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numberonephantompizza1 · 3 years

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Poppy Fanfic: “Ask Her”

For context: This is a fanfic I wrote in order to join the Poppy Milk dev team and show off my writing skills. Since the callout at the time said we’d need to write a lot of sidequests, I wanted to ask the question of what a Poppy-centered side-quest would be like. I got the idea that it would be from an Asker’s perspective, and everything sort of came naturally after that. Even though I’m on the dev team right now, it’s not canon to Omega Timeline: Poppy’s Story and even has some inaccuracies that contradict canon. With that said, please feel free to read the story below the cut.

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You noticed something very different inside your room when you woke up. The lights were off and the sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a certain… aura, coming from your door. You were filled with a certain trepidation, but… you approached it. It was hard to see in the light, but it looked… grey.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped through...

...and found about the last person you would’ve expected. The spitting image of Frisk - CORE!Frisk, that was, looking up at you, in the middle of a white void.

“Wh- You’re real?!” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course I’m real. Have you been taking all this multiverse stuff for granted? Everything is real somewhere,” Core answered, simply.

“I… I don’t… and you, me…” you panted, starting to feel a small panic attack coming on.

“Focus,” Core snapped their fingers, grounding you back in reality. Okay, this was happening now.

“Let’s get down to business. Simply: you don’t like me. And I don’t like you. But we BOTH like Poppy. Poppy, my dear, sweet angel… has unfortunately recently come to the realization that Askers ALSO exist in the multiverse. And now she wants to do a ‘meet n’ greet’ with one of her fans. Trust me, I TRIED to talk her out of it, but she can be darn persuasive when she wants to be. And as you’re now realizing, that’s where you come in.

“I wanna make you a deal. You play along with whatever Poppy wants until she gets bored of this. If you’re on your best behavior - and that means, don’t give her anything bad, don’t tell her anything you KNOW she shouldn’t know, don’t use any magic, and be a general good influence - if you play nice, in exchange, I will allow you to hang out with ANY resident of the Omega Timeline.

“Want to spend a day full of wacky hijinks with a Papyrus, or even an Underswap Sans? Consider it done. Want to know how Deltarune Chapter 2 plays out ahead of time? I know a Susie with your name on it. Whatever you want, so long as you play by the rules, and don’t ask for anyone obviously ridiculous. So… do we have ourselves a deal?”

You contemplated that offer, and everything that was happening, trying to suppress your inner urge to geek out for just a few moments. The Omega Timeline, Poppy, and all the AU’s you could think of and more were real. And you just got an invitation to visit them.

“Yeah, of course!” you nodded excitedly, though your enthusiasm only seemed to make Core more anxious.

“Don’t make me regret this…” Core sighed, as the whiteness seemed to melt away into a cozy-looking house with wooden floors and lime walls, where you were standing directly outside of a white door. Core seemed to have disappeared.

Technically, there was nothing stopping you from exploring. So you did just that. You walked up to a shelf with some family photos. One was a photo of Poppy, Core, Dusted and Rust all together, in some meadow, looking happy. At least, you assumed Dusted and Rust were happy, they didn’t show up well on camera. There was another photo of Poppy alone, looking somewhat younger than she did on the blog, seated on a chair in a photo that looked far more staged. She held an actual poppy flower in her hand and smiled brightly.

You opened the cabinet doors, curious of what knick-knacks you might find in there. Some crayons, a few random glass cups, some art by 3-year-old Poppy that was so poorly done its meaning was hard to decipher, and a locked box. You reached for the box--

“Getting a bit sidetracked, aren’t we?”

You jolted up, and faced Core behind you. Even though they were child-sized, they crossed their arms with the poise and authority of a stern parent. You laughed anxiously. “Ahahaha… ahaha… ha……..”

“...Strike one.” Core said, and vanished. The meaning of that was all-too clear. Deciding not to dilly dally any longer, you went to the room you suspected to be Poppy’s, and knocked.

“Just a sec!” Poppy said, and opened the door. She looked up at you, and gasped. “Wow, Granpa really did come through…!” She twirled excitedly. “You must be my adoring fan, aren’t you?” she asked.

You stared down at the girl in stunned silence.

“To be honest, I kinda figured you’d be some gray guy with sunglasses, but that’s kinda silly in hindsight. How you doin’?” She asked that last line in a mock accent as you continued to stare.

“Baby,” you said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you quickly tried to change the subject. “Yeah, it’s… y’know, it’s great to be here…” You clasped your hands together, biting your lip. You were in an Undertale AU, faced with the AU granddaughter of another AU character. You still weren’t entirely over that. Was this fever dream? Fandom heaven, or fandom hell?

“I know! Once I heard you guys weren’t from the Omega Timeline, I realized I hadn’t met even ONE of my fans… even if you guys are super annoying some of the time.”

“Uhhh, yeah…” you wondered if you should apologize on behalf of the askers who put Poppy in the hospital that one time. Then again, it seemed kind of awkward, and it might have been best not to bring that up while Core was watching, which was always. Looking down at the cutesy girl, it was almost tempting to pull her into a hug, but you managed to keep your composure.

“I wanted to do something a little more special than just some sorta interview, though, because you ask me questions all the time anyways,” Poppy said. “Granpa said you’ve never been to the Omega Timeline before, so I wanna give you the big tour!” Poppy went to the door. “I’m gonna be outside when you’re ready!” She left the room.

Seeing the empty room in front of you, you were tempted to snoop again, but you’d learned your lesson after last time. You headed straight out after Poppy.

You couldn’t help but gasp in awe of the serenity of the great outdoors as you were beckoned to it. You’d been outside before, obviously, but everything just looked so… nice. The blue sky, the grassy grounds, the ornate buildings… you’ve seen this place in pixel art and a couple drawings before, but seeing it with your own eyes was another story. And the next thing for you to nearly faint at was seeing the Undertale characters running around, Sanses, Undynes, Frisks, even goat moms.

Poppy smiled. “...It’s nice, isn’t it? I KNEW taking you on a tour was a good idea.” She smirked. “Now remember, just because this is a meet-up doesn’t mean it’s free, and there WILL be a fee at the end of our ride.”

“...Uh… I left my wallet at home,” you said, patting your pockets, “And I don’t have any, uh... ‘G,’ I think. Unless the G stands for ‘Gratitude,’ amiright?” you did finger guns.

“G stands for Gold,” Poppy corrected you bluntly, unamused. She returned to her chipper attitude just as quickly, though. “Now, let me show you around!” She led you down the street.

Walking with her, seeing so many versions of your favorite characters in the flesh, walking around… well, the temptation to talk to SOME of them was irresistible, Core be damned. You did resolve not to go too far off-track, but you shared some words with the folks you passed by, Poppy thankfully stopping each time you did. You met two Frisks - one boy, one ambiguous - an Underswap Undyne, a human version of Toriel, and surprisingly, a version of Princess Peach.

You and Poppy approached an elegant fountain, stood upon proudly by a statue of a mustachio’d CORE!Frisk. “This is the Timeline Plaza! It’s sort of the local park, where people meet up to do... stuff. Just hang out. Make a picnic. Play ball. All that good park-y stuff, y’know? And there’s stores in all directions, so it’s pretty good.” She proudly showed off her home to you, with a smile.

You talked to more on the way to the next place. An Inverted Fate Papyrus. A weird Ralsei who said his name was “Noyno.” An Asgore wearing a hoodie, who you assumed was swapped with Sans. (Poppy did scold you a little bit for this, telling you that just because someone has a hoodie you shouldn’t assume they’re swapped. You apologized.)

“This is Grillby’s! One of them, anyways. The nearest one to my house. It’s pretty good if you want an OK burger. Sanses love the place, though. It’s… kind of unhealthy. And a little gross.” Poppy said. “Especially when they just drink… raw… ketchup.”

“Can’t handle a little ketchup?” you smiled mischievously. “We drink it by the gallon back in my universe,” you lied.

“...I really hope you’re joking,” Poppy said, alarmed.

“Am I?” you smiled brighter.

“...W-well, we’re not going in there, so you can FORGET about drinking that much ketchup!” Poppy said, afraid of the sheer power of your ketchup-drinking.

You and Poppy moved onto the next spot. You met an Underswap Alphys who seemed to be trapped in a red-and-gold palette. You met a robot dressed as a circus ringmaster, who claimed to be a Chara. You met a Dummy dressed in a Frisk shirt. (You didn’t assume it was swapped with Frisk this time, which turned out to be a mistake, because it was.) Poppy stared at you awkwardly now, wondering why you were talking to all these random strangers. Finally, you and Poppy reached your next destination.

“The theater! Where we show off all the greatest hits! Including MY movie, which, not to brag, but it’s--”

Except, you’d been distracted by a hyperdeath Asriel, and were ignoring Poppy for the moment.

“...” Poppy spoke up. “That’s what I don’t get about you.”

“Huh?” that seemed to wake you up, and you looked at her.

“Everytime it’s always, ‘have you met Underswap Sans,’ or ‘have you met JangoTale Frisk,’ or some other weird thing. You always ask that. But… they’re just people. Why do you always assume I know some random Sans or Frisk or someone?”

“I…” you were a bit taken aback. “...I don’t… we don’t assume you know them, they’re just… they’re just important.”

“Important?” She asked. “...I-I mean, yeah, EVERYONE’s important, but, I don’t really get what you mean…”

“They’re all--” You paused, trying to collect your thoughts, think of everything you knew from the blog, and tried to actually talk to her. “...They’re like friends to me. Kinda.”

“...You guys are friends with them? I thought you were stuck in your world…” she frowned.

“No, it’s like-- I’m not ‘friends’ with Underswap Frisk, or-- or Storyshift Frisk, or Shifty or whatever, I’m just friends with… Frisk.”

...Poppy stared at you like you just said the ground was turning to jelly, or something equally bafflingly inane. “...I… think you’re confused. Look, sometimes newcomers struggle with this. Your Frisk isn’t the only Frisk--”

“I know! It’s… You don’t get it. This world, these worlds are so special and creative, and they mean a lot to me. I know we can be really edgy, and I know we ask weird questions about Dusted and Rust, but that’s all because… because...” you paused.

Poppy looked, seeming upset about hearing her siblings mentioned in the context of ‘edgy’ questions, not seeing what you were seeing. Core, standing behind her, holding up a hand signal.

The number two.

You were getting carried away. You overstepped.

“...Um… I’m sorry.” You pulled her into a hug as Core vanished. “There’s really no reason for us to ask those questions. We can just be dumb sometimes.”

“...” She hugged back. “Yeah, it’s okay. I knew you guys were super weird and dumb before I convinced Granpa to let you in here, so I guess I should’ve seen this coming,” Poppy smiled, regaining her confidence as you did your best to not be offended at being called weird and dumb.

“Okay! I think I have just one last stop in mind to cap this tour off on a high note! Literally, hehehe…” She giggled mischievously. This time, you didn’t stop to talk to others, following her directly as you approached a peak overlooking the town. For yet another time, and probably the last, you couldn’t help but ogle at the town’s beauty. “Pretty good, right?” She sat down.

“Ha… with all the climbing, I was worried we’d fall down a mountain,” you joked. Poppy seemed to roll her eyes, as you sat beside her. “...I guess I get how you can call this place home. I mean, once I stop nerding out, anyways. You don’t see stuff like this in my… reality.”

“Just gallons and gallons of ketchup, huh?” she commented. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah.”

And you two just stared into the distance for a while. ...She wasn’t just a character. She was a human being.

...Or, technically just a ‘being,’ scratch the human part. Still, you felt a bit desensitized to all this. And so did she. You related in that way.

“I can’t say you exactly passed with flying colors, but you fulfilled your end of the agreement well enough.”

Without any warning, you were back in a white void with CORE!Frisk, just like before. You almost forgot about the deal you made, what with all the time you spent with Poppy. You stood.

“Uh… yeah. So, my reward…” you drifted off, remembering the offer Core gave you. The chance to meet just about any AU character of your imagining… or at least, any that would be peaceful enough to be in the Omega Timeline. Which still left a WIDE variety of options…

Who did you want to see? What mattered most to you?

...

Thinking deeply… you told Core their name.

“...Oh. Really? Well, I guess it makes sense for you that you’d want to see them,” Core remarked. “I can’t guarantee they’ll give you what you’re looking for, but a deal’s a deal. Let’s head off.”

You and Core went somewhere else.

---

And that’s all she wrote! If you read this far, thank you. Working on the game since then has been fun, and I think you’ll like what we have in store. Until then, ciao.

#undertale #omega timeline #poppy's story

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mcwriting · 4 years

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The Marriage Project (4)

Hi everyone! Sorry this came late! I was soooo busy this week that I had to push this chapter back but I’m hoping to drop chapter 5 on Friday next week like normal. As listed in the warnings, this chapter has some heavier topics than the other 3 but the scene is relatively mild and not too descriptive.

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2808

Warnings: Mentions of verbal s*exual harassment, mentions of fighting/injury, strong language, angst

% approximately the last weekend in September %

You sat at the back of the team bus on the way to the hotel, since the tournament was all day Saturday. You shared a row with Julia and was working on some calculus homework and listening to music while she talked to someone across the aisle.

When you finished, you took out your headphones and looked over at her. She was now playing on her phone.

“Hey, do you wanna bunk together tonight? I don’t feel like sharing a bed with Emily this week.” you whispered, making sure the freshman sitting a few rows up couldn’t hear you.

“Yeah sure. I was actually gonna ask you the same anyways.”

You were one of only two seniors on the team, so you and the other senior, Anna, were asked to split up and chaperone the girls whose parents weren’t coming to the tournament. Both of your rooms had three other people.

Once the team got checked into the hotel, you all went to dinner at a nearby chain restaurant where you, Julia, Anna, and a few other girls sat at a table together joking around.

After dinner, the team headed back to the hotel and were allowed to either hang in the lobby or your rooms, so long as you weren’t disruptive and stayed in pairs. You stayed in the lobby for a while but decided to go prepare for bed around 10.

Julia tagged along as your buddy, not saying much as you rode the elevator up.

After changing and brushing your teeth, you sat at one corner of the bed looking into a wall-mounted mirror as you combed your hair to pull it into a braid. Julia had been watching the TV when she piped up.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” you didn’t look back at her.

“What’s going on between you and Tom?”

You paused mid-braid, then continued.

“What do you mean?” your brows furrowed as you finished off the braid, wrapping the end with a hair tie.

“It’s just… you guys have seemed super close lately, and Sam said you’re at their house pretty much every weekend now. I thought you guys hated each other or something.”

You turned your body to look at her.

“Uhhhh we definitely still hate each other. We’re just partnered up for this semester-long marriage project in home ec. It’s whatever.”

“Oh. Okay then. It just seemed like something else I guess.”

Something else?

“Wait, what are you trying to say? Do you think we’re, like, dating or something?”

“Well you guys go to almost every one of each other’s games. And Sam said their mom loves you so it just seemed like… I don’t know.”

“Whoever thinks we more than hate each other is wrong. Just the idea of him and I together grosses me out so much. Once this semester is over, he and I probably won’t speak to each other again until the day I’m chosen valedictorian over him.”

“Okay, well, I’ll let Sam kn-”

She was cut off by the sound of the door opening as the two freshman girls who were taking the other bed came in giggling.

Glad to finally be out of that conversation.

After a few more random conversations, you all decided to go to bed and rest up for the tournament early the next morning.

It’s when you rolled over onto your side to face the wall that thoughts of your conversation with Julia began racing. Did people really think something other than a fake marriage was going on with Tom?

Exhaustion got the best of you before you could dwell on it further.

You sat in calculus Monday morning listening to the announcements. Your name and a couple others were listed off from the winning sports. The team had won, and you’d gotten tournament MVP.

The class congratulated you, so you jokingly did a royal wave around the room, stopping to look at Tom.

“That’s how it’s done. You guys may have won too, but I think I beat you out this time.”

“Yeah, good job.”

What. Why was he congratulating you?

“Uhhh. You don’t have anything else to say? No insult, no witty clapback? Who are you and what have you done to the Tom Holland I know and hate?”

He shrugged.

“I just don’t have anything negative to say. I mean, you got MVP and the team won. That’s pretty impressive.”

Now you knew something was up. In all your years of knowing Tom, he’d never been this nice. Sure, he’d sometimes say “nice shot!” when you scored more than one goal in soccer but he usually was able to find a way to pick on you at the same time.

You were working on a new sewing project in home ec later, sharing what happened with Alexis.

“Maybe he’s just not feeling well or something? He probably just couldn’t think up something fast enough,” she suggested.

“You don’t get it, Lex. It was so not like him. After Thursday, and what Julia said Friday night, something weird is going on, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

Wondering if anything was out of the ordinary with him now, you looked over to where he was, only to find him looking back at you.

Weird.

In senior art that afternoon, you worked on an acrylic beach landscape you’d been doing with a palette knife.

You were listening to music and intently focused when you felt a presence loom over you and noticed a hand resting on either side of you.

You ripped out an earbud and turned to see Tom leaning over your seated position, looking at your artwork.

“What the- Tom! What in the hell are you doing?” you pushed him off you and he stepped next to your chair, arms folded over his chest.

“Just looking to see how you were doing, princess. I think it needs a sailboat.”

“Okay first of all I’m not even done but like… why were you leaning over me like that? I was kinda in my zone there.”

He uncrossed his arms and pointed one had around the canvas.

“Well I was mostly coming over to say you had a little something right,” he poked a finger from his other hand onto your nose, leaving a dot of paint, “there.”

“Thomas Holland. If you don’t get the hell away from me and my artwork right this second I will literally beat you up in front of this entire class. You know it’s true too.” you threatened through grinding teeth.

“Are we having a problem over here?” your art teacher interjected, causing you to both look at her. You pointed at your nose.

“Mr. Holland here doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”

“Tom. You know how I feel about messing around with art supplies. Now go sit down, you still have a lot to go on your own painting.”

He sighed and headed back to his seat.

“Y/n, why don’t you go wash that off real quick. I’ll keep an eye on your canvas for you.”

You got up, brushing past Tom. First, he’d been super nice this morning, and now he was putting paint on your nose like a little kid?

It was infuriating to think about.

Wednesday, it was like he was even worse.

He flipped between being the nicest guy ever to trying to humiliate you every chance he got.

The final straw was during your free period when you’d typically have volleyball practice (it was a game day). You’d walked by some of the football team who were practicing on the field and some players tried to catcall you, yelling disgusting sexist comments and whistling. Instead of sticking up for you, Tom just looked at you sheepishly as they laughed.

You just stuck up a middle finger and kept walking, as you were running errands for your volleyball coach and didn’t want to be too long.

After school, you stormed out of the school building and caught sight of him leaning against his car talking to a few of the guys from before as his brothers stood around nearby.

When you were about 20 feet away when you yelled out at him.

“Hey Tom! What the hell?”

His conversation paused and he turned to you. The other guys laughed and waved him bye as you approached.

“I’m sorry, but what?” he asked when you reached his car. You tossed your volleyball bag onto the asphalt.

“What is wrong with you? First you’re super nice to me, then I catch you staring at me in class and then the whole paint thing, and that was just Monday. Then today you flip from nice to asshole, and just sit idly by when your friends fucking harass me!?”

“I was just messing around like we always do! And come on, it was just a whistle and a couple jokes, y/n.”

“That’s the thing! It’s not just a whistle or a joke! Call it that when you read the countless stories of women who are attacked for simply ignoring a guy or trying to stand up for herself! I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BEG YOU AND EVERY OTHER MAN FOR SOME SIMPLE RESPECT!” you were yelling and breathing hard. “I guess I thought that after the past few weeks we had come to some kind of an understanding, but apparently I was wrong. You’re still the biggest asshole I know.”

“Y/n, please. You know I would never do anything to actually harm you, right? I’ll talk to the guys and figure it out. I mean, what else do you want me to do?”

“Maybe we should get a ‘divorce’ on this stupid project. It’s obviously not working out,” you spat.

“I- okay.”

You were taken aback. Did he really just agree?

“Okay? That’s all you have to say? You really want to go through with it?”

“Well, if it’s what you feel is best, I’m not going to stop you from talking to Mrs. Flynn.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see what she wants us to do.” you said, much more calmly.

With that, you picked up your bag and walked off, wanting to cool down before your game.

“Damn, Tom. That’s rough,” Harry said once you were out of earshot.

“Yeah, dude. You should’ve stood up for her. That’s not cool,” Sam added.

Tom hung his head for a minute, not sure what to think, then straightened up, shaking it angrily.

“You’re right. She’s right. I need to find those guys.”

Things had cooled down for you by the time you’d eaten a snack and hung out with some of the team for a little bit. You didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but by the way Julia kept looking at you, you figured Sam had told her.

An hour before game time, you went to go put on your kneepads and volleyball shoes. As you passed through the gym, Julia hopped up from her seat next to her boyfriend and rushed up to you.

“Whatever Sam said, I’m over it now. I’m just going to channel it into the game” you told her before she could get a word out.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Sam said you seemed pretty shaken up.”

“Look, jules, I know you’re trying to help, but now isn’t the time. I just need to focus on one thing at a time, okay? Let’s just win this and then maybe later we can talk.”

You sped up past her to where the group was in a circle, already doing stretches. You felt bad for blowing her off, but you had other things to worry about.

