When they saw I was awake they paused the game and and told me they were happy I was up, as I had been out cold for at least a solid couple hours. That was when I learned the first thing : Dick and Kori had informed the team of the incident at the restaurant after the first day I stayed locked up in my room, and Garfield had let it slip in his rage that he thought I had finally stopped getting those comments, and confessed that I’d been getting bullied and harassed about my appearance online for months. What I found out was all those months what I failed to notice was Garfield fighting back on my behalf every chance he got. He defended me, constantly called people out for harassment and even worked on getting some of the worst and most aggressive ones banned. For months he’d been do it as relentlessly as he could, filling his own social medias with both our pictures and his constant defense and positivity towards me to fight it back. It got lost in my own comment section so I stupidly didn’t realize. It warmed my heart knowing he’d kept my back even when I never noticed or mentioned it, though he waved it off and just gave me his big old smile telling me it wasn’t that big a deal,

“ After all, you’d do the same for me in a heartbeat!” And he wasn’t wrong. But I still hugged him tight in thanks anyway, an embrace he happily returned as he warned me next time I lied about being harassed there’d be hell to pay.

I assured him there wasn’t going to be a next time anymore and for the first time in months finally wholeheartedly meant it.

The second thing I learned was Jaime told me during those first two days I was locking myself away Damian had gone back to the restaurant and used Bruce’s name to hunt that guy that had been harassing me down and gotten a few hefty harassment charges and minor endangerment charges slapped onto the guy, throwing in a sob story of how I was now in emergency care in the hospital because of him. I knew he didn’t throw his last name around often, didn’t exactly like having to do so to be taken seriously. The fact he did for me…

I had a lot more feelings for Damian after that knowledge.

The third thing I learned was that the only reason Dick and Kori hadn’t come by to check on me yesterday was was because they spent the entire time hunting for Jason to get his help with getting me out, and when they DID find him he stormed for the tower and made it there before they did somehow, he was that angry.

As they were telling me this and retelling a very tense video call between Nightwing and Batman during the second day Damian came in in his full Robin attire, regarding us stoically. When I saw him I stood and the room quieted as I approached him, the both of us observing each other. When we stood a foot apart I stared into his masked eyes quietly and he looked into my tired eyes. I saw his mouth start to open to speak and my body lurched forward without me, hugging onto him tightly.

“Thank you...you didn’t have to do that for me thank you thank you thank you…” He was quiet and I was about to let go and move away when I felt his arm come around me and grip the back of my shirt, returning the embrace. Neither of us was at a point that we were really physically affectionate by any means but my heart swelled when he hugged me back, leaning his head against my own and allowing me to bask in the warmth of his arms and his scent. When I felt him roll his shoulders I took that as my cue and slowly pulled away, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek as I did before retreating back to give him his space.

I think I saw his cheek flare pink but I’ll never say for sure because that would mean admitting just how red my own cheeks were.

I’d love to say that after that everything ended happily and perfectly and things went great forever and ever. But I cant, life doesn’t work like that.

But things did get better.

I was under heavy supervision several weeks, with almost stricter watches on my food intake to make sure I didn’t try to over eat or try to force weight gain. Bruce had me stay with him and Damian for a few weeks as well to make sure I didn’t slip back into that dark place. It was a bit smothering at times...but in all honesty I welcomed the smothering because I knew it meant how much they all cared. And staying with Bruce again...it brought up my mood believe it or not. Being in the manor brought back happier memories of my childhood and seeing the man I considered a fatherly figure more often perked me up. Plus I got to see Tim a lot more than usual in those few weeks, a perk and joy all in itself as he kept me company when he wasn’t too busy with his work. Tim was also the one who disabled all comments on my social medias one calm rainy evening in the lounge. I was grateful and he patted my head after as he read his case files. I think I might’ve fallen asleep against him, I cant say I fully remember. With each passing week I felt better and better. It took a long time for my self esteem and confidence to rebuild itself, but it got some jump starts. Perhaps the best part was two months later after a sparring session with Kori. She was giving me tips on striking with a staff when Dick and the big bad bat Brucie himself walked in.

“ Batman? Has something happened?” He shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder.

“ I’m going to borrow Gracie for a few minutes.” Dick gently took her hand and smiled as he whispered something to her as he led me out of the training room and placed a long bottle of what looked like red chewy vitamins into my hand. When I looked up at him confused he gave me some of the best news of my life.

“ These are specially created vitamins designed to accommodate your body’s inhuman metabolism. Tim helped me create them. They're designed to help regulate fats and carb distribution in your body and allow your body to hold onto and gain more weight without immediately burning it off. Take one every week and in a few months you should be up at least one weight class if not more as long as you keep to your regular healthy eating habits, just like you wanted. By Tim’s calculations within the year you should gain enough weight to have a thicker figure, though you may always retain this thinner “ballet-ques” figure...you will more closely resemble the figure of girls your age.” I stared up at him then at the vitamins and sniffled, fighting off tears of joy. All those weeks with Tim and his seemingly just curious questions about my species and their anatomy...the “ case files”...I owed Tim a lot for this.

“ It was Dick’s idea, after all that happened two months ago.” The softer tone brought a smile to my face and I nodded, barely restraining the urge to hug Bruce while he was in the cowl.

“ T-thank you...thank you this means more to me than you know…” He nodded and turned to leave but I caught the ghost of a smile on his face as he walked away.

And once he had I ran back into the training room and tackled Dick to the ground with a ecstatic howl, shifting mid leap into wolf form and licking his face in gratitude, making him laugh as he lazily tried to push away my affection.

