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enthusiasticharry · 3 years

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Lonely this Christmas

summary: you and Harry broke up earlier in the year, but at Columbia’s Christmas party you see each other again, and you both realise just how much you miss each other

author's note: ahhhh i don’t think i've ever been so excited to post one of my works as i am this one and i hope you all enjoy my baby. the reader in this is musician!yn and i have so many other ideas for the little story line, so if you'd like to hear them, please let me know!

word count: 11k of baso angst, really fluffy fluff and some of the best smut I think i’ve ever written. there’s deepthroating... face-sitting... really just the whole shebang.

masterlist | please speak to me about LTC here!

You truly believed that Christmas was the best time of the year.

You loved everything about the festive time of year. From decorating the house, to listening to the music. From spending time with your family, to cosying up on the sofa and watching Christmas films. It was a special time of year, where everyone seemed to relax and walk around with joyous looks on their faces because no matter the year they’d have, it was nearly over and it’s finally time to celebrate the best aspects of the time that had passed.

You found yourself thankful for the year, but also thankful that it was over. This year had been one of the best, but also one of the worst years of your life. The thing that caused the year to not be the best that it could was the split you had with your long-term boyfriend. It was messy, and absolutely heartbreaking on your side and because it was such a big part of the year, it became one of the memories that you wished to ignore but you found yourself struggling too. On a brighter side, you had won your first Brit award this year for Best New Artist. It was a turning point in your career, for certain.

One thing that you’ve never enjoyed about Christmas is parties. You would much rather stay within the walls of your own house and spend your evenings alone, but being in the industry that you are it becomes a little harder. The Columbia Christmas Party happen’s every year, but this was you first year signed to the Record Label, so the first year you had been invited. You were shocked to be invited, but found yourself to be excited and dreading the experience all at once.

The thing that you found yourself thinking and worrying about the most was what you were going to wear. You wanted to impress everyone there, since you had found this new stardom for yourself and you had created this name for yourself which you hadn’t had before. After consulting with your stylist, you settled on a custom Gucci dress that was made for you to wear specifically to this event. The dress itself was a Christmas-green velvet material, which landed to about your mid-thigh with a square neckline. Attached to the square straps of the neckline, were tulle sleeves of the same colour that bunched at your wrists. It hugged your curves perfectly and once you’d added your black scrappy heels you really felt beautiful. Your natural features are accentuated, and you, for the first time in a long time, feel beautiful within your own skin.

That all changed the second you walked into the party.

You felt as though all eyes were on you, as though everyone was watching every step that you took to see what you’d do. It made you feel uncomfortable and immediately feel as though the dress you are wearing wasn’t right, it was too short and you needed to cover up. You were maybe 98% certain that they weren’t thinking about what you were wearing, but more so who you’ve just clocked eyes with.

You knew he was going to be here, and you had prepared yourself for the inevitable, but seeing him stood there completely changed everything that you had prepared for. You both were signed to the same record label, years after the two of you had met though, so it was no surprise that he was sat at one of the tables with a group of people around him as he spoke and laughed at what they were all taking about.

You tried to ignore the pinch within your heart, but it was hard. You weren’t the one who broke it off, and if things had gone according to your plan, you would still be together right now.

You had met Harry a few years ago, when you had first moved to London and you were bar and pub hopping, singing and hoping that you’d somehow stumble upon someone who could help you start your career. It was completely by accident that you both had met, and looking back at it quite embarrassing on your part. You were in the middle of your set when he walked in, as well as Mitch and Sarah, but you hadn’t seen them at that point. You had recently learnt how to play Sign of the Times on the piano and you had purposely brought your small keyboard out with you so you could play the song. Looking back on it, you probably wouldn’t have sung the song if you did know that he was there, but you didn’t know so you sung it. It was a little shaky at the start due to your nerves about playing the song for the first time out of the comfort of your room but you quickly found your groove, and you finished strong. Harry had later told you that, after a little bit of teasing from Mitch and Sarah, he knew that from how in awe he was of you he just had to speak to you. He walked up to you whilst you were in the middle of throwing your celebratory shot back that you always take after finishing your set and the first thing you ever said to him was, “Fuck!”

You always thought that would be a story you’d be able to tell your grandchildren, and you both had even spoken about it, but it just hadn’t worked out.

He seemed okay, which you were happy about. His new album had just come out, and you don’t think you’ve ever cried at a record as you did at that one. You knew it was about you, it was hard not to. All of the little hints that he left throughout his songs would blow over anyone else head, but you knew the true meaning of them and you think that’s one of the reasons you found it so emotional. He was smiling as he spoke to the people, briefly taking sips of his drink every now and then, which was only water so you wondered whether he’d drove there. You both would be flying home soon, but this would be the first time in three years that you’d be flying home alone.

To stop yourself from crying, you quickly make you way over to the bar. After running your eyes over the cocktail menu, your eyes immediately pricked at the sight of one, and you could stop the words as they left your lips: “A cherry bomb fizz please.”

You watched as the bartender added a cherry and some maraschino liqueur, before topping the drink off with Champagne. The drink was quite sour, but you quite liked it. It caused your lips to purse and eyebrows to widen, in a good way you must add.

“Could never handle your alcohol, could you?”

You could feel him before you heard him, but you didn’t want to turn around. Why he felt it okay to come up and talk to you were unsure about, but at the same time you had been hoping that he would. Why you were hoping that he would you were also unsure about, but you’re certain it had something to do with the fact that you weren’t quite over him.

“I think you’re mistaken.” You say, taking another sip of your drink, “You were the one who could never handle your alcohol. And this is just sour.”

He hums, as though he isn’t believing a word that you say, “If you say so, love.”

“Love?” You say, raising your eyebrow at him whilst throwing back the rest of your drink, “Thought those days were well over.”

“Force of habit, ‘suppose.” He shrugs, “I have a few of them when it comes to you.”

“You grew out of them.” I shrug, “Can’t remember the last time you called me love whilst we were together.”

He drops his eyes to the counter, and you know you’ve done what you’re supposed to. This is the first time you’ve spoken to since you broke up, and you can’t believe that it’s at a Christmas party of all places. He also had the audacity to call you love, something that you couldn’t believe he had the balls to do. The last few months of your relationship you were lucky if he even looked at you, and here he now was calling you love as though it’s totally okay to do so.

“I’ll always call you love.” He says, lifting his eyes up from the counter to look at you once more, “I’ll always care about you.”

“Where was this five months ago?” You ask, unable to stop yourself.

Your break up, in your opinion, came out of nowhere. You knew something had changed in your relationship, since he hardy had the time for you at the end of your time together. He’d get up in the morning and wouldn’t touch, or even kiss you. Then, when he’d come home it would be the exact same thing, he’d slip into bed and to stop yourself from feeling as though you were going to cry, you’d pretend you were asleep and hope that you’d actually fall asleep. He never told you a reason for breaking up with you, apart from that he needed space and that he couldn’t be with you. That was probably the thing that hurt you the most. He broke up with you, but you never really had a real reason why.

“I just needed to leave.” He says, “That was my main focus.”

You try to ignore your heart breaking all over again but it’s hard to, when it’s the only thing you can think about.

“Why now?” You say, “Why are you doing this now?”

“YN—”

You shake your head, “I don’t think I want to hear it. I’m going to go.”

“Don’t—”

“—YN!” You feel an arm thrown around your shoulder, one that you immediately realise is Jeff once you register his voice and his face once you turn to him, “I haven’t seen you in months! How are you?”

You can immediately tell that he’s drunk. From the slight slurring of his words, to the smell of alcohol on his breath as he speaks. You’re just as shocked to see him as he is to see you.

“I’m good, Jeff, thanks.” You smile, at him, trying to push the conversation you’ve just had with his friend out of your mind, “How are you?”

“I’m drunk.” He laughs, squeezing your shoulder slightly, “But! I’s nice to see you two together again!”

The whole ignoring the situation doesn’t quite go to plan. Once he’s said those words you immediately draw your eyes towards Harry. You’ve never wanted to leave a conversation as much as you did this one. You look at Harry, but he isn’t looking at you.

He gasps, “You should come over to the table! We’re all here and it’ll just be like old times.”

“I couldn’t possibly. . .” You shake your head.

“You can!” He says, “Come on, I won’t take no for an answer! And H, hurry up with those drinks.”

Jeff walks you away from the bar and towards the table that you noticed earlier when you noticed Harry for the first time this evening. Glenne, Mitch and Sarah are there, as well as Kid and a few other producers that you recognise from working on Harry’s album, as well as a few songs from yours also. You knew that just because you and Harry broke up you couldn’t expect the friendships that had formed because of you two to just stop altogether.

“YN!” There’s a course of cheers and Sarah’s the first to stand up and wrap her arms around you. Out of everyone, Sarah was the person who you were closest with out of Harry’s band. She had joined Harry’s band after you and Harry had been dating for a year or so when Sarah joined the band, and you two instantly clicked and became the closest of friends. You had spoken a few times with her since you had broke up, but nothing compared to what you used to. You weren’t surprised though, she was Harry’s drummer first and your friend after — or that’s what you told yourself to make you feel slightly better.

“Hi.” You smile, dropping down into the spare seat next to Sarah. Words are thrown around the table of glee that you’re there, as well as questions as to why you haven’t been in contact. You know they’re drunk, and you suspect that is why they’re saying all of the things they are. You were quick to fall out of the conversation as it moved onto the show that they did the day prior to celebrate the release of Harry’s album. You suppose the reason your feelings were so heightened today was due to your hearing the album for the first time yesterday and then replaying it today.

It was completely different to Harry Styles but still so Harry. You hated how his music made your feel, the sad and the happy ones, as well as all in between. Harry returned to the table shorty after clutching drinks in his hands, and under his arms. Why he didn’t just make two trips, you would never know, but it’s lucky that all the drinks made it without any spillages.

“We were just talking about yesterday.” Glenne says, taking a sip of her drink as she does before turning towards you, “Have you heard the album, YN?”

“You don’t have too—” Harry turns to your briefly.

“I have.” You nod, “It’s good, a masterpiece even. You should be proud of it, H.”

You can see his shoulder tense, and from knowing him as well as you do, you wouldn’t be surprised if his heart just sunk to the bottom of his stomach. If you’ve listened to the album, it means that you’ve heard the song that Harry hoped you hadn’t.

“What would you say is your favourite?”

You look directly at him as you say the next words, and you hope he listens to them, “Probably Cherry.”

The other’s carry on talking as though you hadn’t said anything at all, but Harry doesn’t open his mouth again. He doesn’t stop looking at you though, and the way you look gorgeously defeated. A part of him wondered whether he was the one who caused you to be this way. About a month ago he asked some producers he knew that were working on your album with you how you are, and they said that you just seemed sad. It broke him to hear those words, just the words he had said to you all those months ago had broken you. Out of the blue, probably not but due to you not paying any attention, the group all move in, including you and Harry to have a reminiscent group photo.

He does open his mouth again when the group disperse to the dance floor, leaving the two of you all alone at the table.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t lift your eyes up from the end of the table cloth you’re messing with, an exasperated laugh leaving your lips, “What for? Breaking up with me? Taking everything from me? Or, I don’t know, using that in your song?”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“You thought I wouldn’t mind.” You shake your head, completely baffled at his words, “Why would you think that? I trusted you with that, and now it’s on the end of one of your songs.”

“I’m sorry about everything, but especially that.” He says, and you can tell he’s being genuine with the look in his eyes. He looks as though he’s about to cry.

“Why did you do it?” I asks, “You could’ve asked me. I would’ve said yes, I swear to you.”

“I was nervous.” He says, “We didn’t leave on the best of terms, and I felt as though asking would’ve have been the best.”

“So you decided to do it anyway?”

“Will you forgive me, please?” He asks, and you can tell his voice is about to break, “Please.”

“That’s it, Harry.” You say, “I don’t think I can.”

The next morning you awake with a slight hangover, which wasn’t surprising because once you’d left quickly after saying your last words to Harry, and opened a bottle of vodka that you had in your cupboard. That bottle now sits on your bedside table, three-quarters of it drunk and the cause of your hangover. You were thankful that you hadn’t gotten too drunk before you left the party, due to the wraths of paparazzi that were there as you left. You remember leaving with your head down, ignoring their calls and questions, as well as their their cameras flashed at you. You had gotten into your car, your driver had smiled at you and the second the car started moving away from the club you found yourself unable to stop the tears that streamed down your face.