Your team lost the first set for the first time all season. You just couldn’t get your head in the game. You had fumbled a few sets and sent your hand into the net while hitting not once, but twice. You’d even sent a serve straight back to the wall on the other side of the gym.

You were now sitting on the bench listening to your coach yell at you, taking it all in. You were looking at her directly when a figure coming through the door caught your eye. It was Tom.

You tried to pay attention to coach, but the second she turned her attention to someone else, you glanced at him sitting by his brother.

His lip was split and he caressed one hand in the other. His hair was also all over the place and one cheek swelled slightly.

Did he get into a fight?

Even though you were still mad, something inside you appreciated his presence. You also felt concerned, but obviously couldn’t do anything about it from the bench.

You instead decided to do what you knew best, which was win. The team came back in the end and did just that. A few people were congratulating you when you saw Tom and Sam leave the gym.

“Uh, sorry guys but I need to go do something. See y’all tomorrow though!”

You jogged into the hall, frantically looking both ways before seeing them.

“Wait! Tom!” you called, running to catch up with them. They stopped, Tom not making eye contact with you when he turned as Sam watched cautiously.

He looked worse up close.

Where his cheek had only seemed swollen before, now there was a blue and purple bruise beginning to form, surrounded by pink inflamed tissue. His bottom lip also was red and puffy around the split, and when you glanced at his hands you noticed the darker bruises on each knuckle.

“Tom…” you said softly, scanning him. “Are you okay?”

“What does it matter to you? We hate each other don’t we?”

Sam took that as his cue to go back to the gym, you assumed to find Julia.

You let out a sigh and looked away.

“I don’t ‘hate you’ hate you. Yeah I hate when you’re better than me at something or you’re acting like a douchebag, but I don’t, like, want you dead or anything. I mean, you know that, right?”

You searched his face for a sign that he was getting you. After a few seconds of him staring at the ground nervously tapping his foot, he replied.

“Well I don’t hate you either! Yeah, you can have an ego and it gets on my nerves, but I’ve always thought we had just a playful hate-love thing. Like… I don’t know... Doofensmirtz and Perry the Platypus.”

You let out a chuckle at that one.

“That… actually. Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. I never actually wanted to hurt you, and I’m sorry that I did but what you did today was so not cool, man. I thought we at least tried to look out for each other a little bit. That stuff hurts. A lot. Because being a woman means I don’t know when it might cost me more than just being the butt of a joke.”

“I realize that now, and I’m so sorry for trying to trivialize you. I didn’t really think about it in the moment because it’s never affected me. I might be in trouble tomorrow because of it, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you left, I was so mad at myself. I marched straight over to the guys, who were then trying to laugh about you coming to talk to me, and I just… swung right on Harrison. He’s the first guy that whistled.”

“Tom…”

“And then I may have gone after the other two while I was at it. They tried to fight back, which is why my face looks like this, and I just went nuts. They gave up after realizing I wasn’t gonna back down.”

You tried to hold back tears. You always knew in the back of your mind that Tom cared a little bit, but not like this. One slipped out onto your cheek.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, trying to keep a steady voice. He reached out and brushed his thumb over your tear.

“Yes I did. Who else was going to teach those dickheads, huh? Obviously no one else in their lives have cared to.”

“Well thank you. It means a lot… and I didn’t go talk to Mrs. Flynn after our little spat outside. I wouldn’t mind staying as your ‘bride,’ if you’ll have me.”

He looked at you skeptically for a few seconds then smiled.

“Yeah, alright,” he pulled his necklace from his shirt. “Who else would rub icy hot on my back and make pie with my mom?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of the first one,” you laughed.

After a few seconds, you held out your arms.

“We good?”

He grinned, taking your offer for a hug and wrapping his own arms around you.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! Like I’ve mentioned in the past, this will not be the last of heavy topics and some future scenes will actually be more descriptive, but I will make it explicitly clear where those scene are so you can have discretion. Love you all so much!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson

#The Marriage Project #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #Harry Holland #sam holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland au

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 3 years

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Ya know what these self-indulgent Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow posts need? Self-indulgent banner art, that’s what.

Spoilers for issue #4!

Let’s start this off right with CREATOR CREDITS. Issue 4 of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow is titled “Restraint, Endurance, and Passion.” Written by Tom King, Art by Bilquis Evely, Colors by Matheus Lopes, Letters by Clayton Cowles, and Edited by Brittany Holzherr. (w/ Assist. Editor: Bixie Mathieu & Senior Editor Mike Cotton)

THE STORY:

Right, so this? This issue? Best one yet.

Also the bleakest of the bunch thus far; even though we don’t always see the brutality of the space pirates that Kara and Ruthye are following, there’s...the suggestion of it. The aftermath. And how Kara responds to it.

Okay, getting a little ahead of myself. BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Ruthye and Kara continue their pursuit of Krem, who has taken up with Barbond’s Brigands.

The Brigands basically just. Murder and terrorize people, for profit.

Each planet they visit brings new horrors, as well as people who need Supergirl’s help.

And help she does.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

I yell a lot about the art on this book, and have, in fact, openly admitted that I’m primarily here for Evely and Lopes.

Well, that wily son-of-a-gun King went and wrote some of the best ‘Super’ stuff I’ve ever read and dang it, dang it, now I gotta yell about the words too. XD

Specifically, I wanna yell (in a good way!) about some words that occur towards the very end of the book.

Kara and Ruthye have Seen Some Things; things like genocide and mass grave sites and horrible violence, and upon reaching a planet where peaceful monks were slaughtered, Kara’s had enough, and needs to leave because if she screams, she’ll destroy what little is left of the monks’ monastery.

Here’s the text in full, because my gosh. It’s so good:

“What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home. It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said. It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be as true as the turning of worlds. You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion. She did not choose to fire a beam from her eyes, or have breath of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet. Or any of her other well-documented miracles. No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face. She warmed her breath to converse with you. She slowed herself to walk by your side. Ever moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her. All of the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanded to be released. I believe this effort hurt her. I believe she lived her life in pain. But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat--These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow. If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such as assertion was absurd. She would say she felt fine and well and then she’d as you if you needed any help.”

A long chunk of words, I know (this comic is DENSE!) but like. This is it. This is one of the defining attributes of the Supers--all that raw power at their disposal and they choose to help people, to be kind, to suppress that power for the benefit and safety of others.

HNNNNNNNG.

Hope, Help, and Compassion for All.

Whole lotta folks claimed at the outset of this book that King did not understand Kara, that he was a bad fit. And that may be so, I suppose--there’s a whole other discussion about like. The violence and swearing and ‘does that belong in a Supergirl book?’ But the characterization? Getting that Kara and Clark are just good people?

King gets it. He got it in Superman: Up in the Sky and he gets it here, in Woman of Tomorrow.

Other things King gets! Kara is stubborn! Kara is passionate! Kara is going to fix things, even if the effort of doing so hurts her, physically, emotionally, and mentally!

(Fuuuuuuun fact for the crowd saying that Woman of Tomorrow is vastly superior to the CW show: TV Kara is ALSO all of those things! King isn’t pulling this stuff out of thin air. It’s almost like...gosh. I don’t know! Both the show and Tom King are pulling from the character’s comic history, or something!!!! HOW NOVEL.)

Like, seriously. There’s a lot of overlap. Stop pitting Karas against each other!

Anyways!

I promised art, so here is art!

Oh, right, forgot to mention, Kara literally THROWS HERSELF INTO THE SUN to express her grief and anger, so as to not cause that unnecessary destruction. She gives new meaning to the phrase: Set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm.

More art yelling: GOTTDAMN, the way Evely draws Kara just colliding with the surface of the sun and then the way Kara’s hair like...becomes the flames...

I am FEELING FEELINGS. HOW DARE.

Also, props to King and Cowles; King for deciding to have that initial scream, Cowles for the way the letters burst forth from the point of impact on the sun, and then back to King who decided that it would just be...devastating silent screaming from Kara, for the remainder of the scene.

Back to the characterization, I just wanted to highlight something I mentioned...earlier on, I think? In these posts? But haven’t brought up recently, and that is how this book has not once brought up Zor-El, and I think Superman only got a quick mention in issue 2.

Honestly, I think that’s gotta be some kind of record.

It’s so refreshing. Not because I think there should never be mentions of Clark, or anything--I love that boy--but because so much of modern Supergirl comic drama is mined from the same like, angsting over her place compared to Clark, or her crazy sometimes-a-supervillain dad.

There is no Clark and Kara drama here, no manufactured friction, because it’s just. A cool Supergirl story!

Gonna keep going, but let’s do it with some more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Once again, Mat Lopes is all over the dang place with his palettes, it’s marvelous.

Each new planet gives Evely the opportunity to go hog wild on the worldbuilding and design, and similarly! Each new locale is an opportunity for Lopes to set the tone with colors. Like, here, towards the beginning of the book, we’ve got a planet bathed in this warm, pale yellow/orange light.

(Quick note: “Sure, yeah, I get it. We all have our duties. And it’s mine as a neighbor to do what I can to help you with yours. Please.” A+ Kara content. We love to see it. And then locating the remains of the alien’s daughter, so that they can go visit the grave site and have some emotional closure???? It’s just. So. Touching.)

Anyways, back to colors.

Like!!!! LOOK AT THAT JUMP. From the soft, almost pastoral feel of the delicate oranges and yellows to HARD GREEN, PINK, AND PURPLE. (Difficult colors to pull off in print, I might add.)

(This is also an interesting scene, character-wise, because I think it helps re-contextualize some earlier stuff with Kara. Like, I’m mostly thinking that incident on the bus, where she was swearing at the passengers as the space dragon was about to destroy them. Here, we see Kara kind of...goad this alien woman into releasing her pent up emotions by yelling at her/getting her to fight, and you can clearly see at the end of it that Kara did not mean the things she said, because check this out:

She goes and gives her a hug once the woman is able to finally cry.

It’s not ‘Kara is being mean, Kara is swearing at her’, it’s, ‘Kara has an unorthodox solution to a problem, and she’s gonna FIX that problem, NO MATTER WHAT.’

Circling back to the bus thing--again, that could be an instance of ‘unorthodox approach to a weird situation that Kara is going to handle because lives are at stake.’)

But also, DIG THAT KIRBY KRACKLE, BAY-BEEEEE!

And a little Strange Adventures easter egg! The Pykkts!

(I think those guys are unique to the Black Label series, rather than deep Adam Strange lore, but don’t quote me on that.)

Moving on to YET ANOTHER PALETTE, one I’ve dubbed, ‘Treasure Planet Purple/Grey’

Love Ruthye’s snoozing against the door, waiting for Kara.

Also, just as striking as the colors of the environment, are the colors used on Kara.

If you compare this page with the previous one, Kara’s eyes are a paler shade of blue, and the red-rimmed look on her eyes here is not as intense as the red-rimmed look we saw back in issue one, when she was confronting Krem.

All of which to say! There’s a pale, haunted quality to both the linework and the colors. Like. We know Kara has Seen Some Things. But she’s shoving all that stuff down to protect Ruthye, to save Krypto, and to stop these monsters, and you get all of that WITH COLORS AND LINES ON A PAGE.

I love it, I love it so much.

OTHER BOOKS WISH THEY HAD THIS LEVEL OF CHARACTER ACTING, I TELL YA! THEY WISH THEY HAD THIS BEAUTIFUL ALCHEMY OF INKER, COLORIST, AND WRITER WORKING IN SUCH TIGHT TANDEM!

Ahem. XD

Alright, last bit of art, lest I just. Post the whole issue in here. (Which I’m honestly always tempted to do but Strong Feelings about Piracy hold me back.)

JUST HECKIN’ LOOK AT THAT BLUE, MAN. JUST LOOK AT IT. S’BEAUTIFUL.

And more stunning character acting from Evely. Like. Bottom middle panel. The expression, the tilt of her head and the shadows on her eyes...

*insert silent flailing here*

Oh, also, KRYPTO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVESSSS (for now).

I’m never right about these things, so I’m glad the one time I’ve correctly read a thing is when it involves Krypto not, ya know. Being dead. XD

Also absolutely love that Kara’s instinct is to send Ruthye home to protect her--once more leaning into that whole, ‘I’m going to protect you, even at great cost to myself’, though of course we know that she can’t send her home, not here, not now, just halfway through our journey.

ERRRRRRGH, so mad we’re not getting twelve issues of this! CURSE YOU, POOR SUPERGIRL TRADE SALES! CURSE YOOOOOOU!

That said, King’s pacing? Has been phenomenal. I feel like Strange Adventures and even Mr. Miracle kinda...I’m not gonna say dragged, that’s not quite right. But it is more build up, I guess. Takes a while to get to the payoff.

Here, I think King is pushing things steadily along as he doesn’t have the benefit of an additional four issues, so he has to get to the point, so to speak. Keeps everything moving.

SOME FINAL, MISC. STUFF:

I’ve sort of glossed over the darker stuff from this issue, and I just wanna note that like. This is a book that features a bad guy getting stoned (in the death sentence way, not the drug way) on panel. Like. I can’t recommend this to children.

I can’t even really recommend it to some other Supergirl fans, because I know that the King elements will be too off-putting.

It never feels like the book is going too far, though. At least in like an...exploitative way? If that makes sense?

The violence is handled with discretion, I guess is what I’m trying to convey. This could very easily tip over into like, gross shock factor territory, if not handled well, but I think the creative team pulls it off.

...Still wouldn’t hand this book to kids, though. XD

As mentioned, we’re halfway through this series! Can’t wait to see where it goes--every time I think I have this book figured out, it surprises me. So, like. Bring on the Dinosaur planet! With no sunlight! I wanna see how Lopes handles THAT. XD

(But Oh, OooooOOooh, we gotta wait until NOVEMBER.)

(Hhhnnnnng!)

(Then again, maybe that’s good; we’ve got the TV show in the meantime, and then once it ends we can pick right up with new Supergirl content just a few weeks later.)

(...Aw. Made myself a little sad, thinking about the TV show coming to an end.)

So as not to end on that sad note, here once again is tiny, smushed Kara:

Give ‘em the ol razzle dazzle.

#stranger speaks #supergirl: woman of tomorrow #supergirl: woman of tomorrow spoilers #dc comics #comics talk #comics opinions #comics thoughts #long post #are those the right tags? I can never remember #gif

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suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.

But you don’t have it.

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn��t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

63 notes · View notes

lolabangtan · 4 years

Text

if you can hear the ocean waves | myg

Two dumb childhood friends embark on a trip to the seaside – as they try to figure out what they will do with their lives if they can’t neither be with each other nor cut off their lifelong crush.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, dumb and dumber in love, a little bit of angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, soft femdom, drunk sex (non vaginal), infidelity, degrading kink.

# sub!yoongi, dom!reader, oral sex (female receiving), dry humping, fingering, semi-public sex, anal fingering, rim job, spanking, yoongles is a baby boy.

“It’s crazy. How can I hear the ocean in a seashell?”

“It’s most likely that it’s the ocean itself. The seashells captures this noise, and it resonates inside.”

When Yoongi offered you to go with him on a work trip to the sea, you expected to be locked up in the hotel day and night, waiting for him to return from all the meetings and work commitments, or snooping around the city by yourself. That’s why you had a hard time accepting.

Yoongi complains with a hiss. “Misery guts,” he calls you.

However, there you are, lying on the sand at first thing in the morning, drunk on fruit juice and stuffed with grilled meat. Time is not a concept anymore.

“I think I got it figured it out,” he mumbles.

“Of course you do. I just explained it to you, silly,” you retorted with a laugh.

Yoongi sits up on the sand and stares at the sea horizon. His pale legs almost mix with the colour palette around him. He’s gained some weight, too, since last year. Fortunately, he isn’t overworking himself anymore. “No, I mean—about the wedding.”

You hold your breath. He told you he’s been thinking about it lately, after all.

“So?”

But he just grabs his hair, muffling the sounds of his frustrated groans against his knees.

“I don’t! Hell, I can’t-I-forget about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You were pretty excited about this trip, even if you’re a collateral traveller. It’s been a while since you’ve been to the seaside, so I thought you’d like to come along. It’s been a while since you two last spent some quality time together, too. Perhaps that’s why the mood seems off.

And Yoongi’s acting so weird lately, too. Since the moment you set foot off the train. When he told you he was having doubts about the wedding, you thought he was just freaking out about such a big step, as had so often happened to him, but you could tell – this time, it was different.

It was worse.

“You’re just nervous, Yoongles,” you tell him, pressing your heels against the wet sand, “How about we go back to the hotel and see if they’ve sorted out the rooms?”

He agrees. That’s the best you can do since he knows you’ll end up yelling at him and demanding that he tell you why the hell he’s acting so weird. That way, at least, you can find out if the hotel staff has fixed the problem with the room.

After you arrived this morning, exhausted after hours of train travel and how inhumanly early you had had to take it, the first thing you wanted to do at 8 am was to lie in bed and sleep for the next hundred years, but you two are rather unlucky and the first thing the receptionist said was already awful news:

My bad, sir. I think there was a problem with the reservation and we’ve booked you a double room.

“What kind of cheesy romcom is this?” grunts Yoongi in response. His neck is blushing, just like the tip of his ears. “Can’t you change that, miss? We wanted a twin room.”

“Of course, sir, but it’ll take a while. You can take a look at the hotel facilities in the meantime. The beach won’t be too crowded right now, and there are several restaurants nearby where you and your sister can have breakfast.”

You want to clarify that you are not his sister, but what’d be the point?

“It’s no problem for us to share a bed, Yoongi. I just want to sleep,” you whine, grabbing his arm.

But he shakes you away. “It’s weird.”

There it is. It is indeed weird of him to act like that, and things haven’t changed since this morning. Yoongi’s still being bashful and grumpy, more than usual, and you just can’t grasp exactly why.

And that’s how you two ended up laying on the beach after stuffing yourselves with some juice and tons of food. A pretty good way to spend your time, if they’ll ask you. And a pretty good way to avoid thinking about your best friend not being sure about his wedding, too.

Good news – the front desk clerk tells you that the problem is fixed.

After she gives Yoongi the keys, you two get on the lift and head to the room, almost running. You’re surely on the verge of extenuation.

Two beds. A window facing the sea. A minibar you won’t touch since you don’t wanna get a loan.

“Home, sweet home!” you groan, already feeling sleep taking its toll on you, “Have they told you your working schedule yet? To be honest, knowing the guy, I thought your boss would fill up your ass with assignments as soon as you set foot in town.”

“Fortunately, he hasn’t. Don’t jinx it,” retorts Yoongi as he finally reaches the wardrobe.

Raising your left foot, you push your bed against his. “Oh, no!” you yelp then, “There’s only one bed!”

He reacts to your antics with a scoff.

“God, I’m so tired,” he mumbles while grabbing a bunch of clothes from his open luggage, “Can’t wait to throw myself on the bed.” Yoongi then heads to the bathroom but turns to look at your frowning face. “What?”

“Are you embarrassed to change in front of me?” you ask.

Honestly, you’ve been acquainted with his peepee since he was as tall as a chair. He even asked you, when he was twelve, if it was too short after he pulled down his trousers in the middle of your room. You can’t remember hearing your mother laugh louder than when she came in and saw your puzzled face.

No, Yoongi-ssi, it’s not small. Pull up your trousers so you two can come downstairs for a snack.

You often wonder if her reaction had been so calmed since you had a brother, and you also hope that it is something all boys think about at some point in their lives, and not that Yoongi was the only boy in school who had shown her penis to his best friend in need of feedback.

His voice brings you back to reality. “No, it’s just – it’s cold in here. I’d rather change somewhere warmer, and the bathroom’s got a heater.”

Nodding, you see him disappearing through the door and decide to change there. After all, acting as weirdly as he will only make things worse, or at least incredibly awkward. So, you grab the hem of your shirt and pull up, feeling the chills down your spine. It’s pretty cold, in fact.

“Did you-” Yoongi comes back from the bathroom but stops as he sees you. “Sorry, I— I’ll brush my teeth while you change.”

You don’t really wanna force him to see you half-naked, as weird as that sounds, so you nod and thank him.

Once you’re finished, to tell him he can come in. “Which bed do you want?” you ask.

“The one that’s closer to the bathroom. You know I get up to pee a lot during the night.”

Nodding, you sit down on the other one and stare at him as he grabs the blankets and shoves himself in. “About what you said earlier— are things okay between you two?” You sound like a vulture and you know it, but you do it because you care about him.

Yoongi nods in silence, so you let it be and you get into bed too.

“Cuddles,” he demands anyways, like it’s something he can’t help asking, and it’s enough for you to get it.

You still don’t believe his fiancée is okay with him spending an entire weekend with a girl-friend, even if you’ve known each other since the very day his mother pushed him out of her womb. But it’s okay, because you’ve been doing it all your life.

It just makes you cringe in pain – how out of the question it’d be. “Spoilt baby boy,” you mock, embracing him in your arms.

Truth is that things have been a little weird since you guys finished high school a few years ago. As you grew up, the film of innocence surrounding your friendship went away, and pretending to be his friend became more difficult.

You let yourselves be guided by the rest, and all they said was ‘if you’re not going to date, you can’t keep being friends the way you used to’, and they were right.