I started taking them that day, and it took a few months for a noticeable difference to take place, but it did. My clothes and uniform stopped hanging off me like a walking scarecrow and I started developing the beginning of a feminine figure. I stopped trying to stuff my face too much at every meal and with every week after my self esteem raised back up a little higher. Maybe people saw it in the big, wide crooked smiles in pictures of me now, no matter who they were with. Or maybe the team saw it in the fact I stopped trying to hide my body in layers of clothes, walking around in my favorite tank top after missions instead of over sized sweatshirts and shirts, or the fact I didn't mind sudden pictures taken of me. Regardless it showed and in time I was more than happy to show off that confidence. Throughout it all Jason made near constant visits between jobs to make sure I didn’t have too major of setbacks and Dick stayed by my side as often as he could, supporting me and being a physical reminder almost that I was never alone.

And I didn't feel alone.

And one day as I was getting ready for an outing I paused in front of the mirror and looked at myself, looked at my slightly more filled out tank top and the small curve of slightly more defined hips and an actually fairly filled out stomach, a fuller figure to match my broader than normal shoulders. I slowly looked into my own eyes and after a moment I began to smile.

Somehow….I didn't hate looking into the mirror as much as I used to.

“ I do not look that bad. I look fine.”

“ Gracie c’mon you coming? C’mon the others are gonna leave without us!”

I smiled at my reflection wider before running off out of the room after Jaime’s voice.

“ Im coming!!”

I dont look that bad.

And now I could finally start to see that.

The end.

OOOOOOOH ITS FINALLY DONE ITS FINALLY DONE!

Ive been working on this for three months now and it was really difficult to finish. Originally it wasnt supposed to be so angsty but...it turned out really angsty at the end.

@phantommoonpeople

@kid-crashed

@call-me-n0ni-chan

Tagging those I know will want to read this

I hope you all like it!!

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ladyofpurple · 6 years

Note

GIRL ITS BEEN MONTHS SINCE YOU UPDATED TPOY!! please tell me you haven’t given up on it )-:

I KNOW IM REALLY SORRY OMG

This took a bit longer to answer than it should have because I was trying to figure out how to reply, I guess?? The short answer is basically that writing bits of fic during my exams when I didn’t actually have the time to was super productive, mainly because I Didn’t Want To Do The Thing but my entire future hinged on Doing The Thing and anxiety-driven avoidance is excellent creative fuel, apparently. The problem is, of course, that once I finished and started getting my results back and actually had time to breathe again my brain kinda fizzled out and I never wanted to look at a Word document ever again in my life. Writing is really hard right now, for some reason. And not just TPoy — everything I try to write either gives me a headache, makes every idea I’ve ever had go flying out the window like magic, or looks like absolute garbage to me. (I’ve been trying, though, I promise!!!) There is more TPoY, though!! I swear to God!! It’s just coming along a little slower than anticipated.

The long answer is... a little more complicated and probably more than you’re interested in, and the main reason is the short one anyway. But I’ll put a long answer under a cut just in case (aka the entire history of TPoY lol), since I’ve lowkey wanted to post about it for a while now but didn’t quite know how to? May get a little very personal, I suppose.

Basically, TPoY is and always has been a garbage fic. I don’t say that to disparage my own writing or attempt to elicit praise from anyone: I have always considered it a glorious dumpster fire of experimentation, a ridiculous Frankenstein’s monster of all my favorite ML tropes as a practice run, since it had been so long since attempting to write anything at all. I’m thrilled that people like it, of course! Whenever people send me asks about it my answers always involve a lot of exclamation points and variations on “I AM CURRENTLY SOBBING ON THE FLOOR IN GRATITUDE” because I honestly have no idea how to express how genuinely teary-eyed I get when someone tells me how much they like it, or post a comment. That being said, it was always intended for my own amusement and/or therapy, and that it’s gotten so many bookmarks and kudos and comments is incredibly surreal, even after a whole year.

When I started writing it, I was working through a lot of stuff. My first boyfriend had broken up with me, and as we lived together in his hometown I was stuck there on my own for another year before I could move back home. 2016 was filled with a lot of horrifying shit that kept happening one after the other and I eventually almost had to drop out of school because I couldn’t handle it all. The relationship was pretty toxic but all I knew at the time was that I was scared and alone and heartbroken.

When I started writing, it was after 8 months of the worst bout of depression I’ve ever experienced, and I still wasn’t well, but I functioned passably enough to start hyperfocusing on things. I had an idea about a fic I suddenly wanted to write, and it would have a happy ending and all, but I could work through my feelings in a way I hadn’t tried to since before my ex and I got together. I pulled a lot of the start of the fic (the rejection, the miscommunication, the avoidance) from my recent breakup, yes, but also from my first rejection, aka the only other boy I’d liked enough to confess my feelings to. We were 17, and he admitted that he knew, and then suddenly we weren’t friends anymore. A year and a half later, I got together with my ex, and suddenly after three years of dedicating my life to “us” on his whims he was ghosting me without explanation.

I see a lot of myself in Marinette at that age. The awkwardness, the enthusiasm, the incredibly obvious lovesick obsession with a cute boy who’s nice to you. I wondered if maybe she would react the same, if put into similar circumstances as I had been. Focus on the self-doubt that would follow, based on insecurities she’s already shown in the show — coupled with your standard teenage hormone-fest —and you’d have a fabulous starter for angstfic and a free therapy session all in one.

The problem with that is nobody knows this backstory but me. People focusing on Marinette’s insecurities is nothing new. Other people are annoyed it’s such a popular trope. And the fact that I’ve chosen to focus on certain aspects of the main characters’ identities for the purposes of a story I started on a whim has been making me insecure for a long time because people in the fandom are tired of those characterizations. I’ve never gotten hate comments —I don’t even remember ever getting constructive criticism on TPoY. But I’m well aware that the plot is far from original and definitely lacking in certain places, and as the comments roll in and the hits go up my anxiety mounts because oh my God I’m that guy in the fandom.

I always intended on focusing on different aspects of their characterizations in different fics to suit the plot, y’know? Not ignoring parts of their personalities, but just... emphasizing other parts. But TPoY is the one most people have read. I have a couple one-shots where I tried to do something like that, with different aspects of their characters, but short one-shots can’t really compare to a 100,000+ word WIP, even if they even slightly compared in popularity (they don’t). So my only notable contribution to the fandom is TPoY. And that makes me anxious.