This wasn’t the first time that you’d done this since you’ve broken up with Harry, but this was certainly the worse you’ve felt since you’ve done so. Your head had its own heartbeat, and you felt as though your were stable on your feet as you trudged towards the kitchen to have some orange juice, your remedy for your hangovers to say the least. It was always something that Harry thought ahead about when you were together. If he knew that the two of you were going out he’d always stock up the fridge. The amounts of time since that you’ve gotten drunk and not had any orange juice within the house is quite atrocious and he knew from experience that they never ended well.

You drink your first glass of the drink quickly, and pour your second one before making you way back into your bedroom. Due to the amount of time you spent in LA, you had purchased your second apartment here, your first being in London. It wasn’t the nicest ever, but it was good enough for you when you were here, and something that you were thankful to have when you woke up from nights like these.

You fall back down upon your bed and the first you think you pick up is your phone, shocked at the thousands of notifications your found on it. You’re still slightly asleep so you rub your eyes a few times before clicking upon the instagram app. The thousands of notifications are dm’s and comments upon your photos. After clicking through the notifications, you find the culprit sat with a lovely love heart emoji on Glenne’s story.

At some point that morning, probably whilst you were growing your sorrows away with vodka, she had posted the photo of you all on her story with the caption ‘the band’s back together,’ a heart emoji and tagged you in it. All the messages were asking whether you and Harry were back together again, not because you’d ever gone public with your relationship, but Harry had gone public with your breakup in his interview with the Rolling Stones and with Zane Lowe. He was very respectful in the way that he spoke about it, which was all you ask for. You hadn’t actively gone out to watch and read what he was saying, but your manager had warned you about them before you had done some interviews and you were curious to say the least what they were about.

In the photo you could tell that you and Harry were the only ones who were sober. Everyone else had drunken grins on their faces whilst you and Harry, to say the least, had very uncomfortable smiles across both of your lips. It annoyed you slightly that the two of you couldn’t even be in the same place anymore without having messages upon messages about whether or not you’re back together. Anyone with a brain could see that you certainly weren’t just by the expression on both of your faces.

You weren’t annoyed, or angry that the photo had been posted because you wouldn’t have taken the photo if you didn’t want it to be posted, but you did take the photo. You were always taking photos together before the breakup, and photo booths were you speciality. It’s another thing that you had hardly done since the breakup, so it was nice to see the photo but deep down a part of you wished that it hadn’t have been taken.

It’s all over all of the social media’s, and you decide that it’s probably best if you just put your phone down. You’re about place it on your bedside table when a notification pops up on the top of your screen, and without thinking, you tap on it, sending you straight to the messages app and to who had sent you the message.

Harry: YN?

Why he was sending you a message in the first place, you had no idea. Why he was messaging your so early in the morning was also something that confused you even more.

Harry: I know you’re reading this.

Harry: Your read receipts are on.

You curse yourself for being so click-happy when you see a notification, and more so for having your read receipts on because you know you can remove them but you don’t quite know how to. You contemplate for a few seconds what to say in your drunken, tired haze, before typing out the message:

YN: Can I help you?

His reply comes in a few seconds later.

Harry: Are you free?

YN: Why?

Harry: Meet me at Beachwood. Usual time.

YN: Why should I?

Harry: Just be there. Please.

YN: I will.

When you walk down the pavement towards the Beachwood Cafe, its as though you’re doing so without actually thinking about it. When you and Harry were together — this was your place. You can’t even remember the amount of dates the two of you have had here, tucked away in the corner whilst the music played, chatting away endlessly about things that popped into each of your minds. It got to the point that when you two were free, and managed to get to go, you had been that much that the waitresses knew your order by memory. The first time they had done it, you remember the way you both smiled sheepishly at each other and back at the waitress.

It was decorated for Christmas. You could see a tree in the corner of the cafe, as well as lights and tinsel across the windows. If you weren’t so nervous you probably would have smiled at the sight of it.

You push the door open and hear the familiar ding of a bell that rings whenever someone walks through, and you’re catapulted back to last year when you did the exact same thing but with a smile on your face from your excitement of seeing your boyfriend, one who you cared and loved very much.

The low hum of Mud’s Lonely this Christmas fills the room, very apt for the current situation and you’re guessing the mood of the conversation you’re about to have. It was late, close to closing time but you and Harry found that to be the best time to come, because hardly anybody else did.

He’s already sat at your usual table, the one in the corner because the two of you often liked to people watch. It had started off a silly game once when you were both tired and didn’t really want to talk about your lives, so you started brainstorming what other people’s were like. As much as you hated to admit it, Harry’s stories were always the better of the two of you but you didn’t mind, because you could little to the words he spoke to you for every minute for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

He’s already gotten your drinks, you can see the two glasses upon the table in front of him. You pull out the chair, making him look up from his phone at you. You can see his features immediately soften at the sight of you stood there.

They always used to do that.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You don’t reply, “I got you a peppermint hot chocolate. I know It’s one of your favourites.”

It was one of your favourites, and you haven’t been able to have one in a while because, surprise surprise, they remind you of Harry, and the time you used to spend together.

“Thank you.” You say, picking up the drink and taking a sip of the hot liquid, dropping it back down and looking at him directly in the eyes, “Why did you invite me here?”

He clears his throat, and the movements of his elbows suggest he’s wiping his hands upon his trousers.

“I want to apologise. For everything, this time.” He says, and you watch as he places his hands back upon the table, messing with the rings on his hand. He still wore the one you got him for your anniversary a year ago, “For how I acted yesterday, the day we broke up and the months before hand. I was a dick, and there’s no excuse for it, but I just hope that you accept my apology.”

“I do.” You say, after a couple of seconds of contemplation, knowing that there was no point to having this dragged out for any longer than it already was, “I just want to know why, that’s all I want.”

“I.” He stops and lets out a shaky breath, “I don’t know, if I’m honest with you. I was just so investing into getting the album finished, and for some reason in my mind I thought that it would be best if I was single to do that.”

“Why would you think that?” You ask, the tears brimming on your waterline.

“I don’t know. The second I watched you walk out of the door, and when you didn’t turn around to look again but just drove away, I knew I’d messed up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You choke back a sob, trying to be quiet to not draw attention to the two of you, “You should’ve stopped me. Explained. I love you Harry, I would have done anything to help you. You needed space, I would’ve given it to you. You needed me, I would’ve been there.”

He drops his head, “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you?” You suck in a breath and bite your head to stop anymore sounds from escaping, “You let me leave. You watched me leave. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I felt guilty. I’d just broken up with you, love, do you really think that it would’ve been a good idea for me to all of a sudden say I wanted you back?”

Silent tears stream down your face, “You had months to, Harry. Months. You did nothing.”

“And it’ll be the biggest regret of my life, YN, I promise you.” He says, and you can tell that he’s trying to stop himself from crying, “It will be. I’ve been a mess without you.”

You still love Harry, and you know that you do, and you hate seeing him so upset. You believe that’s why you reach forward to take his hand in yours.

“I have too.”

Somehow, you and Harry had been booked on the same flight home, and you managed to get seats next to each other. Spending that time next to each other was good, you believed. It gave you the opportunity to properly speak and catch each other up on everything that had happened. Harry had apologised, yet again, for everything that had happened and you had too. You gushed over his album once you had done, and that was when he invited you to the Secret London Show he was holding at the Electric Ballroom.

That takes you to now, stood in front of your mirror looking over your outfit to make sure that it was presentable enough. You knew you had to look presentable, but it wasn’t as fancy as the Christmas party. You dressed yourself in a long sleeved black lace top, and paired it with some black jean flares and your docs. Simple, yet quite effective in the grand scheme of things.

You were nervous to say the least about what what the evening was going to hold, especially since Gemma and other people who you hadn’t seen since the two of you broke up were going to be there. You weren’t exactly prepared, and if they asked you any questions you’d have no idea about what to say, but once you had brought that up with Harry, he said to just answer with the truth, which you were going to.

The entire way to the electric ballroom you were nervous, your heart was beating out of you chest and you felt as though you shouldn’t have been going. You thought that up until you arrived, when you walked backstage to see Harry and Gemma stood talking whilst Harry was getting ready. Once he saw you, his features rose into a smile and yours did too, and you walked over to press a kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“YN!” You could hear the shock in Gemma’s voice as she noticed that it was you and she immediately stood up and wrapped her arms around you, “I haven’t seen you in so long. How are you?”

“I’m okay, thanks Gem.” You smiled, pulling away and tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “How are you?”

“I’m amazing.” She says, “I certainly didn’t expect you to be here. Are you two back together? Please tell me that you are.”

Instead of answering straight away, you turn to look at Harry briefly. You both knew exactly what was running through your brains, and the way you both smiled at each other made that completely obvious. He nodded, and then you knew exactly what to say.

You grin and turn back to Gemma, “Trying to.”

“Oh, I’m so happy for you.” She wraps you in another hug, “He was a mess without you, and I know you were a mess without him. You’re soulmates. I can’t believe he even did it in the first place.”

“I think we all couldn’t.” You laugh.

“Hey!” Harry whines from the chair beside the two of you, “I made a mistake, we all get it.”

You and Gemma laugh and from then it’s like the past six months hadn’t happened and you were still the best of friends. That was one thing about being with Harry, you loved his family just as much as you loved him. Gemma was like a sister to you, and she was even when you broke up but you just hadn’t seen her. Anne, well she was like a second mother to you. She always made sure to make you feel included at family gatherings, and she even came to stay with you sometimes when Harry went away for a while and you couldn’t go with him. You had missed Harry the most during this time, but Anne and Gemma were two people that you had also missed more than anything.

The majority of people make their way to where they’re watching the show soon after, but you tell Gemma that you’ll meet her on the balcony later because you wanted to have a quick word with Harry. He was in the middle of shrugging his jacket upon his shoulders when you walked through the door, and he immediately stopped his movements and turned to look at you.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Everything okay?”

You shrug and bite your lip, stepping for arms a few steps towards him, “Just wanted to see you.”

You find your eyes flicking up and down his body, taking in the monochrome yellow suit he had on with a black tie. You always loved and supported Harry’s wardrobe choices, and you had missed in the time you hadn’t been with him picking them out with him. You felt as though this was an excellent choice.

“You look amazing.” He says, taking a few steps forward so that you’re directly in front of each other. You watch as he lifts his hands up, about to place them on your waist but he stops himself and drops his arms back down. Without hesitation you grab his wrists and place them upon your waist. His eyes widen, but the second he feels your skin underneath his hand, just separated by the thin material of your lace top.

“Thank you.” You bite your lip and wrap your fingers around his tie, lightly picking up the material, “You look so handsome, H.”

He almost lets out a sob at your words, but he quickly stops himself and smiles at you. Without thinking, you lean forward and press your lips upon his. They feel so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. You want to cry. You’ve dreamt of this for months, the feeling of having him this closer to you again, and from the way he wraps his arms around your back and pulls you even closer to him, so that your body is fully flushed against his. You pull away with a smile and immediately drop your head to his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist under his jacket and hugging him close to you. You finally feel a tear escape from your eye.

“I’ve missed you so much, H.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

He sings the entire Fine Line album from start to finish, and from how much you’ve listened to the album you actually know the majority of the words. You sing and dance away with Gemma, posting instagram stories of the two of you, and then one of how proud you are of Harry. You don’t need to explain yourself, there certainly isn’t a need to so you do so without any hesitation. You realise you’ve missed watching him perform, the way he can entertain a crowd with his talents has always been something you’d been jealous of. You’ve done shows here and there but because your album isn’t due to be out until the start of next year, when you plan to do your first world tour, and even though you try your hardest, you don’t feel as though you’ll ever be able to work a crowd the way he does. Where Stormzy came from, you still have no idea, since you hadn’t seen him downstairs but all of a sudden he’s singing Vossi Bop with Harry and your watching with your mouth dropped open in shock as he does so.