Two grown-up adult friends planning sleepovers, sleeping together, changing in front of each other – it couldn’t possibly be okay. So, that must be why he’s being like this. Things had indeed got weird since you realised you’d fallen in love.

Why is he like this? Being all weird one second and cuddly and bubbly the next one.

As for Yoongi himself, he knows perfectly well why. It’s stupid, and pointless, too. But he wants to be close to you, be held by you, be with you. And he knows it’s going to end at some point.

Yoongi’s life is full of pointless why not’s, while the only ‘why not’ that matters is the one he’s not brave enough to do. Why not? Well, there are tons of reasons why not to tell you he’s in love with you, and the main one is that he knows you don’t love him back.

Why not ask this girl he met at this class out? It’s not as if the woman he’s in love with will ever reciprocate his feelings. Why not keep dating her? It’s not as if he wants to stay single forever and embarrass his parents more than he’s already done pursuing music. Why not ask her to marry him? It’s not as if they haven’t been dating for years now.

Hugging each other, you fall asleep almost instantly.

The sun hits you in the face. You can’t go back to sleep, you’re awake, so you turn around to see that lucky honey boy Min Yoongi is still asleep. Then you check the phone – it’s past lunchtime.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “Yoongi, wake up. Don’t you have work to do?”

He grunts something in his sleep, tangling his arms around you and pulling you closer. God, you hate this, you hate this sudden drive you’d get to kiss him until he’s flushed and panting and putty in your hands.

“Wake the fuck up, you good-for-nothing.”

“Five more minutes, please,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

It’s sunny outside, the typically beautiful spring day, when summer is around the corner but the weather is not mortally hot yet. And you’re purely for leisure, so you may as well enjoy now the sunlight you haven’t been able to get these past few winter months.

“I’m going out to the terrace,” you say, getting out of the bed. As you expect, Yoongi remains silent.

You take a book on your way out and lie on the white plastic lounger that looks like it’s gonna break as soon as you get your ass on it.

Opening your novel, you lie down anyways, intrigued about what’s going to happen in the next chapter. That’s how you spend the next thirty minutes, until Yoongi comes out to the terrace, frowning at the sudden sunlight and probably still half-asleep, looking for you.

“Hey, I just checked and the hotel bar is reserved for a birthday party.”

You finally look away from your book. “Do you already know anything about that work stuff you have to do?”

“I just woke up, Y/N— I have no idea,” he grumbles on his way in.

Yoongi is so bloody stressed. You can see it in the way his heavy eyelids shut, appreciating the sudden chance to rest a little; or how his voice breaks as he almost growls because he has no energy to speak louder.

Whatever is behind him acting like that, it has to be worrying him almost more than what he can handle.

When he invited you to come along to this trip, you assumed that he had to meet with a client and work on a song for them. There’s no other reason you can come up with, and you’re still his best friend, you still want him to feel better.

“How about we find somewhere to buy some drinks and spend the rest of the day in here?”

He looks surprised at your proposal. “I thought you’d like to see the sea.”

“Not right now,” you retort, getting up and approaching the railing, “People saw how good the weather is and are crowding on the beach. It’s all full of kids and middle-aged drunks.”

You and Yoongi decide to stick to the plan of buying alcohol and getting drunk in the room after going out to lunch.

Stuffed once again with food and already tipsy-but-actually-more-like-half-drunk, you catch up on the terrace, talking about upcoming projects and happy incidents that have happened to you lately.

It’s already getting dark and, just as you expected, he doesn’t bring up the wedding again.

It’s not until childhood memories come to the scene that you realise how much you had missed talking to him like this. Two old hands talking about the past as if time was a treasure rotting in the depths of your memory.

Yoongi gets up and stumbles on his way to the room. “We ran out of whisky.”

“And more ice,” you remind him.

You wait for him to come back, but it doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon. The door to the inside of the room is still opened, so you get up to check if Yoongi has perished on his way to the minibar.

He hasn’t. Not entirely, at least— Yoongi is squatting in front of the tiny fridge, savouring the cold air coming out of it. He seems to be in some kind of out-of-body trance.

When you call his name, he turns his head and nods, grabbing the last bottle of whisky and the ice.

“What’s with you lately? Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask, determined to find out at last what the bloody hell is wrong with him, as you follow his petit, sneaky figure back to the terrace. “Fuck, Min Yoongi, really.”

You sit back on the lounger to watch him pour you a glass of whisky instead of answering your question. He’s visibly drunk, and so are you.

That’s probably the reason why, when Yoongi handles you the glass, bending over you, so close that he’s almost pressing his nose against yours – you can smell the whisky in his breath – he looks down at your lips and kisses you.

The drink falls to the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces, as he jerks back. “Sorry. Sorry, Y/N, it-it looked like a good idea. I-”

But you smile, cupping his face so he doesn’t run away again. “It was, Yoongi.”

Then you kiss him back. Yes, it seems like a good idea in your mind. You don’t need to think about it for now. You’ll think about it tomorrow. Not now, because now you have Yoongi’s lips against yours and his body slowly falling onto yours until he’s practically straddling your lap.

None of you know where is this all coming from, although you can take a glimpse at why. Years of yearning, of craving, of pent up yeah, but I’m not brave enough’s – whether it’s a mistake or a dream with consequences.

“I’m so fucking wet.” You feel him tremble over you. “And it’s all your fault. What are you gonna do to fix it?”

Yoongi stares at you in awe. “Now? Right here? Out in the open?”

“Don’t you want to?” you ask, and you want him to be as honest as he can be at this moment.

“Fuck, of course— of course I want to,” he says, taking a deep breath against your still clothed cunt.

Two lifelong fantasies come true the moment he unzips your shorts and pulls them down along with your underwear: yours to be eaten out by Yoongi and Yoongi’s to eat you out.

While the warm feeling of his tongue poking between your lips brings a groan out of you, you slip a leg under his torso until you feel his erection. Yoongi hisses when he feels the pressure of your shin against him and looks at you from his position between your thighs.

“You’re so hard,” you say with a smirk.

Then you rub his dick, savouring the way the honey-like whimpers coming from his lips end up being swallowed by your cunt.

As drunk as he is, Yoongi knows better. He doesn’t hump your leg like a bitch in heat until he creams his pants. Instead, he sets a pace, slow and intense at the same time, focusing on the feeling of his tongue licking your labia rather than how pathetically he’s twitching against your shin.

“Fuck, Yoongi, who would’ve thought— that such a naughty boy could do so well.”

“And I can do far better,” he mumbles, kissing your inner thighs, “You just have to let me-fuck! Let me show you. Please, Y/N, please, I-I can be so good.”

You chuckle as your leg rubs against his crotch. “Make me come and we’ll see.”

Said and done. With one last stroke of his tongue, you feel the climax crawling up to your belly, exploding and taking you with it. You thrust up into Yoongi’s mouth to ride out your orgasm, and he’s pretty happy to feel your shivering thighs tangle around his head.

If only he had a reason to convince himself that it’s impossible. For you to love him. Maybe then it would be easier to get over it and move on.

But there’s a bug in his head that makes him overthink everything: from the way you look at him to the love he can feel under your fingers when you caress him. How does he know he’s not going crazy? How does he know that whatever he does, he’s not making a mistake?

Whether it’s losing the woman of his life or wasting the chance to be with someone who’s willing to spend theirs with him.

With that thought in his head and the image of your face blushing with orgasm; of your wet, agape lips as you catch your breath but that somehow manage to show a confident smirk; then Yoongi erratically humps your leg until he moans with a threaded voice and comes in his trousers.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing short kisses against your inner thighs.

Suddenly, everything goes down—the sky, the blood in his veins, reality, the weight of what you have just done, the rest of the world. All of it comes down onto his shoulders.

“I need to…” Yoongi can’t really connect the words and just gets off you, heading to the room with little balance, “I have to wash up.”

During the painful three seconds you take to tears your eyes away from him, you can see the sneaky way he fixes his trousers, but you decide to think about it later and put your shorts back on. The feeling of the wet patch of fabric against you feels uncannily cold.

When you follow Yoongi back into the room, you want to wait for him to come out of the bathroom. You wanna talk this out, make things less awkward. He just cheated on his fiancée.

Yes, you decide to wait, but Yoongi doesn’t come back on time.

By the time he finally does, you’ve already fallen asleep on the bed, and he stares at you thinking how the bloody hell is he supposed to live now that he’s been this close to your body. Yoongi can still savour you onto his tongue, he can still picture the way your legs shivered around his head when he made you come, he can still feel your warm skin against his.

You. His best friend. That’s what he is—to you, at least. That’s everything he’ll ever be. This trip just made it clearer. This bloody trip made it worse. What a fucking good idea, Min Yoongi genius.

With that in mind, along with the creeping dizziness of drinking too much, Yoongi gets in bed, his body far away from your figure but his eyes incapable of looking away from you now that you can’t look at him with disgust.

When you wake up the next morning, you see that Yoongi’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone, showing you his back.

You want to play it cool, so you smile as if nothing happened. “Good morning.”

He turns around. “Morning,” he mutters back, trying to read you. However, your niceness and your bright smile make him frown, and he ends up pursing his lips. “I… My head hurts so fucking much. We shouldn’t have drunk two bottles of whisky last night.”

There are many things you two shouldn’t have done last night but, for some reason, you’re both happy and terribly devastated that he thinks guzzling three bottles of whisky was the worst one.

He doesn’t remember a thing.

“How about we get a shower and head to the restaurant? I’m starving,” you say.

It’s Saturday already and Yoongi still doesn’t know anything about what work he’s supposed to do there. “Sure. I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.”

You nod.

Even once you’re alone in the middle of the bed, you can still feel Yoongi’s ghostly warmth pressed on the blankets. You hate moments like this; when you think how great it’d be to cuddle him and pet his hair. Now, the feeling is worse, because you can’t erase the memory of his kitten-like lips eating you out.

The sudden sound of a phone takes you out of your painful thoughts and you reach out to see who is calling Yoongi. When you read ‘Kim Minhyuk work’ on the screen, you decide to pick up—it might finally be the assignment he has been waiting for all this time.

“Yoongi-ssi.” The caller doesn’t even let you talk. “I’m Kim Minhyuk, the project manager. I know you’re on holidays, and I hope you’re having as much fun as possible, but I need you to send me the demo from the last-”

It takes you a few seconds to process the new information, but as soon as you do, you have to force yourself to breathe in and out to contain the urge to throw the phone to the wall. “Yoongi isn’t here right now.”

“Oh, I see—can you tell him to send me the demo ASAP, then? I’m Kim Minhyuk,” repeats the man.

“Sure.”

The guy Minhyuk hangs up and you put Yoongi’s phone back from where you picked it up, but your mind is somewhere else. He is on holiday? It doesn’t make any sense, but at the same time, it puts all the pieces together.

“Y/N!” you hear from the bathroom, “I heard my ringtone. Did anyone call me?”

You don’t really know what to do right now. On one hand, you want to beat the shit out of Yoongi until he tells you what the hell is going on.

On the other hand, you can’t help feeling hurt that he lied to you.

“It was Kim Minhyuk, your project manager. He’s sorry that he’s had to call you during your holidays, but he wants you to send him some demo song. Also, he hopes you’re having fun at the beach.”

It takes him a few seconds to understand the situation, but Yoongi eventually does—and a deep blush takes over his ears and neck. “I can’t keep lying, can I?” he says with an embarrassed chuckle, “It’d be pointless.”

“Kinda,” you agree.

Your silence moves Yoongi into spilling his guts, although now the entirety of his face is flushed and reddened, and he’s fidgeting, butt sitting still on the hotel room bed.

“I need to ask you a question first.” It’s not until he sees you nodding that he speaks again. “Do you want me to get married?”

You stare at him in silence, again. What kind of question is that? Of course you don’t. But Yoongi reads your puzzled face and cringes at the idea of having ruined everything. For a moment, you’re glad he can’t remember anything of what happened last night.

As certainly as it is that it’ll remain in your head as your most cherished memory.

“Even after what happened yesterday?” he continues.

Oh. So Yoongi does know. He just has been getting along with your apparent amnesia. That makes you wonder what on earth does he actually think about it.

“I don’t,” you say.

Fair enough. What is life if you don’t live it with a little bit of courage?

“What?”

Chuckling, you repeat yourself. “I don’t want you to get married, Yoongi. I’ve never wanted you to. But what else can I do? You’re my best friend. I can’t just tell you, ‘hey, don’t marry her’. Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, it makes sense.” Yoongi then nods with a smile that is crying on its own.

“It’d be selfish to put my feelings before yours.”

He holds your intense gaze, trying to figure out what that means—trying to figure out if that means what he thinks, what he hopes it means.

“We’ve been talking.” Yoongi’s voice breaks. “She asked me if I really wanted to get married and, well, I couldn’t keep lying to her anymore. She doesn’t deserve it. She… She deserves better, she deserves someone who’ll love her with all their might. Someone who can love her the way husbands should love their wives.”

“And you are not that someone?” you ask weakly.

Yoongi finally gathers enough courage to look up at you. “Not to her. I… I want to be that person to someone else, if she’ll let me… I’ve always been your best friend. Small, grumpy, anxious, introvert—totally not like you. How could I think that you-that you’d ever see me that way?”

He’s going full throttle now with his declaration of love, for better or worse. If it’s up to you, it’s for better, of course. So, you take pity on him and crawl across the bed towards him.

“I do see you that way. I always have, in fact.”

Just like he did yesterday, Yoongi cups your face and kisses you. Shyly at first, although you try to encourage him putting your hands over his to pull him towards you.

“You’ve been so dumb, lying to me like that,” you growl against his lips, “It really makes wanna be mean.”

“Be mean to me, please. I deserve it.”

You let out a groan of frustration and bite his bottom lip. “Fuck it, Yoongi, you can’t just say something like that and expect me not to go fucking berserk.”

“Then do it!” he cries, thrusting up into nothing. He’s already hard. “Go fucking berserk on me! As fucking berserk as you fucking want! Shit, Y/N, I’m gonna come all over myself without you even touching me and it’s going to be all your fault!”

“And you were crying me to punish you two seconds ago. Turn over.”

He obliges immediately, and you straddle his back, grabbing his chin to pull him towards your chest so he doesn’t even think that you’re going soft on him.

“You’re a fucking slut. A bit of spanking will do you good. What do you think? Hm?” But you stick two fingers in his mouth, and all he can say is a babbled ‘yes’ as drool leaks down his lips. “Can’t hear you, babydoll.”

Yoongi is sucking and licking your fingers wet, soaking almost. “Y-yes, yes, please!” he manages to say despite his tongue being rather unavailable.

This has all escalated so bloody quickly, but you can’t say you’re not enjoying it. After feeling him coming over your leg, you can’t just have enough of him and his whines, of the way he’s offering himself to your touch.

Once Yoongi’s finally silence again, you kiss him again. “So, since you remember what happened last night, let me tell you,” you whisper in his ear, fingers lingering on the back of his throat and making him gag. The goosebumps he’s getting right afterwards taste like honey. Your honey boy, always. “I haven’t forgotten how hard you came back then when you humped my leg as you ate me out.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer—he just lowers his head, embarrassed not only by your words but also by how much they’re turning him on.

“Take off your clothes.”

The man turns his head to look at you. “Fuck, yes. We’re-we’re doing this?” he then asks, stripping immediately.

Licking your lips, you decide to stare at his body instead of answering to whatever he’s told you. He has definitely gained some weight. He looks like a fucking meal and you haven’t had eaten yet—Yoongi’s gonna be your breakfast.

Once you have him back into his former position, you can now stare at the back, too. At his soft thighs, as his squishy ass, at the sneaky vision of his balls and his hard, dripping little cock.

You fix your eyes on his entrance. “You can’t come until I say so, you hear me?”

He nods eagerly, so you take a hold on his hips to keep him still and kiss his inner thighs, making him wince against your hot lips.

“Relax,” you coo.

Focusing back on his butt, you pool some spit on your tongue and keep it loose, teasingly licking his entrance up and down. Once you feel your tongue getting tired, you use it to poke in, but only let in the tip.

Yoongi chokes on his groan. “Shit! Please, don’t-don’t tease.”

You decide to use your lips instead since he’s feeling so demanding today. You’ll get back at him for it later.

It isn’t until you begin to kiss his ass that Yoongi goes feral. Letting out a breathy moan—that sounds dangerously similar to a desperate, whiny whimper—he grabs the blankets with his fists and thrusts back into your mouth.

The way your nails softly scratch over his ass cheeks is a warning, one he gets immediately.

“Ready for more, babydoll?” you ask.

He nods. “Yes! I’m so close! Y/N, so close, I-I need to come, please.”

Your index finger strokes the flushed rim and, once you are sure that it is sufficiently dilated, you slowly insert it. Yoongi seems to be okay with the intrusion, so you pump it a few times to see his reaction, which is, honestly, delightful.

“That’s-” he moans. Then you bend your finger downward and rub your pad against his walls. “That’s my-shit! Yes, please, I’m gonna cum, please! Don’t stop!”

You pull your digit out of his entrance, ripping a complaint out of his lips. “Lie on your back.”

Once Yoongi obliges, you take a look at him, at how he’s splaying all over the blankets, limbs shivering and eyes glowing. The little sweat he’s exuding is concentrated under his chin, so you bend down to wipe it away and deliberately tilt up his head so he doesn’t look at anywhere else but you.

“Do you like it, baby? You like my fingers fucking your pretty little hole?”

“Fuck, fuck! Not gonna last, Y/N, not-not gonna last,” he grunts against your neck, “Please, please, cum on my cock, I don’t wanna last two pumps.” Yoongi doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore.

“We don’t have condoms,” you remind him.

“Yes, I know, fuck—then let me make you come first,” says Yoongi, already on the brink of his climax. He won’t last long enough for you to bring yourself to orgasm with your fingers. “Please, I can hold it, p-please. Last night I couldn’t do it as well as I could’ve.”

“Okay.”

You give in to his pleas and let him fight the urge to grind against the blankets and finish up himself. The way his dick twitch, resisting the orgasm, makes your mouth water.

“Sit on my face,” begs Yoongi.

Actually, you have a better idea. You might sprain your wrist, though, but it’s worth the try anyways.

Before raising your hips, you turn around, showing him your back. Yoongi’s not stupid, and he gets the idea immediately, helping you sit on his face as you lick your fingers to moisture them so they’re ready to get back to work.

“Shit, Y/N, this is so hot,” he mumbles, nuzzling your wet core.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to dive in and kiss your core, as or more eagerly than last time. Although you need a few seconds to get used to it and not push your hips against his face until you drown him, you come back to yourself, biting your lip, and insert your finger back into him.

“Yes, Yoongi, you’re doing so well,” you moan right before kissing his inner thighs. You can feel him tensing as your lips travel to his hole. “I’m gonna fuck your ass so well, baby.”

Instead of answering, he just gives your clit a more intense suck, lapping it with his tongue.

Your hand practically ravishes his entrance, going in and out, rubbing his prostate as his hips adapt to your pace so he can get the best out of it, whimpering and begging for you to let him come.

Slowly, the knot inside you begins to unravel. The softness of his lips kissing your labia and sucking on your clit is mesmerising. You sink your nails onto the skin of his thighs, making him groan and fasten his ministrations.

“Baby, I’m going to come, keep going,” you say, thrusting down onto his face.

You do before he says anything, and it’s probably one of the best orgasms of your life. Probably has something to do that it is Yoongi who’s behind it. Who knows. But you moan his name anyways, riding out your climax against his tongue.

Once you can think somewhat straight again, you notice his dick twitching and his balls hardening. He’s close, too.

When you take his dick between the fingers of your free hand, putting your weight on your elbows and pumping slowly, Yoongi finally loses it. “Yes! Yes, yes! I’m coming, please, kiss it, kiss it, Y/N, so-so good! Please, please!” he moans against your core, completely tense and strained.

It’s just a lick, a short stroke of your tongue onto his tip but, added to all the teasing and edging, it’s enough to make him shot his load, staining your hand.

He begins to come down from his high. “You did so well, babydoll.”

Yoongi can barely help you get off him, but he tries anyways, and you end up getting out of the bed so you can go to the bathroom and get yourselves some tissues. Your cum-stained hand isn’t going to clean itself.

“I know this is… I know this isn’t really the time to ask this but—what are we?” he asks as you clean his belly.

“I don’t know.” With a sigh, you throw away the dirty tissue. “You’re still engaged, Yoongi. I think you should talk to your fiancée first. Before talking about anything with me. You’ll have to explain the situation to her so you don’t hurt her.”

Yoongi chuckles. “She knows. I told her—about my feelings for you. We met the day she found me crying in the restroom of our school after you posted a picture with your new boyfriend.”

You raise your eyebrows, stunned and hurt that you were so fucking blind, but your grimace quickly vanishes when you feel him hugging your waist. Cuddles, he demands with his eyes, as always. And you oblige, as always.

Everything’s silent, pleasantly so. You can hear the ocean waves.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

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What movie or tv show scared you the most?