Then there’s the Frankenstein-like obsession with adding every trope I’ve ever wanted to write in a fic like this. I’ve mentioned before that the original plan for this was, like, 10-15 chapters at most. But every chapter I write I’m like, “But what if I did this???” Like I said, I never intended it to be even remotely popular. The only other fandoms I’ve written for are microscopic in comparison. I had no frame of reference for a pairing this big — all my previous experience was from Fanfiction.net, for Christ’s sake. I assumed I wouldn’t finish it, and even getting to chapter 6 was a surprise. But that hyperfocus somehow held on for dear life and I was banging out chapters like nobody’s business. And people were responding to it. And I think that kind of went to my head a little? Not like in an “I deserve all this attention” kind of way, but more like a “People like?? This thing I’m doing??? I cannot squander this opportunity, I must give them m o r e” kind of way. It was the best I’d felt since the breakup and I didn’t really think I deserved it, so I kind of wanted to... prove I did, I guess, by writing everything I’d ever wanted in a lovesquare fic in hopes that people would keep liking it and me and I’d keep feeling nice. (I mean, I’d planned to add in a ridiculous amount of tropes anyway, I just ended up adding a lot more than I’d planned.)

On the one hand, people go nuts for that shit. On the other, it’s getting harder and harder to justify cramming all this shit into the same fic. This compulsion keeps fucking me over by giving me spur-of-the-moment ideas for sub-plots I never wanted and certainly didn’t properly think through before posting the foreshadowing or setup for — yet at the same time they’re usually thought of and integrated several chapters in advance so I can’t just... leave them out? And part of me kind of doesn’t want to?? And I’m trying with every fiber in my being not to rewrite just the first 3 chapters, let alone the entire fic. A side-effect of my FF.net history at 13 was Never Edit Anything. Yeah, I’ll do some spell-check. Maybe some rewording here and there. Sometimes I’ll post a chapter and come back sporadically over the next few days to change out some punctuation or whatever. But if I don’t like a section after writing for a while? Throw the Whole Ass Chapter out. After it’s posted? This Is Your Life Now.

let’s not talk about how everything after chapter 27 was supposed to go very differently

Never mind that, after writing a hundred thousand goddamn words in a year, one’s writing skill tends to evolve and increase over time. Not just in regards to vocabulary, but with consistency and pacing and structure. This means, of course, that I can’t ever reread my own writing without the Evil Writing Goblin in my brain telling me to start the whole thing over from scratch. It’s fine.

I suppose I could get a beta, but I’m very bad at taking critique and as I’m even worse at talking to people than I am at posting on time I don’t think that would work out very well.

The point of this goddamn novel is that TPoY means a lot to me, probably a lot more than people realize. It’s kinda dumb and very cheesy and absurdly long, but it was the first real thing I did for myself after my whole life fell apart. I will finish it!!

But it’s hard to write it right now. I’m trying— I’m writing four chapters at the same time right now (a bit less than 10,000 words combined at current count). I don’t want to try to rewrite the whole fic or keep “mischaracterizing” the characters or lose the suspense I’ve tried to build (or, God forbid, try to keep interest so hard it hurts the rest of the fic) and risk alienating readers. I can’t stress enough how much these supportive comments mean to me, even on something as silly as a fanfic. But I also don’t want to force myself to write it or write something just because other people might or might not like it and risk alienating me. So I’m stuck at a kind of anxiety-induced impasse with myself that’s just made worse by the fact that I’m having trouble writing anything at all at the moment.

Jesus Christ this was longer than I meant it to be. Please don’t take this as a pity-party or anything. I don’t want sympathy or, I don’t know, reassurance or anything, I just wanted everything to be Out There because it really is the most in-depth response I could give and y’all deserve an honest answer. Some of you guys have been reading since the beginning and I can’t express how much that means to me. I feel really bad when I haven’t updated in a long time, because I know my fic makes some people really happy!

And PLEASE don’t take this as a “STOP ASKING ME ABOUT TPOY GODDAMMIT” because this is the opposite of that. I FUCKING LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME ABOUT TPOY. I L I V E FOR IT. But it sucks when the only answer I have is “I don’t know when it’ll be up, sorry :( ”

I mean, that’ll probably still be the answer I give, unless I by some miraculous (heh) stroke of luck) start hyperfocusing on writing again.

But at least y’all kinda know why now.

#did someone call for Too Much Information??#BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE I LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU #I HOPE THAT ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION #[SEVERAL HEART EMOJIS]#tpoy fic #anon good nurse #Lady answers stuff

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cherrystreet · 7 years

Note

Another bombarding! BUTTTT!! (Just popped in my head after my last msg) Harry's POV during and after the fight and then his convo with Cam when he sends him home! (Sorry I'm just in love with TWG and would die for more, whatever it is!) 💜💛💚💙

ALRIGHT STEPH HERE WE GO. THE FIRST PART OF THIS ASK, 364 DAYS LATER. I LOVE YOU.

Harry looks down at the floor, back up at Louis, the insecurities coming out before he can stop them. “I don’t always know how you feel about me.”

The looks Louis shoots back is downright menacing. “You must be kidding.”

“No,” he says softly, “I’m really not.”

“I have been nothing but honest with you from day one,” he sneers. “Do you expect me to trip over myself for you, like everyone else does?”

“No,” Harry replies honestly, “never. That’s what I like about you. That you never act a certain way around me.”

“Then what are you trying to say?!”

Harry puts his head into his hands, frustrated. His head is starting to pound. “Don’t think that I’m comparing you to anyone when I say this--”

“You’re already off to a bad start, I can tell you now.”