You and Harry make the executive decision to go to Harry’s house after the concert. It’s how you both found yourselves sat on Harry’s sofa, a glass of wine in each of your hands. You head is leant against the back of the sofa, whilst Harry’s hand leans upon the back of it, running his fingers through your hair. It’s comforting, and the smile hasn’t left your face since he started to do it.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, moving his hand from your hair to run his finger along your cheekbone, then down until he’s running it across your lips, “I can’t believe I ever pushed you away. You were my girl. I was going to marry you, I needed to marry you, still do.”

“I’m back now.” You whisper back, lifting your hand to place on his cheek, “And I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard you try and push me away, I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t want you too.” He shakes his head, “I’ll never want you too again.”

Without really thinking, you take the glass out of Harry’s hand and place both of yours upon the table in front of you, listening to the sound as glass meets glass. He leans back on the sofa with a puzzled look, immediately realising what is happening when you move to straddle his hips, placing your hands upon his shoulders to steady yourself. His hands fall upon the small of your back, his hands dragging up and down to tease your skin.

You lean forward, moving so that your faces are inches apart. You knock his nose slightly with yours, causing his cheeks to curl upwards with a smile before you capture it with your lips. immediately responds by kissing your back, pushing his body so that it’s placed even closer to yours if it’s physically possible.

Without a warning you pull away from him, slipping off his lap so that you’re on your knees in front of him. His eyes never leave yours as you so, and he immediately opens his legs so that you can slip in between them, his finger running over his bottom lip as he watches you.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Want to feel you.” You reply, resting your hands upon his thighs, “Want to feel you in my mouth. Can I?”

“Go ahead, baby.”

You feel excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and with shaky hands you move to unfasten his belt, and unbutton and unzip his trousers without much struggle. He lifts his hips up so that you can manoeuvre his trousers down and off his legs, leaving him in his black boxers. You bite your lip at the sight of the tent within the flimsy material, already growing and ready for you. You feel slightly overwhelmed that after so long of waiting, and wanting him to be in front of you again, he actually is.

“Already so hard for me, H.” You say, running your hand over the fuzz upon his bare thighs, “Have you thought about this as much as I have.”

“I thought about it everyday.” He replies, quickly at that, “It’s etched in my brain, the sight of you on your knees for me.”

You bite your lip as your grin, leaning to press a kiss to his stomach, just above the happy little trial that slips underneath the hem of his boxers. You feel his stomach tense underneath your lips, especially when you hook your fingers into the hem of his boxers, wiggling the material down until you can completely take it off once he’d lifted his hips again. He’s fully hard for you, and you can feel your stomach doing little flips in excitement for what is going to happen.

Sex, as it is in most relationships, was a big part of yours and Harry’s. It’s important that couples are comfortable with each other when revealing such intimate parts of themselves, and you and Harry were. If any of of you wanted to try anything, you could do so because of how comfortable you felt with each other. Whenever the other wanted to try anything, you’d do so without any hesitation and in such a way that you both enjoyed it. You both had your kinks, and your shared ones, and over the courser of your relationship you both explored those feelings. You were just happy that even though you had spent such time away from each other, you could still feel that confidence bubbling between the two of you, and those feelings bubbling between each other. Harry made you feel a way no other human being has ever been able to, and you were thankful because you felt as though you’d never be able to find that with anyone else, and now you didn’t have to worry because you were back together.

“You ready to take me in your mouth baby.” He says, placing his hand upon your cheek, “Ready to take me the way you used to.”

“Always, baby.”

Your tongue slips from between your lips and you lick a stripe up his throbbing cock, causing a low groan to escape through Harry’s lips. You can’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that you had caused that. Another groan escapes his lips once you wrap your lips around his tip completely, taking it into your mouth and you can help but giggle slightly. He smiles down at you and pulls your hair up so that it’s off of your face, making a makeshift ponytail to help move you up and down his cock.

“Look so good with my cock in your mouth.” His tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his lips, “Always could take me so well. Show me, baby, show me how deep you can go.”

You comply, taking him as deep as you can until you can feel him in the back of your throat. You eyes start to water, and you look up at him through your eyelashes. You hold for as long as possibly can before he lightens his touch and allows you to pull away. A string of saliva connects you two together as you and you wipe your lips with the back of your hand to remove it.

“Can you do it again?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, flicking your eyes between his throbbing member and him a few times before wrapping your lips back around him, “Fuck, baby, no one can do this like you can. No one.”

His words spur you on and you deep throat him as far as you possibly can before you need to gasp for air, taking a few seconds before starting to bob your head again, taking a few seconds at each time to run your tongue over his throbbing tip, collecting some of the salty pre-come that had started to bubble there.

“So good to me.” He lets you stop for a minute, and you place your head upon his thigh so that you can catch you breath. It was almost as though he knew that you needed to take a breather. You had the slight problem of always trying to do more than you’re able too and you almost always end up loosing too much of your breath, “Even though I’m an absolute twat. You’re always so good to me.”

“You deserve it.” You say, your throat a little coarse from your actions before.

“I don’t.” He shakes his head, “I broke your heart.”

You hesitate for a few seconds, “But you’re fixing it.”

“I shouldn’t have broken it in the first place.”

You move so that your higher up and able to place a kiss to his lips, whispering against them, “You’re fixing it.”

He kisses you back with more passion than before, moving his hand to grip under your thighs so that he can pick you up and place your on his. His fingers tug at the hem of your lace shirt, so you detach your lips so that you can pull it over your head. He groans at the sight of your bare chest to him, your nipples hardening into stiff buds at the feeling of the cold air immediately on your skin.

“No bra?” He presses a few open mouthed kisses to your neck, “You’ve been with me all evening, and I never even fucking noticed that you didn’t have a bra on.”

“You used to have a special talent for noticing when I didn’t have a bra on.” You giggle, sighing slightly at the feeling of his lips on his neck, and then the subtle feeling of his teeth grazing your skin.

“I must’ve lost my touch. But don’t worry.” He pulls away and looks you directly in the eye, “I’ll soon get it back.”

“Of course you will.” You laugh, but he stops it with his lips. The first time you and Harry kissed, you were so nervous. You felt as though you were going to mess up and he’d never want to kiss you again. You were completely wrong, and he actually ended up saying that it was one of the best kisses of you life. You couldn’t believe his words, and since then you completely found yourself wanting his lips to be on yours. Just as they were now, his tongue slipping between your lips and the feeling always transporting the two of you to where it’s just you, and you have the time in the world to kiss as much as you want to.

He moves his kisses down your neck, leaving sloppy ones against your skin until he was at the curve of your breast. Harry was a boob man, you knew that for a fact. As much as he loved to hold onto your ass every now and then, you always noticed that he spent the majority of his time focusing on your boobs. Whether it be sucking blemishes into the plushly skin whilst you fucked, or laying his head on them as you both calmed down from your activities, he always, without fail, focused on your boobs.

He knew that if he attacked your nipples skilfully with his tongue, he could have your dampening your panties and clenching your thighs together so much that he couldn’t resist it. He starts by wrapping his lips around your right nipple, tugging on the flesh slightly with his lips before letting it go with a pop.

“Fucking love your tits, love.” He sighs and you giggles slightly before gasping at the feeling of his pinching your other nipple with his fingers, “Fit in my hands, and in my mouth, so nicely.”

You moan in response to his words and throw your head back as he wraps his lips around your other one, sucking and sending flutters all the way down to your core. You wanted him, yearned for him, and you were beginning to grown inpatient.

“Can we go to your bedroom?” You run your fingers through his hair and pull his head back so that he’s looking at you, “Bedroom.”

“Is that where you want it?”

“Want it in your bed.” You say, placing your hand upon his cheek, “Our bed.”

He stands up with you still on him, your legs wrapped around him as he carries your upstairs. You rest your head upon his shoulder so he can look over yours and direct you safely to the comforts of his bedroom.

This place didn’t hold the best of memories from the last few months of your relationship but if you ignored that and focused on the positives, you had some of your best times in this room. It was a place where the two of you could completely be yourselves, and have a place to call yours. The pillow talk that occurred in this room was out of this world, and it was where you planned your future. One that was put on hold briefly but now seemed to be ready for the two of you again.

“Will you strip for me?” He asks as he places your down in the room, “I want to watch you slip out of those jeans, baby.”

You nod but at first undress him. You slip the jacket from his shoulders, skilfully loosen his tie and pull it over his head. Next is his shirt which you start to unbutton, but Harry grows impatient and rips it off, the buttons flying in all sorts of directions.

“Harry!”

“Oops?” He laughs, sitting down on the bed.

You had given Harry one strip tease before, for his birthday a year ago and it had gone down a treat. You had dressed up in your fanciest lingerie, which happened to be a black set that he had bought specifically for you for your birthday with ‘Styles’ embroidered on the inside. There was something, for the both of you, that you loved about seeing his name all over your the undergarments you wore. Whenever you wore them out in public, the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, as though you were hiding a naughty secret that you didn’t want anyone to know about.

“Are you going to?” He urged, not taking his eyes off you’re, “I’m waiting.”

“Might make you wait a little longer.” You smile, running your fingers along the hem of your jeans, “Seeing as though you left me waiting for how long?”

“Don’t tease.”

“Why?” You shrug, “That was your speciality, wasn’t it?”

He had a love for teasing you, always had done. From the first time the two of you had sex, you knew he liked to tease. He liked to tease you all over, having your body withering under his touch until you couldn’t help but beg for him to touch you. You had a slight suspicion that he enjoyed hearing you beg for him, whimpering under his touch until you were crying for him to touch you. You remember that once, he had been teasing you all day whilst you had been out and about, but once you had gotten home he was teasing you so badly, overstimulating you over and over until you were crying for him to make your come.

“Just strip, my love.” You laugh and his words and unfasten the button to your jeans, turning around so that your ass is facing him, pulling your jeans down to reveal your black lace panties to him. You’re not surprised when he smacks his hand to the flesh of your ass, causing you to turn around with a gasp.

“That wasn’t nice.” You move so that you’re straddling him again.

“When have I ever been nice?” He raises his eyebrows, “I don’t think you want me to start now.”

He leans forward and places his lips to yours again, his body falling back upon the bed so that you’re hovering above him. His fingers run down from the small of his back, to her ass again until he’s gripping the flesh between his fingers, quite harshly you must say so which goes straight to your core. You know that the front of your panties are ruined by your wetness, and you know for certain that Harry does also.

“Sit on my face.” He mumbles against your lips.

“What?” You whisper back.

“Sit on my face.” He places a kiss to your jaw, “Wanna eat that pretty cunt, want to have you trembling above me.”

You would squeeze your thighs together, but you can’t because of his body between yours. You nod your head and clamber off him, pulling your underwear down your legs quickly. You move up the bed until you’re next to his head, spreading your legs and placing your knees on either side of his head. His hands grip your thighs, dancing his fingers along your thighs.

“Please, H.” You say, pushing his hair off of his forehead as you look down at him.

“Didn’t think you’d be begging so soon, baby.” He chuckles, pressing a few kisses upon your cheeks.

“I’m doing no such thing.” You shake your head, “You’re just being slow.”

He certainly isn’t being slow when he leans his head forward and starts to attack your clit with his tongue. You have to quickly lean forward also and grab the headboard to steady yourself, a moan escaping your lips as he does so. He attacks your clit quickly, and you can’t help but grind your hips forward at the feeling. He curls his hands around your thighs, stopping you from moving anymore. You cry out as he doesn’t slow down, and you pull his hair slightly. It emits a moan from him which vibrates against your clit, creeping your closer and closer to your peak.

It becomes a cycle. As you pull on his hair, more moans and groans tumble from his lips again sty your clit. He knew the more that he focused upon your clit, the closer you’d find yourself to your orgasm. He had learnt this, and he certainly hadn’t forgotten it.

You bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, rocking your hips back and forth against his tongue. He knows your close, due to your thighs clamping around his head. He doesn’t slow down, but instead he flicks his tongue even quicker.

“Fucking hell.” You moan, your body starting to shake as you feel your orgasm wash over you. He continues to attack your clit, coaxing you through your orgasm until you’ve finished and catching your breath.

“You taste so fucking good.” He says, dancing his fingers upon your thigh, “Missed your taste.”

“Fuck me, H.” You say, breathlessly.