OH HEEHEEHEEEEEE MY TIME HAS COME

I think this was probably the sign I was meant to be a horror fan, because I'm gonna talk about two movies here and neither one is a standard horror film. Now, I avoided horror films like the plague, but I now realize that's because of my aversion to jumpscares and gore, which have very little to do with actual scary stuff. I feared actual horror imagery as a small child, but basically once I read Coraline it all just turned around because that book gave me nightmares but I actually WANTED those nightmares and kept going back to the book. So what are the movies I just COULD NOT contend with?

First up, I have found that a lot of people have said this one, but really and truly, fuck Chicken Run.

I was...maybe ten when I watched it. Signed up for a goofy claymation adventure. What did I get? First of all, a whole lot of bleak color palette that warned me that this was not going to be a happy story. We are then shown the stakes right away: our entire main cast lives in a dystopian prison and if they do not find a way to escape, they will die. One DOES die. This is where a lot of people say they noped out right away, but actually, the execution of the dinner chicken in the first scene was tame for me compared to what would come next.

The pie machine. It's assembled, it's talked about, and eventually our two leads fall into it in a way that is designed to be fatal. Look, there are a ton of horror tropes in this scene alone. I haven't seen it SINCE THE ONE AIRING and I can still vividly tell you a lot of this. And if I walked into a horror film and asked for this, I'd come out super satisfied, but I was not expecting horror from this. First of all, I remember vividly the shot where you're looking from Ginger's POV falling down the shaft and the divider comes up to shunt her into the "meat" line. It's incredibly claustrophobic and you just get this almost jumpscare reminder that the character through whose eyes you see is regarded as nothing more than meat to be consumed. There is then an array of blades designed for close calls, and dough that essentially glues the lead characters down to a conveyor belt so they have to helplessly watch the death machines that are coming. Sticky stuff that roots you to one spot; that's another thing that just REALLY unnerves me and I love it if I'm reading CreepyPasta but I was not reading CreepyPasta; I was watching a children's film. The leads escape certain death by jamming the gravy system, causing the machine to overload on pressure, and here I feel like I should've been relieved that they escaped but instead I was the most unsettled of all when the pressure meter started climbing. I don't know if this film *gave* me a phobia of industrial accidents or if it just awakened what was already in my OCD little brain, but suffice to say that after this movie, I was hyper-aware of my own fear of things like hissing steam, rising pressure meters, and being in a room where large metal things were clanking. (I'm since over it; I've been exposed to it in enough things.)

Now, I was no quitter. I should have just noped out. But I didn't. I continued to traumatize myself. The next part of the film until the climax I don't remember so well - it wasn't as traumatizing - EXCEPT for the part where Ginger finds and rebuilds Rocky's circus poster. And now, as an adult, I can see how that was kinda supposed to be funny, like, "The goddamn chicken padded his résumé and the way they found this out was a circus poster." But little me was invested in these chickens, I wanted them to be happy, and what I saw was basically their death notice being signed with that scrap of paper with a cannon on it. I FELT that in my bones.

STILL NOT HAVING THE GOOD SENSE TO JUST EJECT THE TAPE ALREADY, I proceeded to the climax, in which what happens to Tweedy might be one of the most fucking awful things I've seen ever? Pinned upside-down in a superheated, confined space with rising liquid from below as the pressure meter starts climbing again. And her husband arrives just in time to see her like this but not in time to actually stop the explosion. Thank God it didn't actually kill her because even though I was already traumatized, that would've absolutely made it worse.

Thing is, ever since this movie scared the absolute shit out of me - and was probably the cause of the weird stomachaches I had for A WEEK after - I've kinda had this thing about reclaiming the scary parts and stomping on them while laughing maniacally. I feel like every time I've done a crossover project, there's been a temptation to write in an arc where the mains go up against THE PIE MACHINE and fucking win. And also there's whump with tons of comfort in my version to mitigate it all. I haven't done any such thing for TBTC...YET. But I know what I must do. I know who must destroy the machine and the Tweedys along with it. Buckle your seatbelts.

My final word before I move on is that as I ascend into adulthood, I think that for the most part, a rewatch of this film wouldn't traumatize me so badly. It'd still be gross and creepy in a way I think shouldn't be sent to children without warning, but I could deal with the imagery, maybe enjoy using it as whump fuel even more, maybe my horror side would really get into the peril this time. But the one thing I've realized is that this premise is fucked EVEN MORE if you're a grown-up, because as a child, you're sympathizing with the chickens. You want them to get free of this death camp environment. But as an adult, you start to realize that all Tweedy wanted to do was be a chicken farmer who sold pie, and her supposedly nonsentient animals ganged up on her in a display of unheard-of intellect among farm stock. This would then lead to her undergoing at least one near-death fate. Think about being a farmer in our world and the animals you keep GANG UP ON YOU LIKE PEOPLE because you're killing them for food. No thank you, no THANK you.

But surely this was a one-of-a-kind phenomenon. Surely, after this...after so many other people agreed with me; "Fuck Chicken Run"...no animation studio would ever pull shit like this again.

I had hoped that was the case until Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.

This is one I don't actually see lambasted as often. Maybe because the Chicken Run trauma crew grew thicker skins before this movie. I only sort of did. Maybe because no one ever actually invested in this film, having already predicted how much it would be garbage from the dumb humor in the trailers. Oh, but not me. I was a fool. Also my family picked it for a movie night so my fate was sealed anyway.

The original book is actually pretty frightening on its own. Food falls from the sky in such great numbers that it starts to destroy the world. Okay, that's terrifying. But kind of in the alluring way. I would keep coming back to the one page about the giant pancake on the school because the way it was drawn unsettled me so, with something huge and immovable blocking off the way to a building that usually has hundreds of innocent children inside. The film built on this and made it a thousand times worse.

Let's start with the goddamn Spray-On Shoe. Our main character is a mad scientist (but the good kind, apparently) whose list of bumbling failed experiments dates back to when he was a child and invented a spray you could put on your feet to coat them in shoes. He then gets laughed at because he didn't engineer a way to get the shoes off, and runs home in humiliation. Guys, the teasing/bullying factor is...not the most worrying thing about this story. There's a throwaway line about how Flint wears THE SAME SHOES into adulthood because to that day they simply cannot be removed. This seems like an incredibly urgent medical problem? Having your feet encased in the same rubber for years? The same rubber as when you're a kid? I just found myself thinking "What if my shoes never came off one day" and that terrifies me, okay? It's stupid and it's silly and it scares me. Even more than that, though, is the canonization of a polymer in this universe that can be sprayed on sticky and will literally never break no matter what you do to it, because that goes back to the pie machine dough principle. Being glued to a surface permanently is inherently terrifying and we'll go over this later because this is not the last fuckin time the glue shoes get brought up.

Flint invents a food-spewing machine. It ends up in the sky. He rides his popularity as it rains larger and larger food down upon the town and also the world. Most of this film up until the climax is unsettling but not AWFUL. Where it starts to go to shit is when Flint realizes his machine is too dangerous and shuts it off, only for the town's local greedy politician to switch it back on into an apocalyptic mode. So can we start with "Local town finds out its elected official is willing to sabotage their well-being in order to capitalize on the fame of a disaster-causing object?". Like, the whole film would've been solved so much sooner if there hadn't been a saboteur in the works - not a fun campy villain, mind you, but a saboteur who exists to drive the plot to the scary place. But I guess we need that narrative tension to justify having a film in the first place, so fine, I'll ride it out.

The main crew saddles up to fly out to the machine, which is now encased in a FLESH LABYRINTH of food, and...I'm just gonna rapid-fire the shit that happens at this part:

-The food turns sentient in order to defend itself. The cute animal sidekick brutally dismembers an army of gummy bears that is fully sentient and rips them apart to devour them.

-We enter the flesh labyrinth and it's exactly as much a horror RPG setting as you think it is.

-Now sentient cooked chickens besiege the party. The comic relief character is consumed by one, only to kill it from the inside and decide to WEAR ITS SKIN in what is seen as his defining character arc's conclusion. Wearing the skin of a dead monster allows him to forge his new identity.

-One of our party has to go back because of a tight passage lined with her deadly allergen, causing her to undergo anaphylaxis after an accidental mild nick. In the flesh labyrinth.

-The entire horrific journey is instantly INVALIDATED when it turns out that instead of the kill code for the machine, all Flint has is a file of a cat video. Which he finds out as the town is about to be obliterated off the face of the earth.

-So he solves it by jamming the works with the spray-on shoe and DID I NOT JUST GO OVER HOW HORRIFIC INDUSTRIAL EXPLOSIONS ARE IN KIDS' MOVIES? DID I NOT? ARE WE REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN? Anyway it's canonical proof that NOTHING can break the shoe glue and I should be happy for the town and happy that there's no more flesh labyrinth of living meat but instead I'm just terrified because of the door we have opened. We have imparted the existence of an indestructible sticky polymer upon the world.

-It's later seen used in a credits sequence to repair damaged houses. Which, first of all, given its flexible nature, is fuckin stupid. It won't serve as an actual wall. Second, that got me thinking about construction accidents involving the fuckin shoe glue. If that stuff gets dripped on a person's face -

-So then cue me sitting awake in bed later thinking wide-eyed about Cloudy with a Chance of Fucking Meatballs and realizing that this compound that is essentially a chemical weapon in the making is now in the hands of the mayor who deliberately caused an apocalyptic event over the town because he wanted the food rain. And THAT'S not going to lead to pretty circumstances.

I think you'll see that a lot of my fears with these two movies is "THINK OF THE IMPLICATIONS!" and I think that just shows how my mind works and why I'm drawn to fanfic so much. I'm all about diving into a universe, exploring its corners, analyzing it to death.

And with the industrial horror stuff, I kinda wanna bring it around to two other films that actually really subverted my expectations and made it fun. 102 Dalmatians was a fave of mine through middle school, but I remember when the climax took us to a big ol' factory and I got plumb nervous. After the usual blades and ovens of horror, the fact that it concludes with Cruella basically wearing a cake and a lengthy montage of the dogs kicking toppings onto her is just one of the most wholesome imageries. She survived the thing and now you get to watch her be decorated Lisa Frank style by her victims who are more interested in humiliation than murder, and I love that.

But maybe more prevalent is that I'm well aware that if certain filmography or plot points had been handled in different ways, The Boxtrolls might've actually frightened the ever-loving fuck out of me what with all the industrial stuff and medical horror, but I just...felt like that film was holding my hand the whole way through going "It's okay." The industrial stuff was framed in a way that was just campy enough and yet also taken seriously. Putting a really charismatic villain - ACTUAL VILLAIN, NOT CHICKEN FARMER OR CORRUPT POLITICIAN SABOTEUR - at the wheel was just such a mitigating factor that it gelled the whole thing together and I ended up LOVING what was done with giant machines and garbage crushers and explosions. And as for the medical body horror, I really appreciate how it was so baked in that Snatcher did that to himself - that everyone, EVERYONE warned him "Do not do this, you will probably die, I'm serious, bad fucking idea" up to the point of Eggs trying to plead him during an anaphylaxis attack, one last time, DO NOT continue down this path, we can find a way to heal you psychologically and get you some self-fulfillment. And Snatcher fully chooses hubris over the many, many opportunities offered him to be able to step down onto a safer path and that removes the fear and pulls it more into a tragedy for the villain. Not at all the same thing as "Sam the reporter is trying to save the world and doing her best until a fixture of the landscape accidentally sends her into anaphylaxis."

(Oh, and by the way, can I just - when I do see CWACOM brought up these days, it's always in the context of "This is the one movie where the guy tells the girl it's okay to look nerdy!". Well, no, not the way I remember it. The way I remember it, Sam basically tells Flint "I used to have really tacky style but have since changed it up of my own volition" and Flint is just like "NOOOOO YOU NEED TO WEAR GLASSES AND A SCRUNCHIE. I WANT A HOT NERD GIRL." This could've been pulled off right with some more introspection into female beauty standards, even in a tongue-in-cheek way, but right now it really looks like Sam just wanted to make herself more glam for a new image and Flint bullied her into regressing her style. Which I've also realized meant he bullied her into dressing more like she did as a teenager and normally I think that kind of shit is just "You're overthinking it" but since it's CWACOM and I spelled it out on paper like that, I'm just now realizing how that can be seen as pretty...icky.)

The one saving grace of CWACOM is that I was older by that time, and so it didn't affect me as hard as Chicken Run. But I still hold it dearly to my heart as one of the MOST DISTURBING movies I know, and by "dearly" I mean "fuck this movie, really and truly." I want to extend my thanks to 102D and Boxtrolls for giving me industrial-horror-based climaxes that were actually really comfortable, and again, probably what drove both of these was the fact that we had a campy diva villain in the lead for the potential scary stuff to surround and radiate off. Not a fuckin...ordinary chicken farmer who is just trying to make bank but is somehow passed as a Nazi allegory for trying to live her life as a farmer? I dunno, maybe if I rewatched that film I'd see she has a thirst for human blood too, and if I could fix fic Chicken Run my first order of business would be to give her a thirst for human blood instead of/in addition to chickens.

Anyway. Fuck both these films, EXCEPT for the fact that traumatizing scenarios can always be recast as whump material, and the next time I wanna do some crossover aftercare from a physically and psychologically damaging mission, I have a pie machine and a flesh labyrinth to exploit. REALLY HEAVY ON THAT AFTERCARE COMFORT THOUGH!

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akitokihojo · 4 years

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Delicate - Chapter 8

“Stay still.” Kagome said, carefully drawing back the eyeshadow brush in time as Sango nervously bounced around in the desk chair. Her friend huffed out dramatically, stilling as best as possible so Kagome could carry on with her blending.

“Is it even?” Sango asked, lids opening slightly when Kagome went to dab more eyeshadow from the palette.

“I’m not done.”

“But, is it even?”

“No. Because, I’m not done.” Kagome chuckled, her tone on the sarcastic side.

“Okay, well just make sure it’s even.”

“Sit still and maybe I’ll have a shot.”

“Work through it, Kay, because if I sit still, I’ll get the nervous sweats.” Sango reasoned, sighing deeply as she bobbed a knee up and down and shut her eyes so Kagome could continue.

“It’s gonna be fine!” She confidently stated, blending the brown eyeshadow as steadily as possible. “You’re gonna have a good time, and you’ll see there was nothing to be so worried about.”

“Hey, you had a nervous breakdown in my room, and I’m entitled to have one in yours.” Sango blindly pointed, defending herself.

“It’d be wise of you not to bring that up. I have blue eyeshadow at my disposal, and you wouldn’t know I applied it until it was too late to fix.”

“Wow, Inuyasha’s rubbing off on you.”

“That’s a Sango move, actually.”

“Shit, you right.” Her best friend smirked proudly, the expression falling as quickly as it had appeared as she went back to her unsettling bouncing. “But, what if we don’t connect? What if he’s only capable of talking to me through text and it all falls apart in person!?”

“He managed to ask you out in person, Sango.”

“But -”

“You’re fishing. Stop fishing. You were looking forward to this yesterday, and now you’re panicking. Miroku’s been much better about talking to you. I mean, he’s even kind of charming!”

“If it’s bad, will you ditch Inuyasha and come save me?” Sango opened her eyes, pouting out her bottom lip pleadingly.

“You know I wouldn’t hesitate.” Kagome smiled, dabbing the brush in the palette again. Sango settled slightly, slouching in her seat.

The doorbell chimed through the house, and Kagome hardly reacted, tapping the blending brush on the side of the palette casing to free the excess powder.

“Sota!” She called, waiting to see if she could hear the sound of his footsteps leaving his room from down the hall. When she didn’t, she called his name again, a little louder that time. As she, once more, didn’t hear him coming, she yelled for him, dragging the end of his name out to make sure she was heard.

“God, what!?” Her little brother wailed, stomping all the way over to the open entry of her bedroom. His gaming headset was still worn, just dropped to rest behind his head, his controller held tightly in the grip of one hand.

“Can you get the door? I’m a little preoccupied.”

“You made me get killed, Kagome!”

“It’s a game.” Kagome drawled dismissively. “By default, what I’m doing is more important.”

“Mom said we’re not supposed to answer the door for anybody, anyway. What if it’s a burglar?” Sota asked, returning her sass with a mocking, downward twinge of his mouth.

“Pretty sure a burglar wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell, but if it is one, I’d rather sacrifice you before I sacrifice myself.”

Her brother stood in the doorway, his eyes slanting in the smallest glare, staring blankly at her for a solid moment. Kagome stared back a little awkwardly, about to tell him Inuyasha was the one waiting to be let in when Sota quickly flicked off the light and darted down the stairs, leaving both of the girls shouting for him in the dark.

“Why is the light off?” Inuyasha asked as he rounded the corner to her room half a minute later, switching it back on to see the two girls sitting perfectly still in front of one another. “Hey, Sango.” He casually greeted with a notch of his head.

“Oh, you know, makeup in the dark’s a new sport.” Kagome sarcastically replied.

“Sota?”

“Yeah.”

“No wonder he ran into the kitchen instead of coming back upstairs.” Inuyasha welcomed himself into her bedroom, setting down the bag of food he’d brought beside him as he sat on Kagome’s bed behind her. She rested on a stool borrowed from downstairs, leaning forward to resume what she’d been doing.

“So, what are you guys doing tonight?” Sango grinned, her tone holding a flirtatious insinuation.

“Watching The Conjuring.” Inuyasha responded, taking the Styrofoam containers out to set up their food.

Kagome jerked around, eyes large, her lips curved in disconcertment. “We are?”

“That was the deal, babe. I told you for each Harry Potter movie you make me watch, you’re watching a horror one.” He shrugged carelessly.

“But, there’s eight! And, you can’t just watch one without all the others! That’s barbaric!”

Inuyasha grinned, grabbing a taquito from the plate and taking a bite with no remorse. With a huff of momentary defeat, she twisted back to face Sango, swapping her brush out for the mascara.

“Wow. You guys are a thrilling couple.” Sango dully sneered. “You skipped right passed the awkward stages and went straight for boring. It’s only been, like, a month.”

“No, that’s not true. The other day, he -“

“Hey! No! Don’t you fucking dare!” He interjected, mouth half-full.

The two girls stared at each other humorously, trying not to laugh as Kagome tightly sealed her mouth.

“What did he do?” Sango silently mouthed.

“I’ll tell you later.” Kagome mouthed in return. She played it off, handing the mascara over for Sango to apply, herself.

“Anyway, aren’t you guys still technically in the honeymoon stage? Where’s all the gross, overly-affectionate gestures that you guys are supposed to be doing to make sure the other still likes you?” Sango questioned semi-jokingly.

Curious, Kagome spun back around to face Inuyasha, waiting to see what he’d say. He glanced back at her with genuine innocence, his second taquito in hand.

“Do you still like me?” The hanyou asked.

“Yeah, you’re alright.” Kagome absentmindedly shrugged, turning back to Sango, grabbing the highlighter and appropriate brush.

“Never mind, you guys are kind of cute.” Sango remarked, laughing and allowing her best friend to dust the final touches onto her skin.

Truth was, neither of the two were very into public displays of affection, Inuyasha even more so than Kagome. They held hands and hugged, giving each other little gestures here and there while in school, but nothing much more than that. It wasn’t Inuyasha’s style, and Kagome more than understood that boundary, which equally worked in her favor because she liked to keep him and the sweet things he did for her all to herself.

“Okay, all set.” She beamed, placing all of her makeup back into the designated drawer.

“Miroku picking you up from here?” The hanyou inquired as Sango stood and adjusted her outfit in the lengthy mirror near the closet.

“No, I’m meeting him at the restaurant. I didn’t want my dad to know. As far as he’s concerned, I’m spending the night here and that’s it.”

“Not allowed to date yet?”

“It’s not that. My dad’s just one of those typical guys that meets your date at the door with a shotgun. And, I mean, he’s a cop - and not a scrawny one, either. I did not want to put Miroku under that kind of pressure.”

“Hey, can I be there when you do introduce them?” Inuyasha seemed a little too pleased with the idea.

“Sure,” She shrugged. “If you tell me the cringey thing you did the other day.”

“Aren’t you running late?” Inuyasha stiffly rebutted, changing the subject swiftly.

Sango laughed, flicking a finger gun his way before proudly presenting her final look to her best friend.

Kagome stood up, pulling the length of Sango’s chocolate brown hair to the front of her shoulders. “Text me so I know you got there safely.”

“I will.”

“And, when you’re on your way back.”

“Yes, mom.”

“I’ll obviously be waiting up for you.”

“I appreciate it.” Sango bobbed her head along, like these questions were per regime. “Oh, wait, what do I do if he starts going all spastic again?”

“Change the subject.” Inuyasha casually mentioned, his eyes on his phone like he wasn’t even paying attention. “If he gets weird, keep talking like normal and he’ll calm down.”

“Oh.” It was that easy? “Thanks, dog boy.”

“Mhm.”

Kagome walked her out, repeating that she wanted to know when she arrived safely before walking back inside and locking the door behind her, heading right back up the stairs to her bedroom. Her pace increased halfway up, eager to get back, and as she shut her door on her way, she noticed the food was cleared from the bed and on the floor, signifying it was safe to proceed with her usual routine. His eyes were still on his phone as he replied to a text, but his grin wasn’t all that subtle. He knew exactly what she was about to do. Kagome pounced on the bed, his arms instinctively snagging around her to catch, the both of them flying back against her mattress from the force. Kagome wasted no time adjusting their positions, her legs straddling his waist as he laid flat on his back, folding over onto his chest and resting her face in the crook of his neck. Inuyasha chuckled, knowing what she wanted and complying immediately, soothingly rubbing his hands up and down her back.