“--but I know exactly how Cameron and Bryce feel about me. They can verbalize it. I never have any doubt with them. I don’t have to guess. With you…”

If Louis wasn’t mad before, he sure as hell is now, and Harry doesn’t know how to get out of this. “I don’t give a fuck about Cam and Bryce. One single bit. As far as I’m concerned, they don’t fucking exist. This is about us. And you’re going to sit there and tell me you’d rather be with one of them because they’re willing to up and move to your perfect fucking home without an argument or care in the world.”

“I didn’t say any of that! Christ, Louis.” He stands, now, staring at Louis directly in the eye, needs to be level with him. “Being in this position is so fucking hard, okay? You think you have to second guess everything? Try being me. All I do is worry and stress over every little thing.”

“Oh, poor Harry, everyone wants him and he can’t fucking decide what he wants.”

Fuck, he’s going to start screaming. Louis can hear him but he isn’t listening. “It’s not like that! Fuck! I know I told you I enjoy the chase, but Louis. Give me something to work with.”

“I am! I’m giving you everything, but you just don’t want to fucking listen to me!”

The irony. “No, you’re not listening to me. I have to choose, okay? I have to choose between three people who care about me, whom I care about, too, and I thought I knew what the end game was, but now I’m not sure, because the one I wanted can’t tell me exactly what he’s thinking about our relationship or even discuss moving without having a fucking panic attack. I have to choose and it’s tearing me apart and I can’t fucking think straight. I have to pick. I have to.”

Louis covers his ears with his hands and Harry’s entire body is pulsing with adrenaline, anger, the need to tell Louis exactly what he’s thinking if he could just have a moment to do so. But.

“Just because I can’t say the words you want to hear specifically doesn’t mean I’m not in this, so how dare you tell me that I’m not worth it,” Louis shouts, his voice hoarse, “because I tell you how I feel every damn day. It’s written all over my face, the way I touch you, the way we talk, I fucking know it. Stop saying you have to choose, stop saying you have to pick. I can’t. I can’t fucking.”

Harry desperately wants to pull Louis into him, but his limbs feel frozen. “Louis…” he manages.

“No, get out. Just. Out. Please,” Louis pleas, and he seems so small.

“No, I’m staying here, we’re fixing this.”

He looks around, everywhere but Harry’s face. “I’ll leave, then.”

“This is your room.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do, though.” Don’t leave me. Us.

“Awesome. Don’t follow me. And don’t be here when I come back.”

“Louis.”

It’s wrong, it all feels wrong, and Harry doesn’t know how to backtrack, to get Louis to stop shaking or yelling or looking at him like that. He doesn’t know why or how it spiraled so quickly but now Louis’ out the Goddamn door, part of the crew closely following behind him, and Harry feels sick to his stomach. He looks at the mess of M&M’s strewn across the coffee table, the rumpled up sheets on Louis’ bed, the photo of his mom on his night stand, and Jesus Christ, he doesn’t care where the hell he ends up, just as long as he gets to have all of this with Louis.

He looks up helplessly at Zach, who’s already lowering his camera cautiously. The air feels oppressive, suddenly, and he needs to get up, get out, get his boy.

“Zach, I’m gonna…” Harry stands up and points to the door. “I have to make sure he’s okay.”

Zach makes a face. “I mean, you can if you want to, but are you sure you should?”

“Yes,” he replies with certainty. “He needs to know I’ll go anywhere with him.”

“Specifically away from this villa that he clearly asked you to stay in?”

Harry frowns, doing his best to hold back tears. He feels pathetic. “I didn’t get the chance to talk. I wanted to go over the negatives with him, and then the positives. And then he…” He trails off, doesn’t need to recap it. “I need to fix it.”

“You will,” Zach says. “Can I just…”

“Can I what?”

He hands Harry his headphones, turns the camera. “Sometimes it’s easier to see where it all went wrong from an outsider’s perspective.”

“Zach, I don’t want to watch this.”

He presses ‘play,’ anyway, and Harry’s stuck, watching it all back in front of him, helpless. It hurts worse this way, seeing how quickly Louis’ guard went up, how Harry didn’t catch it in the beginning and kept pushing. He rewinds it, watches it from the start, then does it again. He hopes for clarity. Instead, it makes him feel like shit, moreso each time.

The worst part, he thinks, is that he didn’t initially catch the way Louis’ body language changed so quickly, how his eyes turned glassy, how his entire demeanor changed to a fight stance. Harry drags his hands across his face, thinking that maybe, he doesn’t actually know Louis the way he thought he did, and what the fuck is he supposed to do now.

Harry spends the rest of the evening alone in his villa. He writes out exactly what he wants to say to Louis, beginning with an apology for being so pushy, so demanding, followed by an explanation of how he intended for that conversation to go.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m afraid of leaving California,” he says to himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror, “and that I have so many uncertainties and I need to be able to talk about them with you. Because this thing between you and I is a serious thing and we need to lock down some future plans. I’m not sure where I’m going to end up, physically or emotionally, but we need to explore all of our options. It’s important to me. You’re important to me. Even if I don’t understand exactly what happened back there, I do understand that I want to fix it. All of it.”

His cheeks are red, his lips are cracked, he looks like hell. He keeps practicing.

“You told me you weren’t thinking about our future and it hurt. Like, I think about you in my life probably more than I should be admitting to right now. And, it’s. Everything got lost in translation and I came off like a massive prick. I’m not blaming you for how I sounded. That’s my own fault. I’m just, terrified we’re not on the same page. We need to be. Same book, same page, same ending.”

He takes a deep breath. It comes out shaky.

“I’m not supposed to tell you I’m in love with you. But I’m telling you I am. And I will follow you wherever we need to be. San Francisco, Chicago, the North Pole… I don’t care. I’ll do it. The fear of leaving my life behind isn’t nearly as scary as the idea of not having a life with you.”

He sighs, wonders how Louis will respond, how he’ll react. Hopefully he takes it as well as Harry’s mirror did.