He doesn’t hesitate. You manoeuvre yourself off of his head and lay so that you’re head is rested upon his pillow. He leans to open his bedside drawer but you stop him, grabbing his arm and pulling his back to you.

“Did you sleep with anyone else?” You ask, knowing that this could make or break whether you were going to be fucked or not at this moment.

“No.” He says, immediately shaking his head, “I didn’t. Did you?”

You also shake your head, “I wanna feel you, H. Want you to come in me.”

He groans without even touching you yet, or you touching him. He immediately drops his lips to yours, and you can’t help but giggle and smile into the kiss. You wrap your arms around his back and pull him closer to you. He pulls away slightly, just to grip his cock, running his thumb over his tip a few times.

“Are you sure?” He says and you nod, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Please, H.” You nod, hips bucking towards his, “I need you.”

“Need you too.” He kisses you again, “Always need you.”

He leans forward, looking down between the two of you to line his cock up with your entrance. He runs the tip over your clit for a second before pushing into you. Your walls immediately envelope him, tightening around him with every inch that he moves in. You sigh against his lips, wrapping your arms around his back. He starts to move in and out of you, your walls clenching around him as he tries to find his rhythm.

“Fuck.” You can’t help but moan that into his ear.

“Taking me so well.” You drop your hands to rest on your pillows next to him, to which he takes your hand in his as he starts to quicken his pace, “Missed your pussy so much. Never leaving again.”

Instead of replying, you place your lips upon his again. From the way his eyes are screwed closed, you can tell that he’s close. If it’s possible, he starts to thrust his hips harder towards you, hitting a point so deep into you that causes a whine to fall from your mouth.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” He says against your neck, moving in and out until your thighs are shaking beneath him, “Can feel you, fuck, can feel you clenching around me. Milking my cock, aren’t you?”

You hum, “Feel so good, H. I’m so close.”

When you do come, you see stars. You clench around him, and profanities escape your lips. The feeling is completely how you remember it. You hadn’t been completely celibate since breaking up with Harry, since you do own a little bullet vibrator that had been your friend. You had it for years before you met Harry, and you used it whenever he was away or if the two of you fancied spicing it up every now and then.

You come down from your high just as Harry is catapulted into his, coating your walls with his as does so. His body collapses on top of yours, his head rested at the side of yours. He’s still inside of you, and both of your chests are rising up at down at a quick pace.

“Fucking hell.” He laughs, and you turn your head to look at him. He has a grin upon his face and you lean forward to kiss his dimple, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

“I know.” You smiled, “You’ve told me multiple times. I’ve missed you to.”

He finally pulls out, and you immediately felt empty. You whined slightly and he moved off of you, dropping down upon the bed next to you. You take this as the opportunity to slip from your bed. Due to not having sex in a long time, you flip your legs over the edge of the bed and prepare yourself for having to take a few steps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up and waddle your way towards Harry’s bathroom, scooping up Harry’s shirt on the way.

You know the way like the back of your hand, and it’s oddly comforting to you. Once you’re in the bathroom, you clean yourself and do your business. Once you’re satisfied, you shrug Harry’s shirt on and do up a few buttons so that you’re covering at least a bit of yourself as you do so.

Harry’s underneath the covers as you return to his room, smiling at you with dimples and all as you walk back through the door. He’s on his side of the bed, and you clamber into yours. The feeling of having someone in bed next to you makes you happy inside. You lay upon your side, with one of your hands beneath you head and Harry copies your movement. Your faces are close, and he leans forward to place a kiss to your nose.

You smile, “Hi.”

“Hi, love.”

“Are you okay?” You ask and he nods, “Do you think we’ve rushed this?”

“No.” He’s quick to say, “I don’t think we have. We needed this. I’ve never felt closer to someone as I do to you right now.”

“Me neither.” You smile, moving to grab his hand that was rested upon his side, “And I don’t think I will again.”

“Darling.” Harry says, pointing his finger in the air as he does so.

Chloe hesitates for a second before letting out a, “Ding!” to say that he was right.

It was Boxing Day, and after spending Christmas Eve and the majority of Christmas Day with your family, you had driven from your family house up to Cheshire to spend the rest of Christmas Day and Boxing Day with Harry’s family. You were all sat in the living room playing a game, sporting glasses of wine and basking in the Christmassy feeling of being together again.

After Harry’s show on the nineteenth, and the acts that happened afterwards, you and Harry had many conversations. There was a few tears from the two of you, and the conversation got heated in some aspects but you were together again, and that was the main thing. Originally, you had decided to spend Christmas separate, without each other’s company just because it was such a sudden change and you wanted to make sure that you fully weren’t rushing into things. Then, whilst sat on the sofa after devouring your Christmas dinner, with Mud’s Lonely this Christmas playing through your speakers that you realised that you missed Harry, and a Christmas without seeing him now was a Christmas that you didn’t want in your life.

You had contemplated surprising him and just turning up, but you felt as though that wasn’t fair on the rest of his family, and that’s why you messaged and asked him. He replied asking whether you were certain that you wanted to do this, and you said yes and he said that he’d have a cup of tea ready for you whenever you arrived.

He did have one ready for you, and it was everything you needed to warm yourself up after the long journey.

Anne, Gemma and Michal asked no questions to you, but you had no doubt that they had asked Harry some on your journey. Anne had welcomed you with a hug, and so did Gemma and once their prying eyes were away, Harry kissed you as though his life depended on it, pressed against the staircase of his mother’s house whilst fairy lights twinkled around them.

Anne’s next to go, hoping that her answer of, “Sweetheart,” was at the top of the list.

Chloe replies with, “Uh huh,” to which everyone “Ooo’s” in response at.

You’re rested upon the back of the sofa, with a flute of Champagne in your hand. Harry, in his flat-cap almost breaking your hear with how handsome he looked, turned around and pointed his finger at you.

“Come on, now.” He says, “Be smart with this. It’s sticky stuff.”

“Babe.” You immediately reply, knowing that was one of pet names that Harry called you the most.

People around the room laugh at Harry’s phrase of ‘sticky-stuff’ but that doesn’t mask Chloe’s exclamation of, “Ding!” followed by, “Top answer.”

You smile at the knowledge and Harry turns to you also, holding his fist up for you to fist bump which you both laugh at. He holds his hand out and you pass him your drink, which he takes a sip of quickly before returning it to you so you can carry on playing the game.

Michal is next, and for some bizarre reason to all of you he says, “Cutie-pie,” which certainly isn’t on the list. The room chuckles around you, and Harry says something about him “returning to the mines’’ which you all laugh at, but you specifically roll your eyes at.

The game soon wraps up, and you have your meal. Harry sits next to you, and had his hand upon your thigh the entire way through. The table around the two of you chatted about all sorts, many of the questions being about when your music was coming out which you certainly didn’t expect. You started to feel as though your album, when it came out, wouldn’t be very complimentary of your relationship with Harry, and you were starting to regret it slightly, but you loved all of your songs and you hoped that when you showed Harry, and the world for that matter, that they would too.

You and Harry, after the meal had finished, had offered to be on washing up duty. You had been given the task of washing up, whilst Harry dried because he felt as though his skills were better there. You let him believe that and carry on with drying all of the special Christmas cutlery that didn’t go in the dish-washer.

Once you had finished, and you were drying your hand upon the towel, you felt hands upon your waist, more specifically, Harry’s. He place a kiss to your neck and you giggled, turning around so that upon were facing him. He immediately captures your lips with his, and you wrap your arms around your neck to steady yourself from the attack of his lips. His hands immediately again go to your waist, slipping his hand underneath the material of your jumper to rest upon your skin. Once you pull away, you look at him with a smile upon your face.

“What was that for?”

“What?” He shrugs, “Can’t I kiss my girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” You ask, unable to hide your smile.

“Girlfriend.” He nods, “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

You nod your head and place another kiss to his lips, the feeling running through the two of you without really knowing how significant he really was.

“If you want me to be. I want to be.”

He lifts one of his hands and places it upon your cheek, running his thumb ever so delicately along your skin.

“I love you.” He says, with no hesitation in his voice, “I know I’ve been shitty, and I probably shouldn’t be saying this to you, especially not in the way that I am, but I do love you and I never stopped. I swear to you, that from now on my love for you will be the most important thing, and I won’t ever, ever make you second best again.”

“That’s all I want.” You reply, leaning forward to place a kiss upon his lips, “I love you too.”

With the year that you had, and the feeling as though you’d never be with this man again, you couldn’t believe that here you were with him. He was with you, and he was yours and there was no doubt in your mind that what happened earlier this year will never happen again. It was almost as though this was something that your relationship needed to grow stronger in itself, and it surely was now.

He wraps an arm around your neck and pulls you onto his chest, “I’m never letting you go again. I probably won’t let you out of my sight again.”

“I can’t say that I’d ever complain.”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles writing

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pussy-potions · 3 years

Text

𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓿𝓮𝓼

nsfw pornstar! joshua

warnings: pet auction trope, dom Joshua, spanking, oral, anal, double penetration, name calling, double penetration, dashes of pussy praise, dashes of cock praise, over stimulation, squirting, titty fucking. I’m probably forgetting something cuz I literally started this draft last year and hadn’t touched it until now

word count: 6.3k

original post date: december 1 2019

You sat in a chair as a makeup artist did your makeup, simple and slightly innocent looking to match the image you were portraying in your role. Pulling the short, black silk robe tighter against you, you felt a shiver run down your spine as you glanced at the clock that showed you how much time was left before you had to get on the set for filming. Once she was done you headed to the room that was decorated to fit the theme of the first scene of the film you were shooting. Red, black and gold furniture adorned the room, with various silk, velvet, leather and silicon sex toys laid out on the large black table in the middle of the room. You and six other girls who were wearing the same short silk robes, moved to stand in a line facing the camera. The director yelled for the other porn stars to take their places and soon the room was filled with various actors and extras. You looked over at Jeonghan, he was supposed to be the ‘pet dealer’ and try to auction you off to the highest bidder which was going to be Joshua.

You looked down at the floor when the director counted down, quickly falling into the more submissive role of a pet before the director was finished counting to one. The muttering of the small crowd in the room was silenced with Jeonghan tapped a fork against his glass of what you assumed was champagne or sprite dyed a light pink colour. “Once you all settle down we can start the auction,” Jeonghan smiled sweetly at the crowd before taking a sip of his drink and leaving it on a tray that one of the 'butlers’ held.

Almost immediately everyone stopped talking. “Good, now here is the first pet I’m auctioning off.” A tall girl was pulled to the front of the line. Her hair was curled and her red stained lips slightly smirked at the crowd. Jeonghan caressed her hair, “This little minx-” he pulled her hair, forcing her head back as she raised her hands to hold onto his arms while bending her knees a little to make it look like it was hurting her, “has a troublesome streak you should be aware of before purchasing. But I’m sure that some of you-” he locked eyes with a man who was well built, “would love a pet who disobeys just so you can straighten out the little bitch.” He released his grip on her hair and pushed her forward, so she landed on her knees and was on all fours in front of the group of people.

The bidding started but you had stopped listening, and waited for Jeonghan to lead you to the front of the crowd. “This little one is very well behaved but sometimes she likes to act up and be a disobedient little brat. But it’s nothing a good punishment can’t fix. She’s newer then the rest but I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to break her in. We all know how much of a slut the prude, and well behaved can be once they’ve had their morals fucked out of them.” He chuckled lowly as his warm fingers grabbed your chin, pulling your head up to be inspected by the 'buyers’ which were mostly attractive men with a few impossibly beautiful women littering the crowd. All smirking while they took your figure in. Possibly imagining the ways they could take you if they 'bought’ you.

“I’ll take her for a million dollars.”

Joshua stepped to the front of the crowd with a satisfied smirk on his face. “1.5 million.” A blonde male stepped towards you and Jeonghan. His eyes pierced your soul as he circled you. Inspecting you. Undressing you with his sharp eyes, you leaned closer to Jeonghan.

“Five million!” Joshua shouted out. “In cash, and up front.” He smirked as the blond man glared at him before sitting down in one of the velvet chairs.