“Do we really have to watch The Conjuring?” She mumbled.

“Yup. But, I brought you a burrito if that makes you feel any better.” She could hear the smile in his tone.

“What kind of burrito?” Kagome’s voice was playful, snuggling a little closer to her boyfriend, his hands never ceasing their roaming along her back.

“Bean, rice, and cheese.”

“Mmm, you’re my favorite.”

“I’ve noticed you only say that when I bring you food.” He laughed. She hummed an affirmation, rising to her hands and hovering over him. Inuyasha took the opportunity to reach up for a small kiss, finally greeting her like he’d wanted to all along.

She gently rolled off of him, grabbing the remotes from the bedside table and turning on the tv as he grabbed the food from the floor, setting her Styrofoam plate before her before taking the remote she offered so he could choose which streaming app his movie was located on.

As Inuyasha began to get comfortable by resting his back against the wall right beside her after pressing play, Kagome looked at him absurdly - almost like he’d just committed a felony. He tried not to laugh, waiting for her to say something, growing even further confused when all she did was pull at the sleeve of his hoody and then point to the spot in front of her.

“What?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kagome questioned, as if the answer was plain and obvious. “You have to protect me.”

“It’s barely started.” He chuckled.

“I don’t care, sit in front of me.”

“In front?”

“Yeah, come on.” She pulled on his sleeve harder to direct him, maneuvering one of her legs behind his back so she was semi covered by his torso. This way, she could easily duck behind him when things got too spooky.

“Man, you really don’t like scary movies, do you?” Inuyasha laughed, shaking his head.

“I warned you ages ago.” Kagome stated, finally taking a bite out of her burrito and shifting an inch or two closer to her newfound shelter.

“This wasn’t exactly the idea I had in mind when thinking of how close you’d be while watching something like this.”

“What a cliche move.” She teased.

“You’re so weird.” He was smiling, his hand coming up to gently caress her cheek as he pulled her in to give a small kiss on her head.

Inuyasha hardly paid attention to the movie, obligated to provide little sources of comfort to his sissy of a girlfriend. Not by her, but by himself. It was enjoyable, as wrong as it seemed, to feel her clutch onto the sweater at the sides of his ribcage, burying her head behind his shoulder. A couple of times, even, she jumped in her skin, her fingers actually gripping his sides and squeezing right into his tickle spots, making him flinch and grunt in response. All she could do was laugh and apologize while she hid her face from the movie, but he didn’t mind. Not one fucking bit. Honestly, he hoped she forced him to watch the other seven Harry Potter movies, just so he could put on his own selection and reap the benefits. In an attempt to soothe her just a smidge, he held onto her thigh she had nearest his side, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the cotton of her leggings.

As it ended, Kagome slouched against him, a small whine leaving her mouth before she threw herself along her mattress dramatically. “Thank god it’s over.”

“And, you survived. I’m proud of you.” He rolled his eyes, humored by her antics.

“Don’t patronize me. It’s been years since I’ve watched anything like that!”

“Well, then I guess you’ll just need to watch some more to get used to them, huh?” Inuyasha grinned, a little devilishly, as he twisted and crawled over her.

“Fair is fair.” Kagome said, her whisper, though flirtatious, taking on a shy hint. Her brown eyes flickered down to his lips, impatiently waiting for him to lower himself and kiss her.

He loved the way she raked her teeth along her bottom lip, her lids fluttering mostly closed as she watched him slowly crouch to kiss her. It would be a lie if he said discovering the ins and outs of their own relationship wasn’t as tedious as his lean toward her, or his deliberate hover just above her expecting lips, and there was still much to learn, but he found himself eager while more than willing to take his time. It would be an even bigger lie to say he hadn’t been frightened as they first got into the groove of transitioning from friend’s to couple; of the obnoxious and rampant feelings demanding to be explored, of hurting her, of crossing a line. But, as one day turned into one week, and one week turned into two, and three into four, his nerves warmed and quieted, and the gentle touch of her fingertips to his skin reinforced the safety that they’d worked to build within each other since the day they’d met.

Intentionally, Inuyasha refrained from pressing his body between her legs as he softly dragged his lips against hers, enjoying the heat of her shallow breath along his mouth before molding into a perfect kiss. She was such a sweet kisser, holding the tendency to follow his lead for the most part, but his favorite thing she did was that tender suck she’d give to his bottom lip, baiting him just a little further every fucking time. She tasted delightful, she smelled heavenly, she felt wonderful against him in the tiny ways he’d allot - like her hands along his sides or beneath the hemline of his sweater, or their chests rising and falling in steady synchronicity. He’d learned the deep sighs she’d gift when she was content with his actions, and how they differed when she wanted a bit more. The latter held the inkling of a whimper, and it’d be another lie to say he wasn’t weak for it.

That was the sound he detected just now, her warm fingers gripping into the flesh of his hips, just beneath his hoodie and shirt, and Inuyasha smiled against her mouth, adjusting one of his knees on the outside of her leg so he could safely move a little closer to her without surpassing a boundary he hadn’t yet already. The kiss grew a little more intense, almost following the beat of the dramatic score music playing as the credits of the movie continued to scroll.

The loud, annoying chime of Inuyasha’s cell phone alarm going off rudely interrupted, dragging a husky groan out of the half demon as he broke apart from Kagome, reaching toward the edge of the mattress near her nightstand to silence the damn thing.

“Curfew?” She quietly asked. He nodded, giving a raspy sigh and softly kissing her cheek before sitting up. Her own phone dinged just then, and she grabbed it, opening the text from Sango.

Sorry! Forgot to give a heads up! Miroku’s walking me back and I should be there in a few.

“Oh, Sango’s almost here, anyway.” Kagome said, sitting up next to him.

“How far out is she?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “She said a few minutes.”

“Plenty of time.” He grinned, pushing his girlfriend back down to the bed and kissing her.

“Your curfew!” She giggled, growing even louder as he playfully littered her face in small, delicate pecks.

“It’s only a few minutes.”

“You timed it perfectly! You’ll be late!”

“I’ll run.”

“Inuyasha!” Kagome laughed, almost shrieking as he pinched her tickle spots at her waist. “Okay, go! I’m gonna accidentally kick you!”

“Alright, alright.” He jokingly droned, pushing himself off of her and getting his small amount of things together. Kagome gathered their trash in the plastic bag he’d brought their food in so she could throw it away in the bin in the kitchen, following him downstairs.

As Inuyasha approached the door, his ear gave a little flick, catching two familiar voices talking outside. Pulling the curtain aside an inch, he peeked to see who it was. “Sango and Miroku are back.”

The quick shuffle of feet surprised him as Kagome ran from the kitchen to his side, snagging his arm from the door and pulling him away. “You can’t go out there!”

“Why not!?”

“Because, they’re not done yet! You can’t just interrupt!”

“But, I’ve gotta go!”

“Tough. You can run.” She dismissed, dropping to her knees and pulling her boyfriend down with her so they could safely watch without the peel of the curtain being too noticeable.

On the sidewalk before the entry path, Miroku and Sango stood inches away from one another, talking so softly she figured even Inuyasha wouldn’t be able to understand what they were saying. Sango’s hands were held in Miroku’s, his indigo gaze on her soft and almost blissful while Sango seemed to be looking back at him hopefully, sucking in her bottom lip.

“Is it okay for us to be watching this?” Inuyasha inquired, slightly uncomfortable.

“She’s gonna tell me what happened, anyway.” Kagome carelessly shrugged, her brown eyes never leaving the two outside.

“Isn’t this, I don’t know, private? Why would she tell you?”

“We tell each other everything.” She said matter-of-factly.

“Everything?” Inuyasha echoed, shock resounding in his tone. Kagome glanced over at him then, perplexed at first, then clearly attempting to play it off with a subtle scoff.

“But, I haven’t told her anything about you. Oh, look, I think he’s gonna kiss her!” She grabbed his sleeve in excited anticipation, watching as Inuyasha’s best friend leaned down to kiss Sango goodnight. It was difficult to hold back her squeal, and even more difficult not to shake Inuyasha’s arm back and forth when she witnessed the pure romance unfolding right before them. As her best friend turned to walk toward the house, the cherry color of her face was more than evident in the porch light, and Kagome finally dropped the curtain, standing and bouncing around Inuyasha to open the door right when her best friend knocked.

They, obviously, played it cool while Miroku watched from the sidewalk to make sure Sango got inside safely, Kagome giving a little twiddle of her fingers to say hi to him. While the door was still open, Inuyasha took the opportunity to pass through, giving his girlfriend a small ruffle of her hair on the crown of her head as he said goodbye.

She shut the door when she saw the two opposite best friends meet and walk in the direction of the hanyou’s house, the two girls now safe to get giddy and screech about Sango’s night, but as they went to run up the stairs, there was a heavy knock on the front door, halting them. Inuyasha stood just outside, a slightly irritated expression cocking his brow. Kagome dropped her head to the side, curious, but before she could ask what was wrong or what he’d forgotten, he signaled to Sango to turn around with a twirl of his finger. She rolled her brown eyes but complied, spinning around so her back was to them, and Inuyasha gently curved his palms around the soft line of Kagome’s jaw, bringing her in for her own goodnight kiss.

“You’re gonna be super late now.” She whispered, bashfully biting her lip.

He gave a breathy chuckle, stepping back and running off toward his house.

“He was actually really nice the entire night! A total gentleman! There was a little bit of panic here and there, but I kept the conversation going like Inuyasha said, and it went really smoothly!” Sango gushed, plopping down on the bed next to Kagome after changing into her pajamas. “He opened doors for me, he held my hand while we walked for a while after dinner, and he insisted on bringing me back here, Kay!”

“And then you kissed!”

“And then we kissed!” Sango squeaked, grabbing a pillow and hugging it closely in an attempt to contain herself.

“So, how was it? Is he a good kisser?” Kagome asked, bouncing on her bottom from her joyful curiosity.

“Oh my god,” Sango practically swooned. “So good. It started off careful and soft and then, wow, does that boy know how to kiss. Girl, I didn’t know getting weak in the knees was an actual thing, but I felt like I was wobbling up to the door like an old lady without a cane.”

Kagome laughed, not even slightly fazed by her best friend’s dramatic explanations. “I take it you guys are going out again?”

“Hopefully. I mean, he didn’t ask, but if he did I’d say yes in a heartbeat.”

“And, what if he asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“I’d pause to make him think I was contemplating on it and wasn’t totally desperate, and then eventually say yes, of course.”

“Of course.” Kagome repeated, giggling and snatching the cell out of Sango’s hand as she illuminated the screen to check her notifications for the umpteenth time in five minutes. “Quit checking your phone! He’ll text you when he texts you!”

“Yeah, but what if my phone glitches and the text doesn’t go to my lock screen! I need to check my messages.”

“Sango -“

“Is my phone on silent?”

“No!” Kagome laughed, holding the phone away from her as she reached for it.

“I should probably check it.”

“Sango!”

“Give it back, heathen!”

“You have to be patient!”

“Oh, like you were with Inuyasha!?” Sango was now on top of her desperately trying to reach for her phone as Kagome kept fighting to hold it away from her.

“You’re just gonna keep throwing that in my face, aren’t you?”

“Give. It. To. Me.”

The ding of her text messages went off, a short vibration tickling Kagome’s palm, and she looked up to see Miroku’s name lighting up the screen with a few pink hearts trailing behind.

“Oh, it’s him.” Kagome nonchalantly said, passing the phone back to her friend with an innocent smile. Sango enthusiastically took it back, opening up the message and typing something in return.

“What does it say?” Kagome eagerly inquired.

Sango blushed deeply, rolling into a happy little ball on her side and holding the phone close with a content grin. “He said goodnight. I love goodnight texts.”

She was right. They were the best. Such a simple and tiny gesture, which was equally sentimental and wonderful. Someone took a small moment out of their lives before going to sleep just to send you something sweet, letting you know they were thinking of you. Kagome was so happy that Sango was finally getting what she wanted.

—

Inuyasha was acting weird. Kagome couldn’t place her finger on why. Nothing between them had happened, and as far as she knew, nothing else was wrong. But, that couldn’t be the case because something had to be wrong. He wasn’t being mean, he was just being short. Maybe she could even classify his current characteristics as skittish.

The other day, he’d been helping her with her homework - nothing new there. But, when she brought up their plans for that Friday, he got visibly tense. It was her younger brother’s birthday, and they were making dinner and cake. A few of Sota’s friends were sleeping over that night, and Inuyasha had said a couple weeks prior that he would show up for the main event of it, and let them borrow some of the milder horror films he had in his arsenal. Her brother really seemed to like her boyfriend, and as much as she picked on the twerp for anything and everything, she found it kind of endearing that he looked up to the hanyou. Inuyasha was supportive in his own little way to Sota; not actively pursuing to be his friend or anything, but never once shutting the younger boy down or pushing him away when he had a weird question. And, it was Sota. He had nothing but weird questions, irrelevant to literally anything pertaining to what they were talking about in the moment.

She’d asked if he was coming, and Inuyasha didn’t seem to remember the plans they’d made, his discomfort gradually elevating. So, she reminded him that it was Sota’s birthday, and though he looked like he recalled the conversation where he’d agreed to come, a guilty expression scrunched at his nose.

“I, uh, I can’t.”

“Did you forget and make other plans?” Kagome genuinely asked, not at all upset, but more piqued by his suddenly rocky demeanor.

“Actually, I forgot about my other plans first and made these ones with you. I’ve gotta help my uncle with something.” He replied, his eyes only meeting the paper before him as he busied his fingers with his pen.

“Oh, with what?”

“Something.”

“O-okay.” She pinched her lips together, feeling a little shut out. It wasn’t often he did that anymore, so it wasn’t something she was altogether used to nowadays. It was strange, and he seemed to notice her own disconcertment rising.

“It’s, uh, he’s just too old to be lifting some things so, yeah, that’s where I come in. I’ve gotta help. Sorry.” He vaguely explained. Kagome nodded, accepting what he’d given her, actively trying not to pry for more information. “I’ll probably be leaving school early, too. So, I’ll only see you in the morning that day.”

His tone was pretty direct, to the point, and even after letting that go, he still appeared a little off - probably because she was paying attention now. Especially that Friday morning. The half demon just seemed so drained and listless. She’d ask if he was alright, and he’d just given a plain, “yeah,” in response. He didn’t say goodbye before leaving school at lunch, and throughout the remainder of the day, his texts were few and far between. Truthfully, she really did believe he was busy.

That didn’t quiet her suspicions that there was something else beneath the surface, though.

The next day, they were texting like normal, talking like normal, absolutely nothing out of the usual - which served to further unsettle her. She wanted to ask him about it, but she would have preferred to see him and personally make sure he was alright. At the same time, it was a little unnerving to ask if they could meet up or if she could go see him. She didn’t want him catching on that she’d been concerned, and having him react in typical Inuyasha fashion by dispersing her thoughts and changing the subject away from him.

The thought came to her like a light clicking on overhead: What would Inuyasha do if the roles were reversed? The first time he was visibly concerned about her, he snuck over at eleven in the evening and made up some silly excuse about forgetting his pin that never existed just to see if she was sick. Maybe the same scenario could work out fairly for her, as well.

Had she ever snuck out before? Absolutely not. Was she terrified she’d get caught? More than words could tell. Was she gonna do it anyway? It’s what Inuyasha would do! Kagome waited until around ten that night, knowing her mom was in bed and Sota was playing one of the new video games he’d been gifted the night before. Everyone was usually left alone to do their own thing late in the evening, so she was mostly confident she’d get away with it. There was always the chance her brother would barge in to do something stupid, or her mom would get up for a late cup of tea and would come in to offer her one, but that didn’t happen all that often. For good measure, she turned on her tv for background noise and locked her bedroom door.

Silently, Kagome slid her window open, carefully stepping out onto the roofing just outside, and when she slid it shut, she left it cracked so she could easily get back in. She’d decidedly donned black jeans and a black hoodie - for stealth purposes, of course. That’s what people did in the movies. She couldn’t necessarily say it’s what Inuyasha would do in this case, because it’s what Inuyasha would do on almost any average day. The guy wore a lot of dark colors.

Getting from the roof to the tree branch was a lot more tricky than it seemed; her boyfriend made it look so easy. The last time she’d climbed a tree, she was stuck in it for hours until her dad had realized, come outside to look for her, and gotten her down. Of course, she was six or seven, and the size of an even younger child - height has never been on her side. Hopefully, that’d work out to her advantage tonight. Inuyasha was six feet tall, toned, and rightfully heavier than she. If the branch could keep from breaking on him, it would definitely hold her. She trusted that much. What she didn’t trust was her own capability to maneuver from the branch to the trunk to the floor.

She’d crouched low, slowly inching herself over to the nearest branch from the roof, resembling more of a nervous sloth than an Inuyasha. As soon as she felt relatively confident, Kagome finally climbed all the way onto the ligament of the tree and away from the safety of her roof. It wasn’t so bad once she was over that terrifying part. All she had to do was watch the steadiness of her feet as she stepped little-by-little over to the trunk like she’d seen Inuyasha do. Then, she’d have to step down to a different branch, then another, then the floor. Not horrible in retrospect, but she knew when it all came down to the moment, she’d hesitate and overthink her next movement.

Once her feet were on the ground, though, it took a little too much effort not to jump and cheer for herself, having to have slapped her hands over her own mouth as she’d accidentally let out a squeak of joy. What made it worse was no one had been around to see her achievement - which, yes, was the intention, but still. In her excitement, she ran straight to the curb, speeding onto the path toward Inuyasha’s house.

Kagome knew his bedroom was on the second floor since the one time she’d been over she’d watched him head up the stairs, but she’d never actually been up there herself, and therefore didn’t know which window to target as her destination. Her one fear was climbing up and knocking on his uncle’s window. The mortification she’d feel at locking eyes with the older man was almost enough to convince her to opt for throwing pebbles at the windows from behind bushes until the hanyou she favored peeked out of one.

No. That wouldn’t do. She had so much adrenaline soaring through her right now, so much pride at her tree-scaling abilities, that she simply had no choice but to climb the tree on the side of Inuyasha’s home and seek out his window like the champ she was.

Silently, Kagome opened and closed the front gate, noticing no lights in the front were on before sneaking around to the right side of the house. Downfall: There was a cement wall that separated the front from the backyard. Without apprehension, wanting to get out of the main line of sight for anyone glancing out of windows or passing by, she hopped, latching her hands onto the top. She tried pulling herself straight up, but lacked the necessary upper body strength to do so, only succeeding in losing her grip and falling back down to the grass to land on her feet. Her palms had scraped along the edge of the cement, her skin growing hot with irritation, but not hurting, so she jumped up once more, this time after scooting a little closer to the side of the house so she could use it to brace her feet on and kick up a bit. There was still a struggle to raise herself up enough, but after a third try, she was able to hook her elbow over the top and leverage herself up the rest of the way until she was awkwardly braced on her hands and knees and squirming to sit on her butt where she’d be able to scoot her way off the wall and into the backyard.

Of course, so it goes, one of the simplest tasks of the night just so happened to be the most threatening to Kagome. Her hands were raw from climbing down her own tree, and the cement definitely did its part to irritate and scratch up her palms. She’d been trying to carefully shift her butt over the edge enough to safely hop down from the wall - because, honestly, the drop was the scariest part of it all - but when she griped the rough texture, trying to turn her body to lower herself down, she grated the already-tender areas and dropped herself straight to the floor where she tore her jeans over her knee, the skin beneath scraped and angry.

Inuyasha wouldn’t think twice about a minor injury like this, and she repeated that to herself over and over while she looked at her knee with horrified distraught, resisting the natural temptation to clutch her stinging wound and hiss at the pain like it made anything better. Her eyes definitely didn’t prickle, because she was tough and strong, and things like this definitely didn’t bother her at all.

Picking herself up to her feet and wiping the pout off her face, Kagome quietly ventured forward the few feet necessary to get to the trunk of the tree, circling it to find the best spot to get her footing on. This was also serving as her wakeup call to work out a little more than the ten sit-ups she did every few weeks. Or months. Her arms were struggling massively to pull her up onto the first branch, and she was now glad that no one was there to see her pathetic lack of muscle. She was, though, the type to work smarter, not harder, so she dropped her hold to grasp the belt loops in her pants, shimmying them up a little higher - because who doesn’t know the struggle with pants slipping down while you’re trying to work? - before reclaiming her grip and really pressing her foot into the notch on the trunk, grateful the rough bark helped the soles of her shoes stick instead of slide. With the little leverage she gained, Kagome replaced one foot with the other, now able to climb up into a little nook in the tree where branches were thick and veered right from the trunk. From then on, it wasn’t too difficult, and Inuyasha’s tree was even more forgiving than her own, actually reaching over the roof so she wouldn’t have to test the stability of ligaments before scampering over to solid safety.

Kagome kept herself low and close to the wall as she crawled her way toward the back of the house, grateful the window she approached was shut by blinds. There was one window in the back toward the further side of the house with a light on, yellow hues guiding her path. She could only hope it was the one she was looking for.