Harry waits until the crew has gone to bed and all the lights are out before he sneaks back to Louis’, ready to grovel, ready to give Louis whatever the hell he wants just so he never has to be the one to cause that reaction ever again. He does his best to prepare himself for Louis refusing to speak to him, or maybe to send himself home.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he knocks on the door. Worst case scenario, if that’s what Louis wants, Harry’ll just jump into the water, maybe drown a little bit.

Fuck, he’s second guessing everything.

Louis opens the door a moment later, naked sans boxers, and Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. He’s effortlessly beautiful and Harry can hardly stand it. All the words he intended so say are gone, his brain empty other than the swirl of Keep him. Save him. Love him.

“Can I come in?” Harry asks tentatively, voice cracking.

He nods, takes a step back, crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s trying to hide. “Harry…”

Harry can hear the apologetic tone in his voice, can see it in his eyes, and Christ, he knows his boy, what was he thinking. They’re both in this. They’re here. “Lou. I’m, like.” Impossibly in love with you.

Louis reaches out, touches Harry’s hand, and that’s all the invitation Harry needs before he’s pulling Louis into his arms, holding him carefully, tightly. He knows Louis will hook his chin over his shoulder before he actually does it, his stubble rough even though Harry’s t-shirt. He smiles.

They stand there for a while, long enough for Harry to memorize the rhythmic pattern of Louis’ heartbeat against his own, and when they finally break, Louis takes a moment to drag his finger across Harry’s cheek, his movements slow and meticulous.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, his eyes closed, “I’m so sorry.”

He’ll get his thoughts about - eventually, maybe not right now - but first and foremost, he needs Louis to hear his apology, needs him to know how much he’s cared for, needs to let Louis keep touching him like that because it’s enough to keep him from crumbling.

And he knows Louis is going to counter Harry’s apology with his own, which he does immediately, and though it could potentially feel stale to already know someone so thoroughly, it just makes Harry happy. Happy that he’s lucky enough to have this, even if he doesn’t actually have it yet.

Yet.

Harry knows Louis; all doubts are out. They’ll have it. No more questions.

He doesn’t get the rest of his mirror speech in, because Louis slides his hands into Harry’s pockets and rests his head against Harry’s chest and everything else feels like it suddenly comes second.

“I just want to be with you,” Harry murmurs, the most he can spit out.

Louis nods against his t-shirt. “That’s what I want, too.”

“Thank God.”

#this wicked game #answered #drabble #my drabble #sweetwonderful-you

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marshmallowdonutsprinkles · 7 years

Note

Honestly, I don't find it terrible , an average anime at best. But I wouldn't hate it half as much if it wasn't for the goddamn fans. And did you see they are releasing a Yurio body pillow.... he's 15 for Christ's sake...

You’re right.

Yuri on Ice, tbh, is a mediocre anime (I.E. in terms of character and plot development). I gave it a 5/10 on MAL. YOI is poorly written (..and animated) and the fact that it apparently took Kubo 4 years is…appalling. I was so excited when the first PV came out, but watching episode 1 was, uh, something. I have seen worse anime, so YOI is not the bottom of the barrel to me. If the fandom wasn’t so outright obnoxious, I would’ve watched the season, kept my opinions to myself, and moved on. As an anti, I am not bashing YOI fans for liking YOI, you can like whatever you want. It becomes a problem, however, when they :

(1) begin bashing other anime that have nothing to do with YOI, in an attempt to make YOI look better (Haikyuu!! And Free! seem to be the main victims. Mob Psycho 100 was, for what it looks like, bashed on for a certain amount of time because of crunchyroll awards).

(2) integrate themselves in every single fandom that has nothing to do with them (example : Figure skating championships. Nathan Chen is not Yuuri Katsuki. Nathan Chen is Nathan Chen. Stop it.)

(3) crucify anyone (including fans) who have even a tiny bit of criticism towards the show. They do the absolute most trying to defend the show with ridiculous meta, it actually makes YOI and the fandom look worse, IMO. If anything it shows how insecure they are, since apparently 100% of people who watched YOI must like it-or else. At such lengths they go to “protect” it, they prove again and again that the anime wasn’t as #revolutionary as they claim it to be. Maybe they’re in denial. That being said, please refrain from reaching, fandom, you look ridiculous. Accept the flaws, or keep scrolling. Better yet, blacklist, as you love to tell other people when you invade their fandoms. P.S. Death threats are stupid and does not make you look better. Y'all need Jesus and Therapy. The hell is wrong with you guys?

(4) Maintain the superiority complex. YOI is not the gospel. “Kubo-sensei” is not a “pure” woman who saved the Earth. She is (apparently) a writer who wrote a fanfic that got popular. Popularity ≠ Good Quality. The show and y'all personalities are trash. For more info on Kubo, I believe fellow tumblr user @saotome-michi has all the receipts on her blog. That’s like a whole story on it’s own lmao *sigh*

(5) Set the main ship as relationship goals. Trust me, it is not. This is not Disney, you are not Cinderella. Wake up.

I am an anti, yes, but I’m more anti (yoi) fandom than anything. They cause more problems in the name of YOI, looking like a bunch of idiotic YOI Crusaders, so it makes the anime look worse. When you see the fandom vs the anime, it’s really not that good. The unnecessary hype makes them look very delusional. It kind of reminds me of 2015 when everyone was screaming “WATCH SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN!!!!!!!! OMFG IT’S THE BEST THING EVER” and I watched it and…?? It’s a good show but I wouldn’t call it a masterpiece. It’s not like SNK did anything spectacularly different from all the other post-apocalyptic type shows (no hard feelings SNK fans) The openings were straight fire tho. If there was no fandom (or at least not this current behavior) the show would’ve been fine, it’s whatever. Now I can’t even think of ice skating without making a face.