“Well then she’s yours Mr. Hong, your purchase is greatly appreciated.” Joshua walked up to you, handed Jeonghan a briefcase that was filled with 'money’ and took your hand in his before he pulled you out of the room and into an unoccupied one with another small camera crew following behind you two. He closed the door behind them as he made you stand in the middle of the room. Joshua slowly circled you, 'inspecting’ his new pet. You kept your eyes down to the ground as he held you smaller hands in his. Rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, you glanced up at him, only to look back down as it felt like his eyes were boring into your soul.

“I want you to take off your robe for me.” His soft voice held less authority in his voice now that you were alone with him. You pulled your hands away from his warm ones and pulled the ends of the silk belt holding your robe together. Letting the soft material slip off your shoulders, you resisted the urge to cover your body as his eyes took in your lace clad figure. “You look so innocent wearing white. It almost makes me think you’re a pure little angel.” His fingers went under your chin, lifting your face up to look him in the eyes. “Are you a pure little angel for me?” You nodded your head slowly as you got lost in his dark eyes. “Use your words princess.”

“I’m… a pure little angel for you.”

“Sir. Say it.”

“I’m your pure angel, Sir.”

He smirked down at you. “Good girl. But I want you to prove to me that you’re a good pet instead,” he sat down on the bed with his legs spread. “I want you to suck my cock.” Joshua leaned back, his arms supporting his upper body as he watched you move closer to him. You dropped down to your knees in as you reached for his belt, and throwing it to the floor while your eyes stayed glued to his bulge, unzipping his trousers and pulling his cock out of the confinement of his pants. You slowly pumped his cock as you kitten licked the tip. Joshua sighed as you took the first few inches of his member into your mouth, running your tongue over the prominent veins on his cock. His head lolled back as you took him further down your throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing once you sucked harder. Joshua looked down at you as he gathered your hair into a sloppy ponytail, branding the way you looked between his legs into his memory.

You hallowed your cheeks as you quickly pumped his member. Looking up at him through your lashes, you took in the way his hair looked disheveled as he ran his long fingers through the dark locks. A loud groan escaped his lips when he bucked up into your mouth, your throat tightening around his member when he went a little deeper, hitting your gag reflex. You pulled your lips off his throbbing member as you quickly pumped him in your hand. Joshua gasped as his thighs shook a little from being so close to releasing, his knuckles turned a stark shade of white when he gripped onto your hair and pulled on the strands. You wrapped your lips around his cock, sucking and flicking the sensitive flesh as he cried out, squirting his cum down your throat and a low groan tearing from his throat when he felt you swallowing around him. “Good girl,” he moaned out as you kissed his cock, licking off some of his semen that slipped out of his slit. “So fucking good for me.” Your hand slowly pumped his member, milking out his orgasm as he slowly rocked his hips into your hand. “Come up here darling, you deserve a reward for being a good little pet.” He patted his lap as he lightly pulled you up by the hair.

You straddled his lap as he skimmed his fingers over your spine. Joshua’s left hand snaked down your wait to your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as you ran your hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. You closed your eyes when you felt his soft lips brush the skin on your neck, tingles running through your veins. “Such soft skin,” he whispered against your collarbone. His right hand snaked under the waistband of your panties, his middle finger prodding between your folds, collecting your wetness on his digits. “And a wet little pussy,” Joshua placed open mouthed kisses on your chest and neck as you felt him slip a finger into your heat. “All for me,” you could feel his lips curl against your skin as he added another finger, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on your clit.

You ground your hips against his fingers as he worked on your core. His plush lips sucking marks onto the skin of your breasts as you moaned his name. Joshua’s tongue licked at the marks, dragging the wet muscle up the side of your throat and sucking a mark right under your ear. Your fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders and tugged on his shirt when his fingers rubbed against your g-spot, your eyes fluttering shut at the stimulating contact.

“Fuck don’t stop,” you moaned out. Your hips ground deliciously against his hand after his free hand came down on your ass, and a sharp sting ran through your ass. Your moan turned into a whine of frustration when he stopped touching you. “Jo-”

Joshua pushed you down onto the bed and roughly spread your legs open, his line of sight set right on the wet patch of your panties before he leaned in and pressed his nose against your swollen folds. Deeply inhaling your scent and moaning into your damp panties when you squeaked from embarrassment.

“You smell so fucking good, princess. I just can’t help myself with you.”

Joshua’s tongue slid out from between his plush lips to lick a thick strip over your wet spot. Low moans tumbled in his throat from the taste of your juices exploding on his tongue.

“And you taste even better.”

His fingers slid up your inner thighs and pressed them over your clothed clit. Flicking his eyes up, his tongue peeked out from between his smirking lips when your hips slowly bucked against the digits, your lips parted and your hands running over your heated skin before settling on holding your breasts.

With his free hand, Joshua’s eyes quickly dropped back down to your clothed core the second his fingers came in contact with the damp fabric. Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Joshua’s eyes widened when you’re swollen folds glittering with your essence was exposed to his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he quietly mumbled as his fingers that weren’t pulling your panties to the side ran over your folds, and quickly getting coated in your arousal. Joshua’s fingers released their hold on the crotch of your panties before he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down your legs. His cock throbbed at the string of arousal that connected your pussy to your panties which stretched until it broke from the fabric being pulled too far.

Pushing your legs open again, Joshua kept his eyes trained on your face as he raised your panties up to his nose to inhale your scent again.

“Fuck, baby girl you smell too good. I just can’t get enough of you.”

His voice sounded much more hoarse then it did mere seconds ago, and the slight growl in his voice did nothing but send more arousal straight to your core. Hearing his chuckles ring through the quiet room sent a delectable shiver down your spine as you forced yourself to look at him in the eye.

“Do you like watching me sniff your panties? Or better yet, did you like watching me smell your sweet pussy through your panties?” He remarked before he breathed in your scent again. “If you weren’t soaking the sheets before, you certainly are now.” Joshua’s eyes darkened with lust as he crawled between your legs until he was face to face with you and he delicately grasped your chin between his fingers. “Are you my dirty little kitten?” He hummed while lowering his head to your ear, his voice coming out in the quietest of whispers for only your ears to hear. “I bet you’re loving this so much more then you’d like to admit with how fucking wet you are.”

Your thighs twitched on either side of him and he pulled his face far back enough to sweetly kiss you on the lips before he trailed kisses down your body until he was seated in front of your core again. His tongue swiped over his plump lips as he took in your glistening folds once more, his cock throbbed for release from the confinement of his pants but he pushed aside his needs for your exposed and needy pussy mere inches from his face. “So pretty and wet just for me,” Joshua mumbled to himself as he leaned forward to lick from your soaked entrance all the way up to you clit. A string of his saliva ran from his tongue to your cunt before he was pressing more kisses to your clit, and teasingly sucking the bud into his mouth.

Your walls clenched around nothing as Joshua’s tongue drew circles and letters over your clit. His large hands kept a firm grip on your thighs when your legs threatened to close on his head the second he wrapped his lips around the sensitive nub and suckled on it.

“Oh fuck,” you whimpered out, your hands running through his hair and tugging on the strands causing Joshua to pull his mouth off of you to give your clit a quick slap.

“Good girls keep their hands to themselves unless they’ve been given permission,” he growled. “Did I give you permission to touch me?”

“No Sir, you didn’t.”

“I want you face down and ass up,” he commanded. You quickly followed his order and bent over for him. Joshua’s hands rubbed the soft skin on your bare ass. The first spank loudly rang through your ears as your ass tingled from the contact until he was soothingly rubbing over it with his hand. “I want you to say ‘I’m sorry for being a bad girl Sir and thank you for punishing me’ after each spank, and if you forget to say it, then I’ll just have to start over again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir. I under-“

The first spank cut off your words. Whimpering you quickly opened your mouth to tell him what he wanted. “I’m sorry for being a bad girl, Sir. Thank you for punishing me Sir.”

“Good girl.” He mused as his hand rubbed soothing circles over your ass. “Now let’s see if you can do that for the rest of your spanks.” His hand came in contact with your tingling ass again, and you stuttered out the words he wanted to hear from you nine more times for him.

When he finished, you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs while his large hand soothingly rubbed over the sensitive flesh of your ass. With the way you were bent over, you hoped that he somehow wouldn’t notice how wet you had gotten. But you knew that he was face to face with your core and there was no way he wouldn’t notice it.

“Jesus Christ you’re dripping all over yourself.”

An intense amount of heat uncomfortably gathered between your thighs when you peeked back at Joshua and saw him practically drooling at your weeping core.

“Not too much of a punishment if you enjoyed it this much, now is it?”

He was grasping your cheeks in his hands to expose your slick folds to him. “You’re a dirty little slut for liking this so much, baby girl,” he half moaned when you pushed your hips back into his hands, silently begging for more when you looked over your shoulder at him.

“Do you like that? Being called a dirty little slut?” He chuckled with his eyes trained on your core that clenched in excitement at the degrading name. “Fuck, you don’t even have to say a single thing because you’re pussy’s giving all your dirty little secrets away,” he mused as he ran his index finger over your slit and collected some of your juices on his finger to taste. He moaned around his fingers, his eyes half open to watch you squirm in your spot, your gaze immediately turning into a shy one when he caught you peeking at him from over your shoulder. “Just how dirty are you gonna be for me little slut?”

Whipping your head around to face forward, heat burned your cheeks at his words. Joshua’s deep chuckle rang in your ears again while his hands gently groped the hot flesh of your stinging ass in his hands before he spread your cheeks, exposing your dripping cunt and ass hole to his hungry eyes.

A surprised moan of a gasp tore from your throat when you felt his tongue flick over your clit before dragging along the wet seam of your folds, and trailing a few inches higher to trace his tongue over your second hole. Joshua moaned into you as he pushed his face between your cheeks and licked a bold strip over your ass hole.

“And just to make sure you’ll keep your hands to yourself…” Joshua mused, his hands roughly grabbed your arms and pulled them behind you to rest on your lower back. You could hear the quick sound of fabric moving against fabric followed by feeling a silky fabric getting tied around your wrists, most likely his tie, while his lips skimmed along your spine. “There. Now you look just like a pretty present for me.” His warm breath sending a shiver over your skin, your nails digging into your palms to keep you from trying to grab onto his shirt to keep his lips on your bare skin.

When he pulled back, Joshua’s fingers slipped between his parted lips. The wet muscle slid over his fingers while his eyes stayed glued to your bent over figure. Your upper half twisting to the side to look at the attractive man coat his fingers with a thick layer of saliva, and gulping as you watched it drip down his fingers.

Your body jerked forward when his spit slicked fingers sliding over your folds and eased themselves into your core before your hips pushed themselves back onto his digits. “Please don’t stop that feels really fucking good,” you moaned out when his lips pressed lingering kisses over your ass and the sides of your pussy, purposely avoiding where you wanted him most. Your grip on the sheets tightened when his fingers curled and started rubbing your sweet spot.

Heat pooled between your thighs while you tried to muffle your moans from biting down on one of the pillows in front of you. When you couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, you cried out in frustration while you pushed yourself back, hoping that Joshua was just being a tease and wanted to see you crumbling for him. Looking back at him, you watched with wide eyes as he licked his fingers clean of your arousal, his pink lips wrapped around the digits before releasing it with a wet pop, and his left eye dropping in a wink. He was quick to rip the tie off of you and discarded it to the floor.

“Turn around for me. I wanna watch you when you cum for me.”

His voice sent shivers down your spine as you followed his orders and laid down on your back, you slowly spread your legs open for Joshua. Arousal pooled between your thighs as you watched Joshua’s lips part, his eyes dropping down to your folds that glistened with a mixture of his saliva and your wetness. You sighed in pleasure when Joshua’s fingers ran over your slit and spread your folds open to expose your clit, and press a surprisingly gentle kiss to the sensitive bud.

“And don’t hide your moans from me, baby girl.”

Joshua’s lips curled upwards in a devilish smirk as he picked up a rabbit vibrator from a box of toys hidden on the side of the bed that was opposite of the camera crew. More saliva gathered on his tongue as he watched the toy sliding effortlessly between your slick folds. Swallowing thickly, Joshua’s tongue swiped over his lips, his cock straining painfully in his pants when he pushed the thick head of the toy past your lower lips.

A loud moan slipped from your lips as Joshua easily inserted the toy into your soaked pussy, and another one was effortlessly ripped from you when Joshua turned on the toy and the head started rotating against your walls while the small vibrator buzzed powerfully against your clit.