Carefully, on her way, she neared a darkened window first, making sure the coast was clear before she ventured on. The blinds were down, but they were twisted open, and from her angle, she couldn’t really see in. It was dark, and she could hardly make out what was inside, but the one thing she did notice was the window, itself, was shut. If anyone was actually in there - conscious or not - her shuffling would be muffled and hopefully dismissed as a curious raccoon. A very large and curious raccoon, but a raccoon nonetheless.

Still, she proceeded cautiously, trying to duck as low as she could below the windowsill to remain undetected before crawling forward to the illuminated one. Again, she played it safe, peeking in from the side to try and gauge whose room it was. The bed was to the right of the window, unmade and messy, a nightstand right beside it - below the glass she observed through - with a cellphone, remote, and alarm clock on top.

Easy solution.

Kagome pulled her phone out of her pocket, opening the recent and unread text from her boyfriend. She’d reply and see if an alert went off, and then there’d be no need to wander further to the other side of the house to see if there was another room to peep through.

After hitting send, she watched the opposite cellphone intently, perking when it lit up with her text and finally coming into full view of the window to peer through. Inuyasha wasn’t inside, the door at the far end of the left wall wide open, so she waited impatiently, her thrill to see him in this manner overriding her earlier concern.

The hanyou was donned in sweats and nothing else, his chest left bare, and his silver hair thrown into a messy bun, re-entering his room while brushing his teeth. He didn’t notice her immediately, which worked in her favor. She’d never seen him so dressed down, so comfortable, so shirtless, and her brows raised in impure admiration. But, when he finally caught her sitting there, he froze, and she easily played off her stare with a gleeful, little wave.

Inuyasha had deadpanned, his hand halting the toothbrush in his mouth, his chest noticeably rising and falling with a heavy breath as he about-faced and left the room, holding up a finger indicating for her to wait when she gave a surprised squeak at his leaving. Kagome couldn’t help but giggle, loving when he was so shocked by something that he literally had no fathomable reaction. It wasn’t often that that happened, and his blank face was just so stinking cute.

The toned abs were a plus.

When he came back in, shutting the door on his way, his toothbrush gone and mouth rinsed of toothpaste, Kagome beamed happily, observing his steady approach to the window. Yes, she definitely noticed the way his muscles flexed as he lifted the glass, and her bright smile never faded as he bent down, propping his forearms on the frame with a studious expression on his face.

“Hey, I’ve got a question for you.” Inuyasha said huskily.

“Mhm?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” There was no malice to his tone, or in the way he’d cocked an eyebrow peculiarly. In fact, he was so level with Kagome that her smile only grew wider as she fell into a fit of soft giggles.

“I came over to see you.”

“Why?” His tone still held evenly.

“I wanted to.” She said playfully.

“Why?” A little more pressed that time, though a grin began to appear, trying to get a real answer from her.

“Because, I missed you.”

“Why?”

“Do I really need an excuse to see the most handsome half demon in existence?”

“You better give me one before I push you off this roof.”

“I - I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Kagome admitted, her playfulness dwindling slightly as she gave into the truth, though she met him with cute, pouty eyes, knowing he’d be soft for her intentions. Her smile pushed through, though appearing a little more sheepish than before. His brows pinched together, and she knew he was wondering what she was alluding to. “You were acting kind of weird yesterday. I was worried.”

Inuyasha sighed out, turning a hand over in offer to her, and when she took it, he gave a gentle pull to guide her inside, assisting her along the way by bracing his opposite hand over her head to protect her from accidentally hitting it against the border of the opened window. He supported her weight as she carefully climbed over his nightstand, and when her feet were safely on the floor of his bedroom, he closed the window to keep the chill out.

“Why do I smell blood?” He questioned, turning back to her speculatively.

“Oh, I skinned my knee.” Kagome replied, lifting her leg to a ninety-degree angle so he could see the tear in her pants before putting her foot back down.

“Klutz.” Her murmured with a small roll of his eyes, heading over to his dresser and pulling out the first shirt he saw, wasting no time in putting it on. His torso was now hidden beneath a grey tee, speckled with lighter grey flecks, and Kagome was a bit disappointed to have the nice sight stolen from her, though she, of course, didn’t show it. “Why didn’t you just ask me, babe? I would have told you I was fine.” He mentioned kindly, waltzing over to sit on his bed in front of her.

“Because, I knew that’s what you would have said. And then, you would have changed the subject. I wanted to see for myself, and so I did what you would have done.”

“What I would have done?”

“You snuck over once just to see if I was sick that one time I missed school because of Sota.” She smiled, biting her lip. “I wanted to be bold like you. And, get answers like you. Was that… wrong?”

The look she was giving him was shaking his stability. Kagome probably didn’t understand the significance of the glimmer in her eye, or how the way she currently dragged her teeth over her plush, bottom lip made him glance away for the sake of his own sanity. She seemed so innocent, her actions compassionate and brave, but god, his core had never been heated like this before.

“So, you snuck out of your house?” Inuyasha asked, amused, gliding his tongue over his canine.

“Yup.”

“Looks like I’m a bad influence on you.” He chuckled, wagging his finger for her to come closer. She happily obliged, stopping between his legs and sliding her hands over the tops of his shoulders as his own gently slid around the backs of her thighs.

“The worst.” Kagome teased, lightheartedly. She pecked the smallest kiss to the tip of the white appendage atop his head. There was a part of her that wished she wasn’t wearing her sweater, and only a thin shirt, so that she had a chance at feeling the heat from his breath as he exhaled deeply at the same moment. Just to satiate the expanding flurry in her belly, she curved downward, softly kissing his lips, lingering, sighing herself, as the air was stolen from her lungs from just how tender he returned her affection. Parting was slow, and deliberate, and comfortable, as was the way she brushed her lips over his in a ghost of a touch to glide over to his cheek to kiss him there, too. “So, you’re okay, right? Nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Kagome. I promise.” He whispered, smiling gently. “You really came over just to check on me?”

“Of course, I did.” She giggled, stepping back and out of his hold to allow her eyes to explore his bedroom for the first time. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

“No reason.” He shook his head, watching as she wandered about to look at the few things he had up around his desk and bookshelf. She picked up the little crown he’d stolen from her that was nicely placed along the face of his study area, twiddling it in her fingers back at him. “Sorry I came off so weird yesterday. I had to deal with something.”

She’d come over in the dead of night, climbed some trees, scabbed her knee, she was expressing her feelings for him, her smile was grounding him, and suddenly, he didn’t much care for his stupid secret anymore.

“Yeah, you said you were helping your uncle?” Kagome inquired, continuing to play with the golden pin as she leaned back against his desk.

Inuyasha scrunched his nose at his lie, standing from his mattress and humbly looking to the side. “Uh, yeah, but no.”

“No?”

“I was actually doing something else.” The hanyou admitted, golden eyes landing back on her curious expression. Her dark hair splayed over her shoulder nicely as she leaned her head to the side, almost blending with the shade of her hoodie. “I was home. I was here.”

“Oh. Were you not feeling well?”

“Something like that.”

“You seem uncomfortable.” Kagome noted, her expression slackening. She placed the crown back where it was, dropping her shoulders in a relaxed manner as she braced her hands on the desk behind her to support her upper body where she leaned. He was on the private side, that was no secret, so the last thing she wanted to do here was push him. There was plenty of sincerity behind him saying he was okay just moments ago; she could take his word for it. The caution he was exuding, though, was kind of presenting a different sort of concern for her now. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Is this, like, something I should be worried about, though?”

“No. No, not at all.” He relaxed, himself. Not as much as she, especially when he dismissed her concerns, but enough to make sure she believed him. “I’ve just never talked about this with anyone before, so it’s kind of awkward.”

“That’s okay if -“

“I was napping.”

Kagome blinked in surprise.

“On and off. Here and there.”

“So,” She spoke, her voice wavering as she tried to fight back some giggles. “You were sleepy? That’s what was wrong?”

“Well, yes. In essence.” He nodded, pinching his lips together as he realized how ridiculous he was coming off. “Look, you don’t understand. I’m hardly ever tired, you know that.”

“Right, and it’s bound to catch up with you at some point.” Kagome grinned, humored by his embarrassment but trying not to appear so.

“Yes. When I’m human.” Inuyasha bravely said, like ripping off a bandaid. His girlfriend perked forward a bit, thrown by his confession, the bemusement vivid. His chuckle was sputtered, half caused by his nerves and half because of her reaction. “I’m half demon, Kagome. Which means I’m half human.”

“Yeah, no, I understand the biology behind it.”

“Not quite. There’s more to it. Every half demon’s got a weakness. Mine’s on the night of the new moon. When it comes around, I turn into a human.”

“A human?”

“Yeah, you know, like you.”

Kagome began to laugh, her cheeks growing rosy with delight. “That’s it?”

It was his turn to be confused. He didn’t quite know what to expect from it all, but one of the last things was her chill demeanor.

“Um,” He paused, cooled, breathing out fully as any discomfort he held left his body. “Yeah. Pretty much. I get really fucking tired and grumpy. And hungry. Even the hours leading up to it, my body just starts to feel off. That’s why I left early, and knew I’d want to. I usually stick out the day so ditching doesn’t become a regular, monthly thing, but I was drained just thinking about it the week leading up to it.”

“I get why you kept it to yourself. It’s personal. I promise, I won’t tell anybody.” Kagome said.

“I know. I trust you.”

“I feel a hell of a lot better now that I know, though.”

“That so?”

“Duh.” She giggled, sauntering over to him. His arms instinctively wrapped around her waist when she got close, knowing what she was coming to him for, her hands gliding up the soft flesh of his arms. “I couldn’t stop thinking that something was bothering you.”

“Well, it’s not exactly fun being human.”

“Oh man, tell me about it.” She teased, rolling her brown eyes.

“Shut up.” He chuckled, pulling her flush against him and resting his forehead against hers. His voice softened, becoming a whisper as some of his confidence hid beneath the surface. His heart was thundering behind his ribcage and he simultaneously wanted and didn’t want her to feel it. On a whim, he opened his mouth, allowing the words he wanted to say to spill out before his nerves got the better of him. “You drive me crazy, you know that? In more ways than one. What am I supposed to do with you?”

Inuyasha claimed her smile with his mouth, his kiss heating as she pressed to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. It wasn’t long before he heard that breathy, little whimper she’d make, and the guy was done for. Putty. His hands grew adventurous as they traveled down her lower back and over the curve of her ass. She made a tiny noise of surprise, but nothing out of protest, and even as their lips continued their tasteful dance, she only seemed to arch her back. Like, she’d wanted his hands there all along. Like, she wanted to further prove she could drive him crazy. The hanyou breathed her in, pulled her closer by his grip on her ass, his fingers traveling over her curves and sliding to sit within her back pockets.

It was as if his honesty had only provided fuel to the fire inside of her he hadn’t noticed sparked. He confessed to being fully human the night before, and she moved to him, running her hands over his arms, and he swore she was paying special attention to the defined area between his biceps and triceps. He told her how crazy she made him, and the girl became a vixen with her mouth and tongue, stealing his breath away, his mind muddled and fogged and whirling with insanity. How would she react when he told her he was in love with her? The thought of the passion she would present him with clenched at his chest, the muscles over his torso prickling with anticipation at the exhilarating thought of her blush and her smile and the shy kiss she’d give him that would only grow wonderful and hot.

Fuck.

He broke their kiss, breathless, knowing he was only doing himself in with his own imagination. The truth was, his weakness wasn’t the new moon. His weakness was Kagome. She wasn’t making him want for more, she was making his knees buckle with what he already had. He was thoroughly incapacitated by the intense feelings he had for a single person. In all his life, he never thought the idea was possible. Inuyasha pictured himself strong enough to handle anything. Then, in walked Kagome, with her flirtatious smile and her need to know his name, with her curiosity and stubborn nature, with her laughter, with her voice, with her gentle touch and hypnotizing scent. He should have known he was fucked from the start. He should have known he’d enjoy every second of it, too.

Kagome kissed his jaw, backing away a few inches to see his reaction. Her eyes were doe-like, large and innocent with the hint of wonder, and when he shrugged his brows at her in validation, she pecked another small kiss to the same area. She didn’t pull back to look at him after. Instead, she moved further on her own vindication, kissing his neck three times, languidly, and then pulling back to place the scantest of kisses to his lips.

“I have to go now.” She said, smugly backing out of his hold and heading toward the window.

“Hey, excuse you.” Inuyasha laughed, snatching her hand and pulling her back for one last, real kiss.

“I’m gonna get caught. I have to go.” She quietly whined, her tone playful.

“Not through the window, you don’t.” He said, letting her go after he’d gotten what he wanted.

“How else do you expect me to leave?”

“Door.”

“Inuyasha, baby, you’re growing rusty. I can’t just waltz out there as if I didn’t sneak over in the dead of night.” Kagome teased.

Inuyasha, unfazed, smirked. “Totosai’s not home, dummy. You can leave through the front like a normal person.”

“Oh.” She blanked.

“Give me a second to change my pants and I’ll walk you home.”

“What? No. You can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because, that’s not what Inuyasha would do.”

“But, I’m Inuyasha.” He grimaced, perplexed.

“And, I’m acting like you, remember? You’re the Kagome in this situation.”

“I don’t like this game.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ah, you’re already good at it.” Inuyasha remarked, amused.

“Besides, I didn’t come over here just to get you to walk me back. I came to check on you. I came, I checked, I leave.”

“How are you getting back inside your place?”

“I climb.” She grinned, giggling.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, gesturing for her to walk out of his room as he followed close behind, taking the lead to guide her through the house and to the front. Abruptly, his girlfriend stopped and he turned to see what had her attention, noticing her hands were covering her mouth and her eyes had grown wide with astonishment, her squeal muffled while she stared at a picture to her right. His stomach sank, and he cringed as she waddled closer to the portrait. No. God, no. Fuck.

“Kagome, let’s go.”

“Oh my god!”

“I swear, if you say anything -“

“Is this you!?”

“Yes. Now, let’s go!” The hanyou marched back, snagged her hand to pull her, but it was like she was suddenly made of lead, planted firmly before the family picture.

A beautiful woman with long, dark brown hair supported a chunky toddler on her hip, pointing happily toward the camera to get the lopsided-puppy-eared boy to look into it. A tall man, hair long and silver, blue demon markings adorning his cheek bones, smile gleaming and bright, stood behind the two of them with a hand holding the woman’s waist, the other on the little boy’s back. This was Inuyasha with his birth family. He was right. He really did look more like his mom. She could see it in her smile, the shape of her eyes, and even her nose.

“You were so cute!”

“Stop it.”

“You’re so round!”

“Stop it.”

“How’d you lose all that baby fat?”

“Stop it."

“Look at you!”

“Alright, you asked for it.” Inuyasha bent down, hoisting Kagome over his shoulder and carrying the laughing girl off and down the stairs.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Her voice was wheezy from her powerful laughter and the pressure on her abdomen against his shoulder, but he made sure his steps were as light and smooth as possible so as not to jostle her further. “You’ve seen my baby pictures in the hallway!”

“You weren’t supposed to see mine.”

“It should be considered a crime that you tried to keep that from me!”

“Sue me.” He chuckled, gently setting her down by the front door. Still, the clumsy girl stumbled backward slightly, and he reached to stabilize her, grasping behind her neck and pulling her in for a quick goodbye kiss. “You better fucking let me know when you’re back inside your room.”

“Bossy.” Kagome sneered, opening the door and heading out with a smile.

—

“I forgot to ask earlier, how’s your knee?” Inuyasha inquired, holding Kagome’s book bag for her as she situated her stuff in her locker. She laughed - more at herself, he could tell - and brought her knee up as high as she could without risking her skirt’s boundaries. She stretched her black tights over the area so the material thinned, revealing the bandage beneath.

“Being you is dangerous.”

“No, being you is dangerous.” Inuyasha chuckled, shaking his head humorously. “You okay?”

“Oh, now you ask.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He dismissed, rolling his eyes.

Kagome nodded, shutting her locker and taking back her bag as they headed out to the courtyard, shadowed by their gloomy weather. “You can go. You don’t have to wait with me.” She said, just as he took her hand.

“Nah, you know I don’t mind. And, you know Miroku will pitch a fit if I walk home without him.” The hanyou shrugged, leaning against the designated tree the girls usually waited for each other at. She smiled in reply, playing with his fingers in her grasp, comfortable in the silence between each other.

It wasn’t long before their best friends appeared, Miroku’s hair slightly disheveled and Sango’s lipgloss smudged. Inuyasha groaned in revolt, but Kagome merely made eye contact with her counterpart, wiping an area of her own lip in a subtle gesture for Sango to clean up. She hastily took the hint, using her sleeve to wipe away the evidence of their little make out session.

“Ready?” Sango asked, her cheeks flushed.

“Yeah.” Kagome giggled, giving a little squeeze to Inuyasha’s hand before letting it go and waving goodbye.

“Call me tonight?” Sango asked coyly to Miroku, biting her bottom lip and walking backward next to her friend.

Her new boyfriend opened his mouth to respond, but the only noise he made was inarticulate and deep.

“Ew.” Inuyasha grimaced, making Kagome laugh as she grabbed Sango’s arm and pulled her away, the two girls heading down the cement path and out the school gates.

“How do you get away with that at school?” Kagome asked when they were in the clear.

“Oh, easy. There are so many uninhabited spots, you have no idea.” Sango replied. “You know the volleyball courts?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, instead of going straight there from the locker rooms, you can veer left, head through the little bushy area along the wall, and then there’s a little nook literally nobody goes by. That’s our usual spot.”

“It’s only been, like, a week! You have more than one?” Kagome laughed.

“Of course! Gotta have a backup! We’ve also claimed the big tree near the lunch area.”

“Well, well.” A deep voice greeted, catching Kagome’s startled attention to her left just as they turned a corner. “Found you.”

Kagome froze, locking eyes with a smirking Renkotsu.

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

Killer Combo - Ch 5 Game On

Marinette had butterflies in her stomach for more than one reason when she arrived at the tournament venue. She paused in the bathroom to apply her makeup mask, and took her hoodie out of her bag, taking a deep breath before slipping it on over her shoulders. She pulled a couple of elastics out of the hoodie pocket and pulled her hair back into her signature pigtails, and the transformation was complete. She wanted to be perfect today. Not for Luka, who’d seen her through many competitions at this point, but for the attention she would inevitably garner with him as her partner. Their livestream would likely get a lot of views today, and she expected at least one video interview.

She tapped a finger three times to her lucky earrings, the inspiration for her entire look, and took one more deep breath before nodded at her reflection, and packed her things back in her bag. She had her own matches to focus on before the team competition.

As much as she enjoyed playing him, and as much as she wanted another chance to beat him, especially now that she understood him a little better, Marinette was kind of glad that she wasn’t paired against Luka in this event. They would have managed, but it might have made things weird, and Marinette did not need any more complications today.

Besides, she admitted to herself with a grudging, lopsided smile as she put down her controller and left her pod after her final match, if she’d been paired with him she might not have swept her matches. So maybe it was just as well. It would be more satisfying to take him down in the playoffs anyway.

Luka was already waiting for her when she got to the place where they were supposed to meet up, slumped back against a concrete pillar and scanning the crowd—presumably, for her.

The butterflies got worse and Marinette reprimanded herself, taking a deep breath and blowing it out between black-painted lips. Of course he was looking for her, he was her teammate and they had agreed to meet here, and she needed to not be stupid about this. She needed to be Ladybug.

She was Ladybug and Ladybug did not freak out on competition day because of a boy. No matter how inconveniently hot he was or the way his voice melted her or how much she wanted to know more about what he hid behind that damned lopsided roguish grin—no, she realized, a sudden image in her mind of the way it had looked when he flashed it at her on the boat. That damn pirate grin.

Marinette shook herself slightly. Not thinking about that now. Definitely not thinking of him in a pirate’s loose shirt and tight pants. Those period dramas were never accurate in their fashion anyway.

She was so doomed. Marinette made a little whine in her throat, throwing her hood up over her head for a second so that she could have a quick freakout to herself.

“Come on, Ladybug,” the very smooth voice she’d been thinking about suddenly teased, and a hand tugged on the front of her hood. “It’s not that bad. We prepared. We’ll make it work.” She hadn’t known him that long but she’d recognize that little shoulder squeeze anywhere.

“I’m fine,” she said, throwing the hood back and smoothing back her hair. “It’s fine, I’m chill.”

Luka chuckled. “You are definitely not chill.”

“Shut up,” Marinette grumbled, and fumbled her bag around to where she could dig in it. Anything to change the subject at this point. “Look, I, um...I have something for you, but I—I don’t want this to be weird, so don’t freak out, okay? It’s just this is a thing with us and it would look weird if you didn’t—so I—well. Here, I made this for you.” She shoved the bundle in his hands and stepped back. “Yours is dire, anyway, it offends me to look at it.” She eyed his ratty old hoodie, and to her chagrin, noted that her statement was less true than it had been since it now bore her red stitching at the seams.

“Oh, we’re back to the tough guy talk now, huh?” Luka chuckled, his eyes on her face not helping her find her equilibrium again at all. “Guess I should have expected that.”