What I think the fandom fails to realize is that criticism doesn’t necessarily mean hating (unlike what they do to other fandoms). I am criticizing because I actually liked YOI (keyword: liked). If I did not care about YOI at all, I would not have a strong opinion to be even receiving this ask (thanks by the way💗). I am on the anti side because I believe YOI had the potential to be a great anime, but fell short (waayyy short. I mean, wtf was that?). I feel that I, and other anti yoi members, were scammed, cheated, bamboozled, hoodwinked, robbed, you naammmee it. Serious sports anime where??????? The only thing serious about Yuri on Ice is the blatant flaws and toxic fandom it somehow produced. I blame trump.

It also doesn’t help that there are 20+, 30+ year olds in the fandom acting like this. How are you a grown adult acting like a 12 year old fangirl of a crappy boy band? Not trying to be confrontational, but…?????? Y'all don’t got work, school, maybe kids?????? Parties?????? Something way more important than this? Hello get those priorities in check please

30 minutes into writing this I noticed the second half of your question, lmao. I didn’t know, actually. I stay away from the main tags. I think I just cringed thinking of things people would do to that body pillow…

🚔🚔

#anti yoi #anti yoi fandom #the only time i've seen people so deluded were these trump supporters #and when you present both with facts they become quiet or just start spouting nonsense #i guess yoi fans believe in alternate facts too #this is the longest response to an ask i've ever written wtf #i better put this same energy into college next week

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ylla · 7 years

Text

Green Isn’t Your Color

Series: JJBA Characters: Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, polnareff is kinda there Pairing: Josuyasu Tags: modern AU, jotakak mentioned one whole time, josuke is protective and okuyasu is a culinary student who’s working his ass off Rating:

AO3 tag

I farted this out in record time today. I’ve been trying to bang out fics before school starts back up and all my free time is eaten up by it. If I manage to get into the flow of writing, I’ll keep writing, but if I fall out of it, then I just stop and never write again for like, a million years.

Please enjoy Polnareff’s advice and Josuke shitting all over someone’s life because they picked the wrong person to fuck with.

Josuke didn’t believe in getting jealous. Why would he? He knew he’s a good looking guy; has the best taste in fashion, music, and men (better than the rest of these chucklefucks on campus at least). Heads turned wherever he went, girls fell over themselves to just be near him; hell, people even offered him modeling jobs. He was always showered with compliments, but he really didn’t give a shit about other people’s opinions of him (unless it was about his hair, then he would go to war over that).

He only cared what Okuyasu thought. Josuke knew he wasn’t just a handsome dude, but also an incredibly lucky one at that. No one could find a better boyfriend than Okuyasu Nijimura. It was impossible. Oku was the piece he never realized he was missing. And as long as Oku thought he was sexy, then that was all he needed.

So yeah, why would Josuke Higashikata be jealous of anyone?

That was question he asked himself, as he once again found himself grinding his teeth down to nothing at the sight of a pack of girls flirting with his boyfriend.

His classes for the day had been cancelled; he had the same professor all day and she had informed them that she was very ill and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. So, he decided to surprise Okuyasu, but lo and behold, his boyfriend was slammed with legit customers and a horde of females, and didn’t even notice when Josuke walked in.

Okuyasu was one of three freshmen that was accepted into the very prestigious, only accepts 5 students every other year, culinary program at their university. He busted so much ass and worked so goddamn hard to get in, and Josuke was so fucking proud of him.

A bonus to getting into the program (or a curse, depending on who you asked) was working in the culinary program’s café. It was completely ran by students, with only some oversight from the department, so students got carte blanche on the menu. Typically about 3 to 4 students were assigned together in a group, and the schedule rotated who took orders and who cooked. And every single time Okuyasu was manning the cash register, the same pack of girls would hog up all the seats at the counter to talk to him.

Josuke knew that Okuyasu loved him more than anything. And he could plainly see how uncomfortable his boyfriend was, surrounded by a fawning crowd of women who kept trying to touch him.

If he was honest, he couldn’t blame them and he wondered if Okuyasu felt the same way he did when Josuke was accosted by girls.

Okuyasu didn’t really do his hair up like normal due to food reasons, so he wore a snapback turned backwards to keep his shorthairs from falling out of his ponytail. If it was anyone else, it would look bad, but Oku was so cute in it. Tomoko had nagged him into going to the eye doctor after learning that he had never been to one in all of his 19 years of living. So it turned out he needed glasses, and now wore thick, black square-shaped frames whenever he had to do a lot of reading or writing. Work didn’t require a uniform, but he had to wear plain, solid color t-shirts, which was paired with nice skinny jeans and he usually wore Converse low-tops with it. To top it off, Josuke had went with him a few weeks ago to get his ears pierced.

He was every hipster’s wet dream. Which was the exact type of girls he was attracting: girls with piercings, multicolored hair, and tattoos who talked to him like he was this unemotional hardass, when in reality, he was the softest person Josuke had ever met. Gruff on the outside, gooey on the inside (a good example of this is like how Okuyasu always bawled his eyes out when Josuke brought him home sunflowers, then called him a sappy little shithead before giving him a kiss).

They had talked about this flirting problem before. Oku had made it very clear from the beginning that he had a boyfriend, whom he was madly in love with. This did help some, but the biggest, thirstiest offenders only became more aggressive in their flirting. He was too nervous to ask them to leave, in fear that they would kick up a big fuss and he would lose his job and thus, his place in the program. Most of the upperclassmen just teased him about it, rather than actually help. The only ones who cared was the other two freshmen, and they ran interference when they could.

Josuke didn’t want to jeopardize anything, so he had to suck it up and watch from afar as the ring leader, who was super-duper thirsty, stroked Oku’s arm. He immediately felt his blood pressure rise and decided he needed to have a smoke before he lost his damn mind.

The only good thing about a cold ass February morning was that the frozen wind did wonders in calming someone down. Mostly because your thought process devolves from “I’m so goddamned mad” to “JESUS CHRIST, IT’S COLD”. Unfortunately, it was only slightly working with Josuke. He paced in front of the entrance of the building, muttering cusswords to himself, feeling like a real McAsshole for being so pissy.

He needed to talk to someone, he needed some honest to god advice.