Your thighs jerked together for a second but Joshua’s large hand was pulling your legs apart, his tongue swiping over his plump lips as he lightly jerked his head to the side, silently telling the camera man to come closer for a better shot, his eyes flicking to take in your features twisted in pleasure before his eyes dropped back down to your cunt stretched around the toy.

Releasing a few choked moans, you were gasping for air when Joshua’s free fingers spread your folds open to press the little vibrating arm onto your clit. Heat burned your skin where Joshua’s lips kissed along your inner thigh, the pressure in your lower stomach was building and your hips started wiggling against the toy until Joshua pulled the dildo out and rubbed it against your folds, your arousal spreading over your folds, clit and even over your thighs until he abandoned the toy beside you, possibly to use on you later.

You watched him grab a bottle of lube and a glass dildo out of the box of toys beside the bed. Joshua squirted a generous amount of the clear liquid onto the toy and your ass before pressing the dildo against your entrance. He quietly sighed as he watched the small tip of the toy push past the tight ring of muscles.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this, baby girl.”

Your breath caught in your throat when Joshua pushed the next two swells of the toy, the stretch made you tip your head back, your eyes fluttering shut and shakily moaning at how good the stretch felt when you took the next swell which was considerably larger then the rest.

“A beautiful little slut who’s ready for anything I give, huh?”

You responded with another moan when he pushed the next swell of the toy into your ass while the tip of his tongue licked from your cunt to your clit. Joshua chuckled against your core when you subconsciously spread your legs wider for him.

“And a very needy pussy too.”

Joshua hummed against your clit when he started pumping the dildo into your ass. Your hands flew to your thighs to hold them open when you could feel them threaten to shut Joshua’s head between your thighs. His fingers tightly gripped onto your hip to keep you from moving too much as he quickened the pace of the toy.

Your back arched off the bed and your hands flew into your hair to pull at the strands when Joshua’s tongue slid into your dripping entrance. Grabbing onto the sheets, you fisted the material as you buried your face in the plush pillows from his smooth thrusting in both your holes. Tears welled up in your eyes and you could feel a trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth each time his nose bumped against your throbbing clit until you were cumming on his tongue. You clawed at the sheets and at your thighs when he wrapped his lips around your clit when your orgasm started fading. Harshly sucking on the bud, he plunged two fingers into your core, smirking into to your pussy when tears fell from your eyes and you were screaming out his title and curses in between cries from sensitivity. With one final lick to your clit, Joshua was pressing soft kisses over your folds and inner thighs. A mind boggling contrast to the way he was eating you out moments before.

“Perfect. You look perfect all fucked out like this with your pussy being so,” your whimpered when his fingers touched your clit, your thighs jerked closed for a moment but you quickly grabbed onto the back of your thighs to hold your legs open for him, “sensitive like this. And you’re even dripping into the bed.”

He groaned against your skin when he pulled his mouth off your core and stood up to his full height, the dildo still nestled deep in your ass while you clenched around it. Hastily unbuttoning his shirt to expose his defined chest to your eyes, and quickly unzipping his trousers to free his cock. The sight of his length in person had your eyes widening, and your core clenching around nothing at your eyes traced over every ridge, vein, and the swollen head of his leaking cock as he stepped between your thighs.

“Like what you see?”

Joshua ran the tip of his cock between your folds glittering with arousal before he slapped your clit with the head of his cock. “Tell me how badly you want my cock.” He bit his bottom lip while he watched you wiggle your hips to grind against his cock. “I want to hear my dirty slut say how badly she wants my cock in her sweet, sweet pussy.”

“I-I want it so bad, Sir. I want your big cock fucking my pussy.”

Your cheeks burned while you looked up at Joshua with the most convincing innocent eyes you could manage while his eyes raked down your exposed body. His lips stretching into a smirk when he glanced down from your heaving breasts to your leaking cunt.

“Be a good girl and get on all fours for me.”

Scrambling into his desired position, heat rose to your cheeks when you could feel Joshua’s fingertips skimming along your inner thighs, ghosting over your slick folds to trace the dildo that was still nestled deep in your ass before he was running his palms flat over your lower back, and then finally holding onto your waist while he ground his cock between your slick folds. You sighed out a moan at the feeling of his length pressing against your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you whimpered when he took his cock in his hand and ran his cock over your slit. You let your head fall forward to try and hide your soft moaning from Joshua knowing that he could still hear in the quiet room.

“If you’re acting like this from some grinding I can’t wait to see how you’d look getting fucked.”

You squirmed somewhat impatiently as Joshua lined himself up with your entrance, your clit throbbed harshly from excitement when the plump head of his cock dipped past your entrance. His cock inched into your soaked heat and Joshua’s eyes were glued to your form as you slumped against the mattress and gasped from the delicious stretch of his cock.

“Fuck, your cock feels so fucking good.”

You airily moaned as he bottomed out, his grip on your waist tightening while your walls adjusted to the size of his cock. Joshua’s hand snaked up your torso to tangle in your hair, and harshly pull your hair back to press your back against his chest.

“How does it feel now little slut? Does it feel better then you could have ever imagined?”

Weakly nodding, you yelped when he pinched your sensitive nipple. “Good! It feels so fucking good, Sir!” You reached back to grab onto his waist, your cunt throbbing from the tension building in your stomach from the angle that was hitting all the right spots inside you.

“You gonna cum? Are you gonna cum for Sir?” He growled. He gripped your jaw in his hand to make you look at him and you swore you could’ve cum from the way his eyes seemed to burn with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

You nodded with tears in your eyes, “Yes, Sir. Please I wanna cum for you.” You swallowed thickly when his hand lowered to wrap around your throat, his fingers ever so slightly squeezing the sides of your neck. “Please, Sir I want you to make me cum from your cock. I-I need it so bad!”

Your walls clenched around his length and you couldn’t help but whimper when Joshua broke character for a second, his features softening and his brows drawing together from your grip on his cock, a small whimper slipping from his plush lips before he looked at you with hardened eyes.

“Is my pretty little slut that desperate to cum?” His grip on your throat tightened and you released the loudest, and most whorish moan you’ve ever heard when he snapped his hips into yours. “Do you wanna cum that badly for Sir?” He rasped into your ear. “Then you’re going to keep cumming for me until I think you’ve had enough.”

A gasp got caught in your throat when he squeezed the sides of your throat and he pounded his cock into your pussy. A deep blush rose to your cheeks at the deep grunts and moans he was releasing beside your ear.

Your heart raced in your chest when his hands groped your breasts and tweaked your nipples. “I want your pretty little pussy to cover my cock in your sweet cum.” Joshua sighed into your hair when your walls clamped down on his cock, his fingers tugging your nipples a little harsher then before. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? My pretty little slut wants to cover my cock in the sweetest of cum, hmm?”

He left a trail of open mouthed kissed along your neck, you found yourself reaching back and grabbing onto his waist to pull him closer while you incoherently moaned out for him. His cock drilled into you and in a matter of minutes you were seeing stars dancing across your vision. Tilting your head back, your moans got caught in your throat and came out in stutters from his lips sucking on the sensitive spot under your ear that had you mewling, and your nipples being pinched and rolled between his large fingers. You raised a hand to cup his cheek and pulled him into a messy kiss. Nipping on his lower lip, you whimpered when his hands slid from your breasts to your waist, and squeezing your waist to keep you from squirming so much against him while he tried not to cum in you.

“Your cock is too good,” you sobbed when he pushed your shoulders down flat against the mattress, barely giving you much time to recover after your orgasm before he was thrusting into you again. Joshua’s hand slid to grip your shoulder and you tried to turn back to get a glimpse of the drop dead gorgeous man fucking into you from behind. Biting down on your knuckle, you moaned when you were able to catch a glimpse of him behind you. Sweat matted some of his soft hair to his forehead, his eyes were focused solely on yours filled entrances, his red lips caught between his teeth and his pink tongue swiping over his lips sent a jolt or electricity down your spine. The muscles and veins in his arms bulged, and you found yourself reaching back to run your fingertips along his forearm until he roughly grabbed your arm and held it behind your back while he pounded into your pussy.

“Did I give you permission to touch me slut? Hm? Are you that much of a bad girl that you can’t keep your hands to yourself?”

Joshua’s chest was pressed flush against your back, his lips skimmed against the shell of your ear before he dragged his tongue along your neck to leave a few dark hickies on your neck.

“I-I’m so sorry, Sir. It felt too good and I c-couldn’t help myself.”

You panted whenever his hips slowed and he was rolling his hips into yours. “Is that so? Did my cock feel that good that you had to touch me? Was it that good where touching me anchored you? Answer me kitten.”

“Yes, fuck yes. Your cock feels so fucking good, Sir. I need you to fucking ruin me and make me cum.”

You could feel him smile into your shoulder and press a quick kiss against your neck before he straightened up, the hand holding your arm behind your back releasing you in favor of grabbing onto the base of the dildo still in your ass. Loud moans freely tumbled from you when he match the thrusts of the toy with the thrusts of his cock. Pleasure burned almost painfully through your cunt as your release quickly approached you and Joshua was pulling the dildo out of you, tossing it aside, and harshly grabbing onto your ass to pull you into his thrusts when you started squirming from him with how close you were.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you came again for Joshua. Your thighs aggressively shook and you felt a relief in pressure that had you screaming out, while Joshua wasn’t trying to hide the large smile on his face from making you squirt.

“You look so fucking sexy squirting for me like that, kitten. I need to see you do it again.”

Your mind was too foggy to resister his words until he had replaced his cock with his fingers, and was pumping them into you at a speed that had tears falling from your eyes again as you crumpled onto the mattress. Your walls spasmed against his fingers and another orgasm flooded through your veins, your release splashed over his fingers and trousers. Grabbing onto his forearms, you clamped your legs shut while violent trembling wracked through your body and you sobbed out when Joshua’s fingers slipped out of your slippery folds to rub your clit in quick circles the second you loosened your thighs around his hand.

“F-uck! No-I ca-an’t- not aga-in-“

You screamed when another orgasm flooded your pussy and squirmed away from his fingers. Your limbs felt exhausted from your orgasms to the point that you nearly collapsed from the exhaustion that slowly started to settle into your bones.

Joshua pulled you to sit up on trembling legs, his fingers quickly wiped away the stray tears off your cheeks that made some of your hair stick to your face. Looking up at him with a teary and fucked out gaze, Joshua growled lowly in his throat and his cock was nestled between your breasts. His hands kept yours pushed against your breasts before they tangled themselves in your hair.

His moans came out shakier, needier, then you expected as he thrusted his cock slick with your cum between your breasts. Opening your mouth, you flicked the wet muscle against his slit each time his cock appeared between your cleavage, and you couldn’t help the fucked out smile from appearing on your face when he released on your chest with a drawn out moan.

Releasing your hold on your breasts, you watched his seed paint your breasts white while he jerked himself off to milk out his orgasm. Your eyes were glued to this cock when he smeared his cum over your chest, and collected some of his release on his cock to push his cock past your lips.

“Clean me up like a good little slut that you are, will you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You looked up at him with dazed eyes while you licked his cock clean of his release, humming around him when you could still taste yourself on his cock. Holding onto his thighs, you shuffled a little closer to him to take his cock deep in your throat before you released him with a very loud, and very wet pop.

“Good girl.”

Joshua bent down to kiss you. His swollen lips moved with yours, quiet moans escaped from you while Joshua kept sighing at the taste of his cum mixing in with the taste of your lips and tongue. You broke the kiss to gasp against his neck when he squeezed your ass and you could faintly hear the director yell cut and a fabric being placed over your shoulders.

“Here. Put this on, I wouldn’t want you to get cold.” Joshua said as he placed his button up shirt over your shoulders and held it closed in the front, keeping any stray eyes from raking over your exposed body even if you had just filmed the most satisfying sex you had ever hand. He helped you stand up on shaky legs and guided you over to your dressing room. “You still up for a movie later or is it gonna be a rain check?” He said while he wiped the tears and drool off your face with a tissue paper on the makeup table.

“I’m still up for it but can we stay in instead? I don’t think I’d be able to stand for so long in this state.”

You giggled at his flustered reaction when he looked down and noticed that your thighs were still trembling even though you weren’t using them.