“Yeah, you should have expected that,” Marinette shot back, folding her arms and cocking her hip. “I don’t mess around at game time.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, taking in the way his long fingers tapped against his leg, and though his posture was relaxed as always, now she could see the tightness around his eyes. And though she couldn’t put her finger on what was different, she sensed, too, a change in his energy, a tension and excitement that wasn’t there when he was truly calm and relaxed, like he had been in his home. “And you can’t fool me anymore,” she added. “Neither do you.”

“Guilty,” he shrugged, smile widening. “I have to stay on my toes to keep up with you.” He reached out and tweaked one of her pigtails. “Not gonna lie, I’d have missed the tough talk anyway.”

Marinette spluttered and Luka laughed at her before looking down at the bundle in his hands and starting to unfold it.

All the humor in his face faded away as he held up the hoodie. “Whoa…” he murmured, looking it over, and Marinette held her breath. The body of the hoodie was a deep green, with a diamond pattern in a turquoise that matched his hair and his mech down the outside of the sleeves. The same pattern went down the sides, but on a larger scale.

“Cool,” he said, grinning at her—not his usual relaxed smile, but a full on grin that lit up his eyes, and crap, she hadn’t thought anything could hit her harder than the pirate grin and wink that he used so effectively, but she was wrong.

Marinette bit her lip. “Turn it around.”

He did, and his jaw dropped. On the back was her grinning ouroboros design. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and Marinette’s stomach flipped over as that joyful grin got even wider.

“Language,” Marinette said mildly, inspecting her red nails as if she wasn’t hanging on his every word. “That’s a fine if the officials hear you, mister we-have-sportsmanship-guidelines-for-a-reason.”

“Worth it,” Luka muttered absently. “Marinette, this is... way too much, I’m just a temporary team member—”

“Oh, shut up,” she sighed, grabbing his arm a little less roughly than usual as she tugged him over to an abandoned table. “Look, you’re part of Team Lucky Charm now so just deal with it. And...let me do something nice for you to say thanks for helping me out without making me feel all embarrassed because I had a creative fit and went overboard. We’re a team, we need to look like a team. We need to feel like a team.”

“Now what are we doing?” Luka asked, looking unphased by her manhandling as she shoved him into a chair.

“Fixing your face,” Marinette said firmly. She dumped her makeup bag out on the table and rummaged through it, picking out a couple of different pieces. “The hoodie is just step one.” She held up a makeup palette. Luka looked at it, and then at the red and black mask across her eyes.

“I’m in your hands,” he grinned up at her. “Make me pretty.”

Marinette snorted. “You have too many muscles to be pretty.”

“You have muscles too, you’re still pretty,” Luka protested, pouting. "Why does pretty not get to have muscles?"

“Oh my God, shut up,” Marinette muttered, pouting as she felt her face turn ladybug red as she leaned in to get to work. “I hate you so much right now. Close your eyes.”

“You know red is a nice color on you,” Luka chuckled, doing as she asked.

“Stop making this weird,” Marinette huffed, continuing across the bridge of his nose.

“Why is it weird to think you’re prettier than me?” he asked, clearly amused. “You just said you couldn’t make me pretty, and you’re pretty even without the makeup, so—”

“Stop calling me pretty!” Marinette snapped.

Luka sobered immediately. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”

Marinette sighed. “I know,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I don’t get called pretty that often, not sincerely anyway, and you just did it like six times like it was nothing. Like you...meant it.”

“Can I open my eyes for a second?” he asked. “This is a weird conversation to have when I can’t see you.”

Marinette sighed, pulling her hands back. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Luka opened his eyes, and those intense, deep blue eyes staring at her from the dark shades of green she’d dusted across his face made her breath catch. “I know you get a lot of disrespect from the guys in these competitions,” he told her, his voice both quiet and low in a way that made her stomach quiver. “I can imagine that after a while it wears on you even when you know it’s not true. So, as a guy, let me just tell you, you are very pretty, and very smart, and a kickass gamer, and you have all the respect I can give you.”

He closed his eyes again and Marinette numbly switched colors, dusting a lighter turquoise that matched his hair over his eyelids, willing her hands to stop shaking. “I won’t say it again if it upsets you,” Luka said quietly. “I just thought you should know.

“It...it’s not that it upsets me exactly…” She added a couple of yellow streaks down from the bottom of the mask like fangs.

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t say it again.” Luka grinned, peeking one eye open. “Can’t have you rattled before the match.”

“As if you could rattle me, Couffaine,” she scoffed with more bravado than she felt.

He glanced down at the eyeliner pencil in her hand and plucked it away with two fingers. “I can do that part.”

“Really?” Marinette said skeptically, handing him a mirror compact. “I’ll be pissed if you ruin all that work.”

Luka opened the mirror and gave her a sideways smirk without turning away from his reflection, which was just unfair as his profile was by far his best angle. “There’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Ladybug.”

“Apparently,” Marinette grinned, propping her hands on her hips as she watched him line his eyes with a quick efficiency that she kind of envied, actually. Then he glanced up at her and stood up.

“Here, come here, you could use a touch up,” he said, gesturing her towards the chair.

Marinette sat and Luka crouched in front of her, reaching for her face. “May I?” he asked before he touched her, and she nodded. He took her chin in his hand and began touching up the spots in her makeup mask. “You’re really something else,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he seemed to shake himself and he asked, “You and Max do this before every competition?”

“Well, not like this,” she said, careful not to move. “Max doesn’t really do makeup, but he’s got those glasses, you know, the mirrored ones, and the horseshoe necklace, and the hoodie, you know.” She smiled ruefully. “Team Lucky Charm knows how to brand.”

“Somehow I feel like you have a lot to do with that,” he said, and though his grin wasn’t nearly as effective when he was distracted, Marinette still had to swallow with his face so close. “Have you ever thought of doing red lipstick instead of black?”

Marinette blinked. “Not really. Max wears a lot of black so I went with black to tie us together a little more. Why?”

“I just think it would look good on you. I mean, the black looks fine, it looks um...it looks good,” he paused and cleared his throat. “I just think the red would suit you.” He let go of her face and sat back on his heels. “There we go. Can’t have a ladybug walking around with faded spots.” He grinned at her, and Marinette couldn’t help smiling back. He was just so... nice . The real kind of nice, not the fake nice. He was just...he was a really good person and a sweetheart and cute and fun and his smile was so warm and...

Luka tilted his head. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Marinette blinked quickly. “Well, obviously,” she said, standing up a little too quickly. “That was the whole point of this exercise. Come on, we better, um…”

“We’ve got time,” Luka said easily, but he rolled up to his feet. “Guess I better step up though.” He pulled his ratty old hoodie off, and Marinette was treated to a close-up view of the way his shoulders filled out his black t-shirt and the subtle swell of muscle in his arms before he slid on the fabric of the hoodie she’d made him. “Is this original art?” he asked, making a ridiculous face as he tried to peek over his shoulder. “Did you draw this?”

“Yes,” Marinette said, momentarily forgetting his distracting hotness as she stepped up to settle the hoodie on his shoulders and make sure it hung properly. “It fits okay,” she murmured to herself, smoothing the sleeves down his arm. “Not bad, considering I had to guess your measurements.” She looked up at him and realized he was blushing beneath his green mask. “Oh God, sorry,” she said, jerking her hands back. “It’s just—I’m used to—I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have—I forgot it was you and not one of my clients.”

“I don’t mind,” Luka chuckled, but she swore his cheeks turned pinker, and there was something a little softer than usual in the way he smiled and oh God, she really needed to think about something else. She started to turn away but Luka caught her arm and turned her back for a moment. “Hey,” he said, and his usually strong voice had gone quiet, which was bad for her heart as it took on the velvety tone she had noticed mostly in his singing voice until now. “I just want to say thanks. This is a lot of work to go through for somebody who’s just filling in, and...well, I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I sounded too flip earlier, but I really do appreciate all the work you’re doing to make me a part of the team.”

Marinette could only blink at him for a moment. “You are part of the team,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and squeezing gently. Didn’t he know that? “You’ve acted like part of the team, you’ve done everything I asked. You could have just showed up on match day and filled in and I would still be thanking you. But you really came through and you worked with me and you listened to Max’s lectures and…” She pressed her lips together to stop her rambling, and took a breath, and said simply, “You’re part of the team, Luka. You’re absolutely part of the team. So don’t tell me this is too much, because it’s the least you deserve.”

It was his turn to blink at her, and he opened his mouth slowly, but nothing came out, and he just shut it again and shook his head slightly. “Thank you,” he said, meeting her eyes again.

“We’ll be thanking each other all day at this rate,” Marinette said, unable to look away. “You’ve got your game face on, so. Let’s go, um. Go. Game.” Ugh she was so lame.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, smiling—a different, softer smile than she was used to. “That sounds...pretty much like a plan to me.” He gestured vaguely. “After you?”

More than happy to have an excuse to end the awkward that seemed to plague her through her life, Marinette led the way to the team match hall. Before they could enter, someone called Luka’s name, and they both turned to find a guy in the tournament press team uniform hurrying towards them.

“Great, here come the sharks,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “I’m not sure if I’m sorry or not, we’ll have to decide later.”

“Publicity is good,” Marinette said, pasting on a smile that projected confidence, though the butterflies were acting up again.

“Viperion, good to see you,” the man said, slapped his hand at Luka’s in a weird sort of bro handshake...thing—all one handed, as he was filming with some kind of tablet in the other. They were probably live, Marinette realized. “Changing up your look for the match today?”

“Hey, Tim. Yeah, turns out Ladybug here’s a fantastic artist and designer,” Luka said, holding his arms out a little to show the diamond pattern. “Check it out,” he turned around, displaying the grinning ouroboros design on his back. “You should see the stuff on her Instagram page, man, it’s fantastic. Maybe I’ll commission something from her when I win the championship.” He nudged Marinette with his elbow, grinning.

Marinette responded almost automatically. “Psh, you wish,” she laughed. “You better start saving your pennies, Viperion, because coming in second isn’t going to make your dreams come true.”

Tim looked back and forth between them curiously. “I see playing together hasn’t diminished your rivalry. You and Ladybug have been going head to head for weeks and it’s been a hotly contested match every time. How do you reconcile that with being teammates?”

“Ladybug’s a fantastic player and a great sport,” Luka replied, putting a hand on Marinette’s back with just enough pressure to suggest that she step forward without compelling it. “We make a great team, but we both know that when we’re back to one-on-one...” Luka shrugged and grinned at Marinette. She smiled back and copied his shrug.

“May the best player win,” she finished for him, cocking an eyebrow with a wicked grin.

“You’re currently listed as an alternate,” Tim said, looking at Luka again. “Does the wardrobe change mean you’re replacing Pegasus as a permanent team member?”

Marinette took the step forward. “Absolutely not,” she said, glancing quickly at Luka to make sure he wasn’t offended. He gave her a tiny nod and she continued. “Pegasus and I are partners and that won’t change. It’s nice to know though that we have backup we can count on when we need it. Viperion’s gone above and beyond to help us out and as far as I’m concerned, he’s part of the team and he should look like part of the team.”

“So Viperion, you’re just a temp?” Tim asked.

Luka and Marinette shared a smirk. “I’m a threat,” Luka— Viperion said, giving the camera a wicked smirk that made Marinette’s knees go a little weak. “The competition better watch out because Team Lucky Charm is coming in hot.” He winked.

So hot , Marinette whined in her head, though she managed to keep her composure. If she blushed, hopefully no one would notice under her makeup.

“Well I think I can guarantee there will be a lot of eyes watching the, uh—augmented Team Lucky Charm tonight.” Marinette’s fingers curled into a fist at her side, and she felt Luka touch her back again. “One last question, Viperion, does this mean your dating hiatus is over?”

“Wow, Tim, it took you like a whole thirty seconds to go there,” Luka snorted. “No, it doesn’t. We’ll see you after the match, okay?” He turned and headed for the match hall, Marinette only a startled half-step behind him.

“Thanks for your time, Viperion, it’s a pleasure as always,” Tim called. Luka looked back at him with raised eyebrows and Tim hastily added, “And Ladybug.”

Luka snorted and shook his head as they walked away. His hand twitched towards Marinette’s arm but he didn’t touch her. “You okay?”

“ I’m fine,” she said, looking at him. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, “Just annoyed. I hate it when he gets personal like that. And I told him that in confidence, he was only supposed to report that I don’t have a girlfriend. I, um—” He glanced at Marinette and cleared his throat. “I had a bad breakup and I’ve been staying away from the dating thing until I had my head on straight. It just—I don’t want you to think I—”

This time Marinette took his arm and squeezed it. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. Especially now, like this, I mean—n-not that you have to talk to me at all I just meant—if you want to, or if you need somebody to listen, I just meant...I mean I’m here. For you. Not...for you for you like he was thinking, but I mean...you’re my...my friend.” The word tasted like ash in her mouth, bitter with memories, and she swallowed as she let go of him.

He only had time to say “thanks,” before they were at the check in and being ushered off to their places, but his hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed, and lingered.

They endured the rest of the usual pre-match whirlwind and finally they were shut into their pyrapod, the noise of the tournament sealed out, and they both took a relieved breath.

“Well,” Luka said, rubbing his hands absently on his thighs before he reached for his controller. “Here goes nothing, right?” His voice was tense and Marinette reached out on instinct and grabbed his hand.

“Hey,” she said, squeezing tight. “We’re good. We worked hard, we did our best to get ready, and we had fun, right? We’ve got this. Even if we lose, I won’t have any regrets.”

“Yeah,” Luka said, and his fingers closed over hers to squeeze back. “Me neither.”

“Just relax,” Marinette said, to herself as much as him as the match countdown began. “Leave everything else outside. Play the game. We got this.” She let go of his hand and there was no more time for talking; they put on their headsets and picked up their controllers and then it was on.

They were a little stiff at first, Luka a bit jumpy and Marinette going a bit harder than necessary, but by the end of that first match they’d found their footing. Luka’s nervousness morphed into eager anticipation and Marinette began to relax into the teamwork and let Luka take his share of the load. Marinette was a little afraid that Luka had been rattled by the question outside, but when the taunting started, which included the inevitable thinly veiled suggestions that their partnership came with benefits, but Luka kept his cool and let Marinette handle it until the match got heated and the insults got more direct. Luka finally snapped, “Hey Ref, what the fuck, are you asleep? Did you read your own handbook, this is bullshit.” It earned him a fine but the official monitoring the channel was quicker to intervene after being publicly called out on livestream.

It wasn’t a sweep but it was close. Even for the matches they lost, Marinette had no complaints; they’d fought for every one and when the screen finally went dark, she had a satisfied smile on her face, though her ears still rang from Luka’s victory cry.

Beside her Luka breathed in deeply, and all the buzzing, excited energy that had filled him as they played seemed to fade from him as he blew it out. “That was intense,” he said, one hand finding her shoulder and squeezing lightly. “We did good, right? You’re happy?”

“We did great,” Marinette smiled, and in the privacy and semi-darkness of the pod, she actually found the courage to lean into his side and slip one arm around his waist in a half hug. “You really stepped up, Luka. I know I said thank you already but, you really bailed me out and you did great. I’m happy to have had you as my partner, even for a little while.”

His hand slid slowly from her near shoulder across her back to the far one, and he squeezed her back gently. “Thanks. You made it pretty simple, honestly.” He sighed. “They’re probably going to want another soundbite when we leave.”

Marinette nodded and pulled away, reaching back to tug the elastics out of her hair and redo her pigtails. “One last opponent to take down,” she sighed, and Luka chuckled.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he said, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“You know it,” Marinette said, holding out a hand for a fist bump before realizing his hands weren’t available, and awkwardly dropping hers just as he pulled one out to meet it. She groaned and Luka laughed, pulling her into a loose hug and patting her back lightly. “It’s fine. Come on.”

They emerged from the pod with grins that were maybe a bit bigger than the camera-ready, professional smiles they had intended, but it didn’t matter. Tim grabbed Luka as soon as they were clear of the pod—literally, grabbing Luka’s arm and dragging him off to the side. Marinette followed and heard Tim saying, “—viewer numbers on that match were incredible, and they only went up from there, I’ve never seen a jump that big—”

“You mean to tell me that having a hot girl on camera boosted your viewer ratings?” Luka said dryly. “Who knew. And then they went up after they saw how much ass she kicked? You’re kidding. It’s like some people actually find competent women really attractive or something.” Marinette froze, face reddening. “I’m telling you, Tim, you’re wasting your time on me. There’s your money face.” Luka tipped his head toward Marinette. “Have you watched her play? Her mind is just, it’s amazing the stuff she can come up with on the fly. I’ve watched every one of her matches and they’re crazy entertaining. If you’re not paying attention to her they should be questioning whether you’re qualified for this job.”

As Luka spoke Tim’s mouth dropped open slightly and he turned his eyes slowly on Marinette and she could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as the wheels started turning in his brain. “Ladybug,” he said quickly, approaching her and pulling a card out of his pocket. “Hey, I just have time for a quick photo op right now with you two but I’d really like a chance to interview you before the next round. This rivalry you’ve got going with Viperion, it was already good stuff, but people are really interested now that they’ve seen you together.”

Marinette drew one of her own business cards out of her pocket and cooly agreed that they could talk. She and Luka went where they were told and posed together. She didn’t really feel like smiling at the moment, but Luka caught her hand and squeezed it for just an instant.

“We did it,” he murmured. “Don’t let their crap take that away from you, okay? Forget all this publicity bull. It’s about the game, and we played it well.”

“Right,” she whispered back. “You’re right. We did. We played it really well.” He grinned at her and she grinned at him and then they both gave their best game time smirks to the camera.

“Sorry,” he muttered as they walked away. “I didn’t mean to volunteer you for anything, it’s just...that’s been bugging me for a long time, and I guess I was still annoyed about earlier, and I just kind of let him have it. Are you going to the afterparty thing, or…?”

“No,” Marinette shook her head. “I’m going to head over and let Max know how it went. He’s doing a lot better now, I’m sure he watched the whole thing and he’s going to want to talk about it. I think he’d feel less left out if I went straight over there.”

“When you put it that way I wish I could too,” Luka said, “But I have another commitment I have to get to after this.”

They walked together out of the conference hall and down the street until Marinette stopped in front of the metro station. “This is me,” she said, nodding to the subway entrance.

“I’m going a different way, so…” Luka leaned his weight onto his heels, ready to step back. “I guess this is it for a while. I’ll see you in the next competition.” He grinned. “You can bet I’ll be practicing so you don’t come in and curb stomp my ass cause I got lazy. Tell Max I wish you both the best, okay?” He started to turn away, and Marinette caught his arm.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at him. “You’ll still be there cheering for us, right?” She smiled and hoped it didn’t look too manic as she let go of him. “Didn’t I tell you? Once you’re one of us, you’re one of us for life.”

Luka gave her a slow grin that made her insides feel like jelly. “You didn’t tell me, actually. Seems like the kind of thing you ought to warn a guy about before he signs up.”

“Oops,” Marinette said airily, raising her hands and hoping they weren’t shaking. “Too bad. You’re Team Lucky Charm for life now.”

“That—” Luka paused and looked away, running his fingers through his hair before he looked back at her. “That actually makes me really happy, Marinette. I’m kind of a loner and...well, it’s been a while since i was part of something I could be proud of.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she was sure she looked as shocked as she felt. “But you’re so nice,” she blurted out. “I mean, everybody likes you, you have friends all over the place…”

Luka shrugged. “Friends I only see at tournaments. I mean, I do have some good friends, but here people think I’m cool because I win but I know most of them would drop me like a hot rock the second I started losing. Some of them already have, actually.”

Marinette’s throat tightened up at that. He was too nice to say it, but it was because of her, she was sure. Because he was playing with her. She opened her mouth but just looked down, not sure what to say.

“I was in a band, for a while,” Luka continued, either not noticing or tactfully ignoring her sudden inability to form words. “But life happened and we all had to move on, and...I miss that. Feeling part of a group. So thanks for giving it to me, even if all I’m doing from now on is cheering on the sidelines. You ever need someone to step in again, you call me, okay? You’ve got my number now.”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, her hand automatically going to her pocket to grip her phone. “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright, well, I’ll see you around Ladybug,” Luka said, backing away a couple of steps.

Time froze for a second. It wasn’t like she’d never see him again; they’d still get matched up and play and they’d still probably meet up in the tournament but Marinette had felt this way before, and she knew, she knew, that if she let this moment pass, it would be like had been with Adrien. All the closeness and camaraderie they had built up would fade away, and she and Luka would drift apart, back into that lightly teasing but still mostly professional banter they had enjoyed before. It would be fine and they would be friendly and she’d be left wondering what if for the rest of her life. Or worse, trying desperately to save what could have been with a too-late confession that would be awkward and embarrassing and ultimately futile.

Yeah, no thanks. She didn’t want that. She didn’t. She remembered briefly her conversation with Juleka, where she had promised that she wasn’t that person anymore, that she was stronger, braver, able to stand up for herself and others.

Marinette didn’t want any of that to be a lie.

She didn’t want to lose Luka.

Marinette took one quick step forward. “Luka.”

Luka stopped moving, and Marinette took another couple of steps towards him.