Josuke pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts: not Koichi, definitely not Jotaro or his husband Noriaki, not his mother because she would personally come to campus to wreak havoc, not Johnny or Gyro, not…

Well it’s not like he had many options after this.

He placed his call, feeling like a bastard because it was probably about 1 am in France.

The phone picked up on the second ring, “Bonjour, Josuke. This is a surprise.” Polnareff sounded wide awake.

“Hey man, uh, I didn’t wake you up, right?”

“No, you actually caught me at a good time,” there was an inhale, then exhale of breath, “I was just having my post-sex cigarette.”

Josuke groaned, “Gross, I didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, you are the one who called me at 1 in the morning, so forgive me.” Polnareff spoke in rapid French to someone in the background, “Anyways, what is on your mind, my pompadoured friend?”

This was a mistake, but it was too late. He had to soldier on, “I need…advice.”

There was a sharp, pleased squeal on the other end, “Really?? I’m so touched. I should have this moment bronzed so I can always remember this—“

“I’m hanging up.”

“Non non non, don’t be like that,” Polnareff said, trying to be placating, “Tell me, what’s wrong? Surely, you’re not after love advice?”

“Well…”

Josuke relayed the problem with Oku’s aggressive fan club. Polnareff listened without interrupting, only speaking when he was done, “So let me get this straight. You are upset that Okuyasu has all these fangirls after him, and he can’t get them to go away, in fear that he will lose his job?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t want to do say anything that could get him in trouble?”

“Pretty much.”

He heard Polnareff light up another cigarette, “And you also feel bad for feeling, as you put it, jealous over all the attention he’s getting?”

“It’s not because he’s getting attention,” Josuke was working on his second cigarette, “It’s that these harpies won’t leave him alone and keep flirting when he’s clearly uninterested.”

“Worried about competition?” Polnareff chuckled.

“No! I mean—I guess? I’ve never had to deal with this before,” Josuke said, frustrated that he felt unable to articulate how he felt without sounding like a complete toolbag, “Oku’s never had a lot of attention paid to him, which is a travesty—“

“Clearly not that big of a travesty, considering how you’re feeling right now—“

“He’s just such a sweet, good person! And so good to me! Not to mention, he’s hot as fuck, and stacked like a brick shithouse. It’s fucked that I’ve been the only person to see that…“

Polnareff made some assenting noises, before speaking in rapid French to whomever was there with him again. He turned his attention back to the phone, “Your colorful description aside. Are you worried that he’s going to find someone better and move on, now that he has all this new found attention?”

Josuke took to pacing again, “…I guess. But I mean, who could be better than me, am I right?” His laugh was hollow sounding.

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not jealous, you’re just being territorial.”

“Isn’t that like, bad?”

The Frenchman tutted, “A little possessiveness is fine, as long as it isn’t abusive or damaging. You’re also naturally protective over people you care about, so it feels worse when you notice that Oku’s uncomfortable.”

“Damn, that’s true,” Josuke sighed, finishing his cigarette.

“Also, he’s head over heels in love with you, kid. You don’t have anything to worry about as far as him ‘finding someone better’. He lives and breathes for you.”

Josuke glanced down at the bracelet on his right wrist. On their 1 year anniversary, Okuyasu had bought him a delicate little gold bracelet that had 3 small golden stars linked together. You’re the stars in my sky, and I love you is what Oku whispered to him when he clipped it on; Josuke may or may not have cried a disgusting amount of tears.

“I know. Just…feeling insecure I guess…” Josuke paused, “If you tell anyone what I just said, I will fly to France and shave you bald.”

“Yeesh, no need for threats. I have no plans on repeating this to anyone.” Polnareff sounded like he was wincing, nothing hurt him like threats to the hair, “Everyone feels insecure at some point in their life, even us beautiful people.”

“Just making sure.” Josuke sat back down, and fought the urge to smoke a third cigarette, “So, how do I deal with all this…” he made a gesture, but remembered Polnareff couldn’t see him, “all this horse shit?”

“My advice? Stake your claim. You don’t have to be a total dick. You don’t have to get loud or aggressive. All you need to do is get one of those seats at that counter, and mark your territory in front of all those girls.”

“What if they get pushy?”

He could hear the grin in Polnareff’s voice, “Just be your sweet self. Do everything I would do.”

“Don’t think I’m gonna get that adventurous, but I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks Pol, I owe you one.”

“You sure do, but that’s a conversation for another time. Goodnight, kiddo.”

“Night, man.” With that Josuke hung up, already scheming.

When he reentered the café, it was still earlier than he normally did, but the rush had died down considerably. All of the girls were gone save for the ring leader, who was sitting in the second nearest seat to the cash register. Josuke made a beeline for the one right beside it. Oku had looked to the door with a faint scowl, clearly not had having a good day until he saw it was Josuke that had walked in. His scowl melted away into that bright, sunny grin that had earned him his pet name, “Look who it is. Did class end early?”

Josuke took a seat and just made himself right at home, “Hey sunshine,” he smirked at the color that flooded his boyfriend’s face and pointedly ignored the death glare he was getting from the girl beside him, “No, my classes with Professor Kuhn got cancelled for the week, so I decided to stop in early. How’s your day been?”

“Bad, but now that you’re here, it’s a million times better.” Oku put his elbows on the counter, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them, “What do you want?” His glasses were slightly sliding down his nose; he was so cute.

“Hmmm, I dunno…” Josuke looked up at the ceiling, tapped his chin, pretending to think really hard before looking directly into Oku’s eyes, “Are you on the menu?”

If Oku went any redder, Josuke would be slightly concerned, “M-Maybe later…” Josuke heard a huff beside him but ignored it, “Uhm, how about for now though?”

“Well, I guess I can settle for my usual.” He slid Oku’s glasses back up into place for him.

“Gotcha. You want any fruit with it?”

“Hmmm, gimme strawberries, with a chocolate drizzle.”