“Oh my god did I really do that?”

“Yeah and to compensate, pizza is on you!” You playfully shoved his shoulder when he pulled up another chair and sat next to you. He giggled from your shoving and covered your bare legs with the robe that was on the back of his chair before he tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“Classic pepperoni?”

“Classic pepperoni.”

#seventeen smut #joshua smut

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

We Wouldn’t Be Us // Charlie Gillespie

IN WHICH: We get a look into the timeline of the reader and Charlie’s relationship from the first date that wasn’t so perfect to the news they get. The relationship has its ups and downs like all relationships do but this one brings the birth of a song. They know in their relationship that anything less just wouldn’t be them

Warnings: Swearing, an argument, allusion to sex (NO SMUT), pure fluff

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I suppose this is an entry for @cherrymaybank’s Valentine’s Day Fic Challenge.

Based on the song We Wouldn’t Be Us by Alexandra Kay

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Every dress didn’t seem to fit properly no matter what mirror with different light in your apartment you tried. The spare bathroom’s bulb was dying, so that made the colour appear off, and the best mirror was dirty, which would dampen the romantic goal. Nothing made you feel that oomph that you desired for this date.

You could wear the standby little black dress of which you had two options, the clubbing one or the work appropriate one. It didn’t seem right to choose a standard black and no colour for this insanely sweet guy that had this insane energy. With that thought in mind, you dug deeper in your closet for that special dress that you’d never found someone worthy of it. It was your best dress and your most expensive with the tags still on. You would have gone for the maroon dress but it was Valentine’s Day and that seemed like over kill.

Somehow it still fit perfectly despite the length of time from purchase, it was a vibrant green satin with lace matching the colour. The dress's satin ended just below the knee with the matching lace falling an additional six inches past. The A-line skirt was loose flowing contrasting to the form-fitting material across your bust and midsection.

One of your favourite parts of the dress was the off-shoulder bateau neckline that gave a tasteful sneak of your cleavage. The bottom of the thick straps came to make a perfectly straight horizontal line. Across your waist was a one-inch wide satin ribbon attached to the dress that formed a perfect bow that tied the outfit together, no pun intended.

“Whoa.” You breathed stepping in front of the floor-length mirror kept in the spare bedroom, it had once been your roommates’ room before she moved.

You had to admit the dress was magical with it, bringing out all your curves and went with your skin tone. It was a pure shock to see how you managed to make the dress come to life with just a makeup look that was easy to do. All you did next was your favourite beige heels that went with everything. You had just slid on the left heel when the buzzer sounded and slid the right on as you hit the button unlocking the apartment building door.

“This is going to be perfect.” You breathed leaning into the mirror beside the front door. You inspected your lipstick as a knock sounded on the dark brown wood of your door.

“You look gorgeous.” Your date breathed, widening those colour changing irises as he took in your outfit, “You take my breath away. Happy Valentine’s Day”

Your cheeks flushed, “Thank you, Charlie.”

He stepped into the apartment as you quickly went to the kitchen to grab your coat and purse with your essentials. He had gently retrieved the coat from your arms to help you into the cold jacket.

“I know traditionally I would have brought you flowers, but I also know you love books.” Charlie breathed grasping the items in his hands, “So I got these flowers.”

His warm hands held three books. The top one was The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley with a cover that had the background blurry with only the back of a girl in clarity. The girl’s pink dress matching the flower in the upper corner of the book. The next cover proudly displayed The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley with red flowers growing down on a stone building. The third one was a light pink book with an anatomically correct heart with flowers growing out of the arteries, veins and valves; a collection of poetry I Saw You As a Flower by Ellen Everett. Lastly, you held Rupi Kaur’s second collection of poetry The Sun and her Flowers that had come out a couple years ago.

“Charlie, this is so thoughtful. You even has a rose one!” You breathlessly spoke gently touching the covers, “Thank you so much for these.”

“I thought we could read them together?” Charlie was bashful as he quietly asked with flushed cheeks. He didn’t know why he felt like this was his very first date all over again.

“I’d love that.” You softly told the Canadian with the manners a mother would be jealous to have in her home. Charlie’s fingers linked with yours as he tugged you out of the apartment into the hallway.

Your hands swung during the short walk from the apartment building to his bright orange Subaru across the street. The sound of the light wind rustling the trees lining the sidewalk mixed with the humming from Charlie was a perfect film score. He was the ideal gentleman even before he asked you out.

You couldn’t wait to tell your close loved ones about Charlie. You could really see this going somewhere. The relationship that is, as you were now on the side of a road with the Subaru’s hazard lights flashing.

“I forgot to fill the tank.” Charlie moaned, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. His eyes clenched just as tight as his fists.

The Canadian was so embarrassed to have had what he thought was the best date of his life. He’d played music from the playlist he had patiently curated specifically for this date, and he held your hand to the restaurant. He’d already made plans for another date when his car’s warning beeped.

In Charlie’s haste, he’d forgotten to fuel up his car, so here he was with the prettiest person he’d ever seen in his passenger seat. His confidence in a second date had greatly diminished.

“Char, you said Owen was on his way. There isn’t anyone else I’d prefer to be stranded with. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I wanted this date to go perfect. This is my first Valentine’s Day with someone.” Charlie admitted turning his head to stare into warm pools of your e/y colours. His eyes scanned the soft smile that appeared on your face as his confession, “I had this whole thing planned out, and now you definitely won’t want a second-”

“I’m gonna kiss you. If you don’t want that, let me know.” You murmured before pulling him in for what would be the best kiss of your life thus far.

Sure his car broke down, but you kissed him anyway. He tasted of the complimentary chocolate dessert from dinner.

A Year Later

A young, admittedly broke couple sat on the cold floor of the unpacked kitchen eating SpaghettiOs. You had only just moved into the studio apartment with Charlie that had drained most of your savings. Had it not been in a decently safe area in the city and a close commute you would have said no.

But it was the perfect starting place for you two as you both were unfamiliar with living with an SO. It sucked on each of your ends to not have a better situation, Charlie wanted nothing more than to spoil you on the first day living together. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible but sitting on the floor with a cheap candle was imperfectly perfect.

“I’m sorry we’re eating out of cans.” Charlie whispered pointedly, keeping his eyes on the spoon, stirring the red sauce with the beige circles.

“Char this is perfect. As long as it’s you and I then anything is perfect. Besides we didn’t label the boxes, I have no idea which box has our kitchenware.” You admitted glancing at the boxes boarding the edge of the room.

You ate out of cans for at least a week before you had unpacked the kitchen and had the means to buy actual groceries. Living together thus far had been going super smooth until wasn’t.

It was a bad day on both your parts, your entire work was deleted after a computer glitch. Charlie had auditioned for a role he had been really really wanting since he heard about it. Your father came down with the flu axing the plans to meet for dinner; it would have been the first time in six months you saw him in person.

The apartment's atmosphere had been rising and very volatile by mid-afternoon when Charlie blatantly forgot a deal. If he was going to play music, it had to be in the study so you could focus on your work.

Today he’d decided to be in close vicinity to have a virtual jam session with both Owen and Jeremy. He’d chosen the room you were in solely because it had the best wifi reception which you needed as well.

“Charlie, please can you go to the study? I’m trying to finish this!” You cried out as he struck a chord on the electric. His eyebrows came other in the glare he sent you, “I lost all my work last night.”

“The guys and I are working on songs-”

“-Charlie, this is due tonight. I can’t concentrate with-”

“It’s not my fault you have a shitty attention span!” Charlie angrily snapped contradicting the gentle touch on his guitar. He placed it back on the stand to not accidentally damage it, “The wifi is best in this room.”

“I’m very much aware of that Charlie. Out of the two of us, I use it the most. Can you please either move to the study or at least wait an hour so I can finish?” You pleaded with the Canadian actor ignoring the two guys on the computer silently waiting for the fight to be over.

“Why can't you mov-”

“Fine. I will.” You fully stared down your boyfriend for a full five seconds before you harshly closed the top of your computer. It took seconds to gather your work stuff into the leather satchel you stored the computer in, “You didn’t even mute the call.”

Charlie watched as you swiftly pulled on your jacket, “Babe-”

The sound of the door slamming shut cut his sentence before he even had a chance to speak his thoughts. The apartment was eerily silent compared to the sounds of music that always played through the Bluetooth speaker.

The inspiration to play evaporated with the aftermath of a stupid argument permeated the apartment typically filled with love. All three actors quietly said their goodbyes before they ended the video call.

You spent an hour uncomfortably sitting in a cafe finishing up what you’d needed to finish with the argument replaying. Your finger barely hit the button to send the email before you had already stepped outside the business. You spent the walk struggling to draft a text to your boyfriend.

It didn’t matter because when you walked into the apartment, you heard the soft song you’d both deemed yours. It was cheesy, but that was part of Charlie’s charm. Speaking of your boyfriend, he was sat on the floor of your kitchen with matching mugs of brownies.

“I’m sorry. I was insensitive.” Charlie started as soon as your jacket was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. His usually wide smile was as bashful as the one he’d worn on the night of your first date.

“No I’m sorry, Charlie. I could have easily put on my headphones or moved to the bedroom for a bit. The fight was stupid, and I love you so much that sometimes I think I take you for granted. I mean, look at you! You made the brownie cups-”

“Even sitting on the cold floor like when we moved in.” Charlie cheekily inserted, reaching over to hold your hands in his, “I like our tradition. I definitely like how we upgraded from SpaghettiOs to brownies.”

“Me too.” You breathed leaning over to press a lingering kiss on his lips. His hands delving into your hair to keep you close.

The butterflies stormed your stomach as the heat slowly inflated from your toes until it reached your flushing cheeks. Raw emotion pouring into the passionate kiss that only closed down as you broke for air. But you also went back in as that warmth slowly built in your tummies. Charlie’s eyes marginally opened to ensure he wasn’t imagining the Angel he got to kiss.

Finally, with heavy breathing, you pulled apart, but only a fleeting moment froze the time in the apartment. For, as soon as Charlie caught your dilated pupils, his one hand cupped the back of your hand, fingers tangled in your h/c tresses.

Soon enough, you were making up on the kitchen floor with each article of clothing tossed in the vicinity. A shirt landed on the kitchen sink spout. The brownie mugs forgotten as you gave into the passion with your boyfriend. Your lovemaking had you missing supper.

Charlie’s solution was a trip to the local authentic English pub founded by a nice guy from London. You never failed to stop him for a dance in the empty street as his smooth voice gave music for smooth motions. Dancing was a common thing from pulling off the road in Dieppe to dance. You drank and danced at the pub until Jack cut you off at 2am as his pub rules had.

You and Charlie just laughed in a love bubble as the real-world worries faded because you always came together in the rough times.

Months later you returned to Dieppe with Charlie to spend the holidays with them. The entire family together creating such a welcoming atmosphere.

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water.” You informed the group of gals ad non-binary pals who had gathered in Meghan’s bedroom. The group had decided to sleep over Meg’s childhood room with face masks, nail polish and lovely wine.

Meg and Jeannette both nodded to acknowledge your announcement before they returned to their respective conversations. You took a moment to take in the great group of Gillespie and Co you had the honour to be part of. The thirst was only temporarily forgotten in the happy bubble you found yourself in.

You practically skipped to the kitchen, barely noticing the two people in the living room, but their words stopped you in your tracks. Your boyfriend, Charlie Gillespie, stood close to his older brothers Ryan, Patrick and Michael.

“I’m gonna ask her to marry-” Charlie caught himself from finishing the sentence when he saw you standing pale-faced at the opening into the living room.

His entire body was encapsulated by the lights casting in the living room from the Christmas tree. The tree couldn’t hold a candle to the ring of your dreams that promptly had you bursting into tears.

“I RUINED THE SURPRISE!” You sobbed dropping your face into your cold hands, avoiding the gaze of the Gillespie brothers. Had you not been hiding in your hands you would have known the older three had vacated the room.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Charlie cooed with the ring safely put away in the box he had shoved back in his pocket, “You didn’t ruin the surprise. I shouldn’t have been telling my brothers in the middle of the living room.”