“If I, um...If I wanted to use your number some other time,” she said, looking anywhere but at him, aware that she was blushing. “Maybe if I just wanted some company, or someone to s-see a movie with, would...would that be okay?” She bit her lip, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He didn’t move for a second, and Marinette began to quietly panic on the inside, that maybe she’d been too blunt, or not blunt enough, or maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe she was crazy and this moment hadn’t meant anything. Maybe she was imagining everything that had passed and he wasn’t into her and now she looked like a desperate, lovesick idiot. Again.

“Yeah, definitely,” he finally said, and the smile on his face was one that she’d never seen on him before. “I’d like that. I’d love that, actually. Sometime. Anytime. Whenever.” He shut his mouth with a look on his face that she was very familiar with, the oh God why can’t I shut up look, and she couldn’t help a smile. It was kind of nice to be on the receiving end of that one instead of the one panicking.

“Okay then,” Marinette said, smile growing, genuine and happy. “I’ll text you. Sometime. Or you can text me, if you feel like it. Whichever.”

“Cool,” he said, and Marinette’s smile might have slid into a smirk at the way he was blushing. In fact he seemed to be growing pinker by the second. “I’ll talk to you soon then.”

He turned and walked away quickly, and Marinette watched him go with a sensation not unlike chugging three cans of Red Bull in a row. She turned around and walked three steps calmly before letting out a little squeal and running the rest of the way to the train platform, ignoring the guard that shouted at her.

#quickspins #killer combo #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #engame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics

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cup-ah-jho · 3 years

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Just finished More than Friends Episode 2! And...uh...mmm. I got thoughts.

I’m a big fan of the aesthetics as I mentioned before. Really lends that mellow, slice-of-life nature to the show and masks the melodramatic undercurrents of it. For me, it makes the whole unrequited love shenanigans a lot more palatable since it’s giving off high school, rose-tinted glasses sort of vibe to the show so I’m not taking it too seriously.

Love the locations they shot at in this episode! I’m not familiar with Jeju Island that much, but it certainly gives off a vibe that makes me want to visit. I’m not planning on ever willingly stepping foot in South Korea for as long as I live, but I wouldn’t mind visiting for a bit as long as I visit Jeju Island.

Also a big fan of calligraphy, writing, photos, and books as the undercurrent to the plot. It just kinda ticks off a lot of things that I like in general, and I kind of want to see where it will take our characters!

I don’t think our male leads are very attractive, but that’s alright. The color palette is enough eye candy for me, and I’m not here because of the actors anyway lol.

The episode did manage to keep the ongoing metaphor of “lost and found” throughout its run time and, while I wouldn’t say it’s executed perfectly, I do like its flow. The CEO of the publishing company lost his button on his very expensive jacket, but found our female lead’s postcard in his pocket. Our male lead lost his medicine (sleeping pills? anxiety meds?), but found solace in having someone with him while he sleeps. And it ends with the compass, telling her that it’s okay to be lost at times and that the Episode 3 preview shows her being “found” by the CEO guy giving her a career opportunity. Cool little thing they did there!

I honestly still don’t get what she’s seeing in him that’s caused her to be so hung up over him for 10 years. Like he turned her down twice. And you don’t see each other in person often. At some point I feel like she would’ve just clocked out of it, but I don’t know why she never fully did. Was his presence in your life that meaningful that it still sticks with you a decade after high school? Or has she put him on such a high pedestal that no other guy she meets can reach? I’m honestly trying to see what she sees in this guy, but I just can’t.

Also the second scene where he turns her down and continues to use “friend” in describing their relationship? I was about to chingu slap him so hard wtf. It’s strange that he has to define their relationship as being “friends” so often. Like...we all get it. Who are you trying to reassure here? Her or you?

I’m really glad that she’s trying to reaffirm her boundaries by telling him that her feelings are romantic and that it’s hard for them to “just be friends.” It’s just so heartbreaking for me to see her trying to get up and move on from him but HE IS NOT LETTING HER. And they can’t even have a constructive conversation about it either! He just calls her selfish for trying to put some distance between them! Honestly, if you two really were friends, you two would be able to have this conversation without much trouble.

On that note, he’s very aggressive about her trying to take care of herself and be selfish by putting herself first. In a vacuum, him blowing up at her for her selflessness in getting injured to protect him was a...not so great move. But I kind of get it? Sort of? It’s one of those scarce moments where you see how much he cares about her because he’s very good at playing it cool and detached. I think it’s also because I have someone who constantly tells me to stop being so nice and be more selfish, so his obsession with telling her to do that in these two episodes isn’t weird to me. It’s a preventative measure so that she doesn’t get hurt when he’s not around sort of thing.

The episode tried to maintain that “fairytale” analogy with princes and curses, but I feel like it falls flat. Probably because it was a more “tell than show” thing when compared to the “lost and found” metaphor. It also ends with her kissing him and running off (both without his consent and after he said he only sees her as a friend, so it’s leaving me with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth.) It was an adequate ending to this “fairytale” but uh...no. That ain’t it.

Also, if he does like her, what’s keeping him from admitting it? I’m curious to know because there has to be a good reason why he refuses to say that the feelings are mutual if they are.

Which brings me to the final point. I understand that the drama’s name is “More than Friends” to refer to the romantic undertones in their relationship, but ngl they don’t really seem like very good friends either. And I may also be saying this because of my personal experiences and biases, but their relationship seems like they’re just friends who’ve known each other since high school. The banter is there, but the lack of trust in the other party is baffling and appalling. It’s why I can’t buy into her liking him for so long. There isn’t a good enough foundation that’s set here for me to believe in one of the main driving forces causing the plot to unravel.

I’m probably just really picky with the execution of the unrequited love trope. Either that or I’ve gotten old enough to think it’s a little silly. Despite my reservations on our main couple, I’m looking forward to seeing the career momentum and what it does to their relationship! And he’s to hoping for more character backstories or development so I can understand our lovely cast better.

#more than friends #kdrama analysis #i’m actually a big fan of journaling my thoughts on each episode like this!#helps me articulate why i like or don’t like things #and allows me to mentally expand on little nuggets of observation as well #so i might keep this up for the duration of my more than friends watch #however mamy episodes i last on this lol

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camomills · 4 years

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Title: Stars of Soot Relationships: Silica/Sinon Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 3083 Summary: Sinon shows off GGO to Silica as a date, at Silica's request. As she experiences the different sensations of such a hardy world, Silica wonders why this world means so much to the other girl. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 2: Stargazing. This one wasn't beta read because I was a bit pressed for time, so please forgive me for any glaring errors. It's been a while since I wrote Silica/Sinon! It was quite fun to revisit the ship. As per usual for me, this wound up as a weird mix of fluff and character study.

AO3 Link

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… much. Not when she clings to Sinon’s back as they speed down the highway on a rental buggy, pigtails fluttering in the wind as her cheek finds rest in-between her girlfriend’s shoulder blades.

“I still can’t believe you want to try out this game,” Sinon says, the metallic hairpins on the sides of her face clinking lightly. She’s still not that used to driving, in the game or otherwise, so she keeps her eyes on the road instead of turning her head back as she talks. Vehicular collisions are not particularly romantic.

I just want to know what you see in it , Silica replies in her mind, raising her head.

She understands that, for all the time they spent together in ALO ’s fairy realm, that wasn’t Shino’s ‘world’, not in the way this place is. When she doesn’t bury herself in the curve of Sinon's back, the gas and soot is more apparent to all of her virtual senses, and even though it was her own proposition, she has to ask, why? Why choose colorless tiles and cracked pavement over the boundless hues of fantasy?

“I’d be lying if I said I… particularly get it,” Silica admits. “But this world is important to you, right?”

“Yeah,” Sinon replies. “ GGO might be an acquired taste, though. This game is gritty.”

She rolls her shoulders, leaning further back onto Silica.

Excluding Silica, Sinon has never been one for bubbly and cute, so GGO would always be a better fit for her. But this virtual world was made with inhospitality in mind, so not exactly the perfect dating spot. The fact that she’s here for one surprises her more than it does anyone else.

“Well,” Silica says, “good thing you’re here, then! Having a tour guide to show around should be a huge help.”

Sinon wheezes. “So I’m your tour guide, now?”

“Yes!” Silica proudly proclaims.

The sniper smirks. “Okay, then.”

Sinon twists the handlebars, and the bugey roars as it peels through the road. She can’t help but smile as Silica’s high-pitched yell reaches her ears, just barely audible over the revving of the engine.

The howling of gunfire can’t be heard as much within GGO ’s hub city, but the loud advertisements that echo from the bright signs serve as a fitting substitute, volume-wise.

Silica’s only knowledge of this game comes from watching Sinon and Kirito fight for their lives, real and virtual, through a tournament broadcast. The fact that Sinon still logs in daily to Gun Gale even after that incident would be odd to anyone other than people like the beast tamer and her friends, who are all VR addicts despite their time in Aincrad.

The two years in the floating castle, despite the pain it caused her, was where Silica grew the most. She’d never openly say that there’s a part of her that misses the days after the one year mark, when she’d settled into her reputation in those lower floors and tried to forget the outside world so much that she succeeded. None of her friends would. It’s a silent understanding and an untold promise; not to admit missing those days, so they don’t have to, either.

What does GGO, a medley of grit, greys and metal, mean to Sinon?

Their circumstances are different, but the scars they bear stain their skins in similar ways. The masks offered by virtual worlds, Silica knew, gave one the opportunity to confront themselves in ways one couldn’t anywhere else. There was something to the kind of place one chose to do so that Silica found important to know.

Sinon got to see New Aincrad, walk over the same plains wherein the beast tamer had met Pina, bask under the same electronic sunlight she experienced for two years.

It’s not fair if only one of them gets to do it, is it?

The sun sets while they stroll through the city, and Silica understands more of the acquired taste Sinon had mentioned. The approaching dusk was somewhat nice on itself, but the place was still a palette of monochrome then, all steel on sand, black on white. Once it’s officially night time in game, 6:00 PM sharp, however, everything changes. The dark of night makes the huge, floating billboards pop, neons of purple and blue scattered through the cyber landscape. The virtual city night lights become luminous streaks in her vision while they dash on the way here on the buggy, not unlike how she imagines speeding through one of Tokyo’s nightlife districts in a motorcycle would feel like. It’s movielike, but not fantastical or unreal, but maybe that’s the point; she doesn’t think she’d have the guts to go at such high speeds with her flesh-and-bone body, nor would Shino have the confidence Sinon presents.

There are things from real life that one can only do in a game like this.

***

They stop by an equipment shop at the center of the now-luminous city. Unlike the last time she was here with someone else, Sinon has no tournament sign-in to get to after shopping, so they can take their time.

Sinon is surprised when Silica picks an overall sensible combat outfit; a tactical green and black leather outfit with red accents, along with a dark, moss-colored poncho. We kind of match! Silica beams as she presents herself, pointing back and forth between her and Sinon’s outfit colors. She frames her face delicately and comically she does so, her eyes shining like a cartoon fawn’s. Sinon knows it’s on purpose, this over-the-top display of sweetness, but it makes her smile anyway.

Of course Silica found a way to make this cute.

It’s also cute, albeit in a different way, when Silica’s eyes look away from the armor section of the store and widen as she takes notice of a display of combat knives. They’re military-grade blades, absolutely indistinguishable from the real-world articles. Unlike just a moment ago, the shine in her eyes is unfeigned.

“Oh yeah, this game has these!” Silica exclaims.

Sinon turns to her with a quizzical look.

“... You’re interested in the knives?” That makes it two for two, the times she’s taken someone new here and they thoroughly ignored guns. Are all fantasy game players like this?

“Of course I do!” Silica exclaims, like it’s obvious. Her look all but says, I spent years fighting with daggers, remember?

Silica takes one of the knives from the demo display. It looks comically large in her hands, and yet it pales in comparison to the ones she’s grown used to in fantasy games. She spins the handle in-between her fingers, resting it on her knuckles. The hand flourish when she bumps the blade upwards, sending the knife spinning high, and then catches it from the air with her open palm is almost too fast to see. She gleefully changes the grip a few times before finally settling it in a simple reverse grip.

“They have such a better feel than those bulky daggers!” Silica exclaims in glee.

“ Impressive,” Sinon mutters under her breath. She can’t help but be hit with a sense of deja vu .

There’s a sensible distance one can gain when looking at someone brandishing a bright sword that looks more like a cosplay prop, or a fantasy dagger coated in filigrees. But there’s no distancing from seeing Silica, in all of her titanic five feet of height, doing knife tricks one would expect of a special forces soldier, or perhaps a movie greaser, when the blade is so realistic.

Sinon would be lying if she said she doesn’t find the display at least somewhat attractive.

Sinon heads over to a small menu in front of the knife section as she selects the same blade Silica had in hand. Soon after she goes through the proper transaction steps, holding Silica’s hand and laying it over the holographic display, one of the store robots scoots over to hand Silica her item.

Silica’s smile makes the credits Sinon spends all worth it.

… Is a knife a weird gift to give your girlfriend? Sinon thought, but that was a bridge already crossed. Then, she remembers the real reason they came here.

“I know you’re mostly here to look around, but you’ll still need some sort of main weapon if you’re to experience the game. Pick whatever gun you’d like to test out and we can go to a shooting range.”

****

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am absolutely serious!”

Instead of the shooting range, the two find themselves by a station near the edge of the city, connected to the game’s starter fields.

The vehicle’s mounted weapon protrudes from a hatch on top. Its long, steely frame glimmers as it reflects the sun’s harsh light. The heavy machine gun could be mistaken as some sort of cannon for the uninitiated in the ballistic arts, with its bulky, long barrel, but it’s a high-RPM, lightning-fast automatic weapon, nothing short of a reinforced harbinger of death.

“You said I could pick any weapon,” Silica reminded the other girl. “I’m picking this mounted gatling gun.”

Machine gun, actually, Sinon thought of correcting. Other than the regular shooting ranges in GGO, there were also training grounds for driving by the outskirts of the city, by the game’s starting area - it had been where Sinon had trained her bugey skills, in fact - but the knowledge of that, or of the existence of mounted weapons, is the sort of knowledge most newbies wouldn’t have.

Silica did her research for sure... and was probably planning this.

Sinon’s original plan was to simply show Silica around the game, so buying an expensive armored vehicle sounds unwise, especially when there’s only two people.

The sniper squints her eyes at the shorter girl. Noticing Sinon’s glare, Silica fans her eyelashes pleadingly, and Sinon’s resolve falters.

… I guess I was thinking of getting everyone else to convert and help me out, anyway?

“... Fine,” Sinon concedes. “But you better help me convince everyone else to hop on here for the PKer problem, then.”

Silica immediately jumps in excitement. The humvee’s engine purrs to life as Sinon turns the engine key, and the newbie gunner excitedly hops to the top hatch.

*****

Silica is small, but she doesn’t feel so when she holds onto the trigger in the huge weapon’s handlebars, the generated mobs in the starting fields shattering into red sparks. She loudly laughs in excitement as the high speed vehicle traverses the shifting sands.

The ride is a feeling unlike her other experiences with virtual worlds. It might be due to what Sinon earlier described as a “commitment to grittiness,” but the game still replicates hints of discomfort; her small frame vibrates from the gun’s recoil, her fingertips feel a bit too warm, and she has to ask Sinon to stop every so often because of dizziness.

It’s annoying at first, but it grows on her.

Silica wonders if this is part of what draws Sinon to this world.

******

Silica finds the pink hue that covers GGO ’s desert sands endearing.

She gets a good vantage point to admire the landscape as she’s wrapped in one of Sinon’s arms and they zip up a rocky structure. The grappling hook’s line is taut with their combined weight.

Despite the pleasure found in their proximity, as her hand holds Silica’s body close to her by the waist, Sinon does so primarily out of practicality, as Silica doesn’t possess a grappling hook of her own.

Silica, however, finds herself smitten by the situation. Being carried in the arms of a cool girl as she takes in the sights of a foreign world, the warmth of her body providing solace in the cold, simulated night, is a scene befitting a dream she’d have long ago if she’d known she liked girls sooner.

Silica sighs in disappointment as they reach the summit, going from dream to simulated reality. As she looks at Sinon, she’s glad this reality, virtual as it is, is still dreamy aplenty.

The plateau atop the rock formations, where monsters couldn’t reach, was the perfect stargazing spot. It allows them to wind down after spending an entire day driving, shooting, and in Silica’s case, shouting in excitement. Sinon is not exactly the romantic type, far from it, but even she recognizes what the beauty of GGO’s night sky can do to one’s heart. She’s glad she gets to watch it with someone else now, instead of only her sniper rifle for company.

Sinon sits herself by a boulder on the plateau that she manages to find snug. The wordless invitation she gives Silica, as the spot to her side seems like it would fit her perfectly, beckons the younger girl, who hasn’t acquired the same grit to be truly comfortable on the hard surface. Thankfully, Sinon’s shoulder is softer than the rocks.

“So, what did you think?” Sinon asks. “Was I a good tour guide?”

“Yes,” Silica answers. “I give you five stars!” She nuzzles closer onto Sinon’s side.

They stare out at the sky. The moon is hidden behind drifting clouds.

“I have a confession to make,” Silica admits, in a tone that sits between jokey and serious. “I didn’t want to try this game only to shoot guns.”

“Oh?” Sinon’s surprise is clearly feigned. Even she would be able to understand that Silica’s request to see this game was a date proposition. There was a reason she decided to cap the night off with stargazing.

“Yeah. I guess I figured… playing this game would make me feel closer to you.”

“Oh.” Sinon’s surprise this time is genuine. “Well… do you?”

“Hmm.” Silica looks at them, sitting side by side, sharing warmth, and yes seems like the obvious answer here. “I mean, yes. But I suppose I was looking for an answer.”

“An answer… did you find it?”

“I’m not sure I did. I think I found… something,” Silica says. Her grip on Sinon’s arm tightens, a mix of affection and nervousness. “I think there is something important about virtual worlds, and why we’re drawn to them. I... now that I think about it, maybe I could’ve just asked you from the beginning.”

Her heels pitter-patter on the rocky surface.

“What does this… What does GGO mean to you?”

Sinon looks at Silica, a bit puzzled.

Silica doesn’t know how fair of a question it is, really. Could she explain what drew her to virtual worlds? Why thinking of Aincrad, her former prison, makes her feel homesick? But she’s nothing if not sincere, and she wants to know. She figures Sinon, introspective as she is, thinks about those things more than she does.

“GGO is, you know.” Sinon makes a meaningless hand gesture. She thought obsessively before about this question - her objective, her growth, her path towards becoming stronger , she called it. She doesn’t know how to distill it in a sensible way, is all.

A place to face my fears?

Where I met Kirito, thus, how I met you?

“ Home?” Sinon says without registering.

Oh.

It’s under this night sky, beneath a red moon, that Sinon realizes this is the first time she got to enjoy this world with someone she truly cared for, life-or-death situations notwithstanding. This place, with its odd smells, rattling sounds, and even unpleasant sensations, has been one of the few places of respite she had from… everything. Others. The world. Herself. It’s more evident now, with someone to share it.

“I came to this world because I wanted to surpass who I was. I wanted to become stronger,” Sinon explains, unsure of whether she sounds pretentious. Sinon’s jaw clenches, and Silica gives her a reassuring squeeze. “When I first came here, there was nothing I wanted more than to erase my real self with this- this stronger version of me. This better version of me.”

The image of Hecate II, her sniper rifle, her companion, comes to mind. She’d thought before, at times, what was she without its weight on her back, other than a fragile girl who can’t help but retch at the sight of gun replicas? Without burnt fingertips and trembling shoulders from gun recoil, how could she call the strength she built here real?

This place is home because it was under this same carmine moon that she realized Asada Shino, the high-schooler, was just as much of a warrior as Sinon, the elite sniper. Under this virtual sky, nothing but code threads woven into a reality, was where she accepted who she was.

She fidgets with her fingerless gloves as she continues. “It’s hard to give a simple answer,” she concedes. “But if I had to try, I’d say… this is the place that showed me it was okay for me to be myself. To recognize my strength, to connect with others. Back then, before this game, I never thought I’d get to have... this, I guess.” Sinon nudges Silica’s shoulder with hers, playfully. “Who knows. Maybe I just wanted to be proven wrong.”

Silica’s heart tightens. She moves a hand to Sinon’s cheek.

“I’m glad you were proven wrong, then.”

In what Silica is pretty sure is the first time, Sinon is the one approaching her for a kiss.

It’s quick and sweet. Sinon’s thin lips press onto Silica’s lightly. It’s easy to forget they’re in the virtual world then, with their eyes closed the way they are, the waves of warmth radiating through their faces as the only signal their AmuSpheres send to their brains.

*******

The night goes by quietly as they stare to the sky, save for the distant sounds of underground monsters shifting the sands and Silica’s occasional comment of how she’s sure she can tell the constellations even through the thick clouds. They have little time before GGO’s short day cycle robs them of this sight.

That sky, this world, are virtual, and they know that. It’s hard to tell, though, when it shares stars with the real one, when it shares warmth with the real one, when the strength they gain, the bonds they deepen, the sights they see, carry over to the real one.

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… at all, really, when it grants them the opportunity to be so frank and close, so near when they’re so far.

When it grants them the opportunity to be themselves more than anywhere else.

#SAO #Sword Art Online #saoprideweek2020 #Silinon #Silicon #Fili writes

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