“Aye aye. Hey guys,” He hollered into the open window, “I need a plate of crepes, with strawberries and chocolate drizzle, please and thank you.”

“Is it for your maaaaan?” called out what appeared to be a sentient high ponytail, since that was all Josuke could see in the back.

“Yeeeahhh…” Oku answered, blushing hard.

A buff, surly looking dude walked into view, “I suppose you’ll want to cut the strawberries to arrange them in a heart? Or sprinkle the confectioners’ sugar on with love?” he teased, light French accent coloring his voice.

Okuyasu sputtered, “S-s-shut your mouth!! Maybe I do, what’s it to you??” The buff guy winked at Josuke before walking out of view again. Looked like Josuke wasn’t the only one who had put up with an obnoxious Frenchman today. “Bastard,” huffed Okuyasu, still smiling and flushed despite the insult, “I’m gonna go cut the strawberries and shit. Holler for me if anyone walks up front, okay?”

“Go do work, sunshine, I’ll be waiting.” Josuke blew an obnoxious kiss at him. Okuyasu’s ears and neck were blood red as he skittered to the back.

Now that Oku was out of earshot, Josuke finally peeked at the girl beside him. She had gorgeous lime green colored hair; nose and lip rings, with a tattoo of some kind of dragon snaking up her arm. Very pretty, but her face was twisted into a sour glare, determinedly not looking at Josuke.

“I’m a lucky guy…” He sighed dreamily. Greenie didn’t even spare him a glance. “Hey,” he said, as if he was realizing for the first time he had seen her before, “You come in here a lot, right?”

“Yep.” She didn’t even look at him, pretending to be very interested in her phone.

Josuke turned his head towards her, resting it in his right hand, “Don’t you think Okuyasu’s the greatest?”

“Yeah, he’s cool.” She grunted, clearly not wanting to have this conversation.

“You know, my mom always told me to find someone who knew how to cook, was cute, and could kick ass. Never imagined I’d find all of that in one person.”

Greenie finally turned towards him, a thin, insincere smile on her face, “Must be nice.”

Josuke gave her a shit-eating grin, “Hell yeah it is… Hey, between you, me, and this counter,” he leaned in closer, speaking softer, “No one ever flirted with Okuyasu or pursued him except for me. Most people don’t realize how wonderful he is until they get to know him.” Josuke faced forward, watching Oku work in the kitchen, laughing at something the girl with the ponytail was saying. “He never had fangirls until…” Josuke’s eyes slid back over to her, “He started working here.”

She had the decency to look guilty, but it snapped into a sneer, “What, you wising up and realizin’ you got some competition?”

Unable to help himself, Josuke threw his head back and guffawed, “Oh honey, like you even stood a chance.” He looked back down at her, “There isn’t a chance in hell you could ever get with him. You’re not even his type.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re scared I’m gonna steal him away—“

Josuke started cackling again, “That’s too funny, you think you are remotely close to my level.” He leaned over again, going for the kill, “Green really isn’t your color, especially with your complexion. It washes you out and brings out those bags under your eyes.”

Honestly, Josuke expected her to either: A) start throwing punches or B) start crying. He got option C, which was her looking ready to murder him, but instead of acting on it, she threw all of her shit into her bag, and stormed off without paying.

“Don’t let the door hit your sad, flat ass on the way out,” Josuke called after her.

Okuyasu came back out carrying his food, “Did she leave without paying?”

“Looks like it. Can I get some water, babe?”

“Thank god,” Okuyasu sighed in relief, “She’ll be banned from coming here again. No more havin’ to deal with that shit anymore.” He slid Josuke the cup of water, “Tell me what you think.”

Josuke took a bite out of his lunch: fabulous, as usual. “You made these, didn’t you?”

“Maaaaybe. Do you like it?” Oku looked into his eyes, searching for a lie he assumed was coming.

“It’s amazing,” Josuke smiled up at him, “You’re amazing, and I love you.” He picked up one of Oku’s hands and kissed it, “Mine.”

His boyfriend went bright red, “Yours.” Oku pulled out his phone, “Alright I gotta clock out and get to class, I’ll be done around noon. You wanna go back to your place after I’m done?”

“Yeah babe, sounds like a plan. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

Okuyasu walked into the back to get his stuff. When he returned he kissed Josuke’s forehead, “Enjoy lunch, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

There was a chorus of OOOOO’s from the kitchen; Oku flipped them the bird and kept walking. Josuke chuckled to himself as he finished his food.

“Oku’s got it baaad~” sang ponytail girl.

“Good job on getting rid of that girl,” The French guy was hanging out of the window, “Never thought we’d be able to get her out of here.”

Josuke held up three fingers, “There’s three things in in my life you don’t fuck with,” he started ticking down digits as he spoke, “My hair, my mother, and Okuyasu. If you fuck with them, I will ruin your whole day.”

“Sounded like you shat all over that girl’s life.”

He sniffed, “Wasn’t the worst thing I could’ve said to her.”

Like a good boyfriend, Josuke did homework and waited patiently for Okuyasu. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Oku plopped down beside him, “I hate math. I don’t get that algebra shit.”

Josuke patted his shoulder before putting his books into his bag, “You’ll do great in business math next semester.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I’m right all the time.” Josuke hopped up, “Let’s go home.”

Okuyasu sighed and heaved himself up, “Only if we stop and get ice cream on the way, I’ll pay.”

“You spoil me…” Josuke gave him a smooch on the cheek before intertwining their fingers. He pulled his boyfriend close so he could whisper in his ear, “And I’ll spoil you when we get to my place.”

Josuke could feel the heat radiating off of Oku’s ear, “O-oh? You…you got anything in mind?”

“A lot of things, actually. But that’s all dependent on whether or not you’ve been a good boy—EEEE!” Josuke didn’t expect Okuyasu to pick him up like a bride to haul ass home.

They ended up saving ice cream for later.

#okuyasu nijimura #josuke higashikata #josuyasu #josuke x okuyasu #jjba

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