Charlie’s warm hands slowly pulled your hands from your soft post-mask skin with such a pretty healthy glow. He could see the remnants of the mask on the edge of your scalp, but it didn’t take away from your beauty.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, staring up at him from underneath your eyelashes. The soft hazel eyes not upset in the least, things often didn’t go the way you wanted to together.

Take the first date from over two years ago where you and Charlie had waited for Owen to meet you with a jug of gas. You’d shared childhood stories and future dreams. Or the time you hadn’t marked the boxes creating an entire week of eating out of cans and cartons.

Ruining the proposal was almost expected at this rate.

“I knew from the moment I saw you in that emerald dress I knew that you were the One for me. I’ve adored each moment I’ve gotten with you from the spontaneous dances on the side of the road. To bursting into song in the middle of the street.” Charlie shakily started with sweating bands but an open heart, “When your best friend told me the emerald dress was the special one, it melted my heart.”

“Charlie.”

“Other than my belief that this relationship will last, I was only ever sure of one thing in my life. I was sure I would be an actor, but now I’m more sure that my favourite role will be supporting you, loving you and evolving with you as your husband.” Charlie sniffled, taking one hand from yours to wipe the tears flooding his cheeks, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You breathed lunging on your tiptoes to kiss him with as much passion as you could. Your hands caressed the skin of his cheeks; his long tresses tickling your wrists.

“God I love you.” Charlie gushed with a gentle shake of his head. His hazel pinned to your e/c eyes as if you were the most precious gem in the world.

A voice cut the bubble enveloping you, “Well are you gonna put the ring on her finger or what?”

Charlie’s head moved to meet the teary eyes of his mother surrounded by his siblings as they bounced on their feet. You laughed as your now fiance clumsily rushed to slide the absolutely gorgeous ring on your finger.

“Welcome to the family officially.” Jeannette cheered along with the celebratory whistles and yells as the crowd of the family grew more and more. Soon enough, the entire room was overflowing with people congratulating your new engagement.

Months later, you stood in front of that same group holding the hands of your handsome fiance. Both dressed to the nines in front of the officiant.

“I wasn’t looking for a fairytale, because they all end the same. The princess has a conflict that she revolves with the help of the prince. They get married and live happily ever after. I adore how we’re writing our own story that fits our relationship. Charlie Gillespie, I wouldn’t change a thing about our lives. I wouldn’t have it any other way even with the fighting and slamming doors, but we always end up on our kitchen floor making up with two brownies in mugs.” Your vows brought tears among the onlookers along with the Canadian barely keeping it together.

The vows would later be eloquently transformed into lyrics from you with the accompanying melody provided by Charlie. On Valentine’s Day, you played the song on the kitchen floor with a plate of brownies. Three brownies waiting to be devoured.

“Three for each of us.” You wept as you watched as Charlie melted into a puddle of joyful tears. He took no time in placing his hand over your flat stomach.

Yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially when Valentine’s Day become more to the Gillespie family; a new little love taking up the day.

(Reader’s Dress In Beginning)

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#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #luke patterson imagines #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie #luke patterson #charlie gillespie imagine #caitsy and ash productions #CherryValentinesFic

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insfiringyou · 3 years

Text

BTS - Going Solo (Part One) - Jimin x Ara

Contains: Angst. *Potential trigger warning for descriptions of panic attacks*

Set a few months following their scene in ‘Private Moments’, Ara is faced with a decision which will change the course of her future.

(Part Two will be uploaded soon, after a few fics focusing on some of the other members.)

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Content below the cut

‘Jimin,

We just spoke, and you asked if I was happy. I think I am. At least most days.’

Ara typed slowly. Her nails had just been manicured and were longer than she was used to. The sound of acrylics against the keyboard rang through the small hotel room.

‘When I’m with you I can feel really happy. You can be so sweet and loving and I appreciate you always check up on me - to make sure I’m okay. Touring is hard. You know it better than anybody else, and you tried to prepare me for it.’

She gave a soft sigh, knowing no one else would hear. The words were spilling out of her fingers before her brain had time to catch up, though she knew based on experience she would eventually work out what she was trying to say. The room was dark and the white glow from the word document was starting to make her eyes water. The contact lenses had been in all day and were getting on her nerves. Still, she persevered. She could remove them once she had finished.

‘I’ve been asked to renew my contract.’

She stopped typing, heart thudding, and realised she felt scared. Her hand moved automatically to her stomach and she exhaled slowly before taking a deep, drawn out breath. She had been practicing and it had gotten easier. At first she would panic, and find her chest rising and falling like crazy, on the verge of hyperventilation, but soon she learned the trick; it was her stomach which was supposed to be moving, not her chest. Her cheeks were a little warm and she knew it was shame she was feeling, not embarrassment. She hadn’t told him yet, despite having known for over a week. Tentatively, she continued, fingers picking up speed as she became used to the sensation of the new nails.

‘You remember me telling you the first was on a trial basis, based on sales. Well - whatever target they set for us, we must have hit it. Even you have noticed the increase in publicity lately...the T.V appearances. They’ve asked me to film a reality show. I don’t know what they’re expecting.’

Her brow furrowed, wondering...

‘I guess they might have asked you too?’

The laptop stayed silent for a long time and she rested her hands against the small, cheap desk as she gazed at the screen. Her mind suddenly seemed blank and she felt stupid. She would never send the document to Jimin, just as she hadn’t sent the ones she had written before; three month’s worth of unopened, worthless ramblings saved in some obscure folder on her desktop, trapped in the harddrive somewhere between her acoustic recordings and photographs of hairstyles she had saved from Pinterest. She often wondered why she even bothered to save them. Her counsellor had told her, time and time again, that keeping a diary would be helpful. She could record her mood swings and track her periods, along with keeping count of what she ate; wholegrains made her bloated, red food colourings brought out a rash. She sometimes worried she might be lactose intolerant, though could handle it in coffee. That type of thing. She kept it up at first; bashfully bringing the sparkly diary into the small office she visited once a month and reciting what she had written to the man opposite. He would nod sympathetically as she spoke, making a comment from time to time; asking how she felt about what she had put. But the company was paying him to do this; all the girls went, and she sometimes wondered if it was the food diary he was really interested in. If her manager was keeping track, making sure she and the other members were not overdoing it on the full-fat salad dressing and milky lattes.

The diary entries began to dwindle and, not long after her last week-long visit back to Seoul, the meaningless letters on her laptop started. They were usually addressed to Jimin, though she had written several to her father and one to her brother. She wasn’t good with words; she had been told that often enough at school when she would have to read out loud from the book of the week in Literature, or come up with an argument in Business Studies. Her mouth would stumble and she’d turn red, both ashamed and humiliated, until the teacher inevitably took pity on her and told her to sit back down. Writing in private was much easier, especially when she knew no one but her would see.

‘I don’t know how to feel.’

The cursor hovered, blinking at the end of the last line. There was a heavy knock at the door and Ara jumped, hands automatically reaching for the laptop lid, before a familiar female voice called out.

“Ara? Are you coming?”

She quickly gathered herself, clicking the save icon at the top of the screen. The company had arranged a group meal in the restaurant downstairs, though she had forgotten, her mind distracted by more pressing thoughts.

“In a minute…I just need to change my lenses.” She called back, moving her finger against the touchpad as a pop-up appeared. She selected the save button once more, mouth twisting as she read the title in the little window: ‘Untitled #12.’ She wondered if she would ever get around to renaming them properly.

***

“Your hair has so much texture. I wish mine were thicker.”

Ara murmured in reply before catching the young stylist’s reflection in the mirror and realising how rude she must have sounded. Da-eun had come to the company some months before and was undeniably sweet. Too sweet, Ara sometimes thought, for the business she was in. The other makeup artists and hairdressers loved to keep one ear to the wall, in case there was a chance of promotion or, she rather cynically suspected, a way to increase their pay by selling gossip, but Da-eun didn’t seem like that. At least not yet.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ara smiled into the glass at the figure behind her. “I’m glad I have you to do it for me. The roots are a nightmare!”

Da-eun returned the smile and seemed to relax, but a curious expression still played on her features as she ran the straightener gently across the dyed tips of hair. “Are you tired?”

“I didn’t get much sleep.” Ara confirmed, briefly closing her eyes. Da-eun knew not to press her, but she couldn’t help but worry the younger woman might know more than she was letting on. They had shared hotel rooms in the past and, perhaps it was the stylist's instinct, used to paying close attention to detail, but she always seemed to tell when something was amiss. It was frustrating sometimes.

“I looked at the schedule. You’re not going on set until last so you’ll have time to rest before you go out.” Da-eun murmured helpfully. Ara nodded, relieved. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that Da-eun should quit while she could; while she was still young and hopeful and kind.

“I just don’t have the energy right now…” Ara sighed as she felt her hair being released. The younger woman finished working the ends and unplugged the device from the dressing room table.

“Did you sign the contract yet?”

Her voice was inquisitive and a little optimistic. Ara had never asked, but there was always the chance that Da-eun’s contract was somehow tied to her own; that if the group were to disband, she might lose her job. Ara shook her head lightly.

“No.”

Da-eun raised an eyebrow. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“I just haven’t had time to read it properly.” She said, truthfully. “It’s come around sooner than I thought…”

The stylist moved forward, reaching for the set of hairbrushes on the counter, before selecting the biggest. She teased through the ends of hair with her short fingers before brushing lightly along the bleached roots, smoothing the locks.

“There’s been rumours.” The younger woman said, voice suddenly low as though she were worried about being overheard. A thick curtain set apart the dressing room from the photography studio, but it was always possible someone was listening.

Ara blinked, tensing a little. “What?”

Da-eun smiled gently. “That you’re making a solo album.”

“Oh…” The older woman wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this news took her by surprise. “I wasn’t planning on it.” She shrugged.

“That’s a relief.” Da-eun beamed with a small laugh. “I’m looking forward to going home soon. Aren’t you?”

Ara opened her mouth to speak, not sure what she was going to say, but the curtain beside them drew apart suddenly; startling them both.

“Oh! Costume change…” Da-eun exclaimed, setting down the brush and turning to accommodate the older woman who had just entered. Mimi was a year older than Ara and usually less prone to accidents, but the leather strap on her camisole suggested a wardrobe malfunction which needed attending to at once.

“Sorry to interrupt…” The other woman murmured apologetically, gesturing to Da-eun. “Could you fix this for me?”

“Sure.” She nodded, stepping away.

Ara’s phone had vibrated against her thigh twenty minutes before but she hadn’t wanted to risk opening the text, especially with someone standing over her shoulder. As Da-eun seated Mimi in the rotating chair on the opposite side of the room to take a look at her costume, Ara took the moment to slip the device from her pocket and flick through the recent notifications. Unsurprisingly, it had been Jimin who had texted and she read the sentence a couple of times before returning it to her pocket.

‘Two more weeks. I’m looking forward to seeing you. It’s been too long.’

***

Ara sipped from the glass, the cool water clearing her throat and offering a much needed refreshment from the events of the day. Her voice had become raspy from singing, but luckily she didn’t need it to type.

‘Jimin,

I was cleaning my closet before we went on tour and found the dress I was wearing on the night we met.’

She found herself smiling, a little longingly, at the memory, a strange anecdote coming to mind.

‘It still has a Daiquiri stain on the hem and it’s too big for me now. I don’t know why I’m saving it.’

The thought made her sad, somehow.

‘I wonder if you remember that night as clearly as I do. I didn’t want to leave. I knew you were with someone else, but I didn’t care.’

A deep frown played on her otherwise gentle features.

‘Does that make me a bad person?’

It wasn’t until she read the line back, she realised the thought had never occurred to her before. Not once in five years. She wondered why it suddenly seemed to matter. With a sigh, she continued, committing her trail of thoughts to the page.

‘You told me it was over the next time we met, and I believed you, but part of me wondered if you’d go back to her, once you knew how inexperienced I was. I guess I know how you feel sometimes. The whole thing has taken me by surprise as well. I never felt like anyone would want me.’

Her chest ached as she typed the final sentence; overwhelmed by emotion. It was true that the compliments and flirty glances she often received were met with an automatic but fleeting sense of glee. It felt novel, after so long of feeling like she didn’t deserve it. It sometimes still felt that way; back in the hotel room, after the cheers of the crowd had faded. She had brought the subject up with her company counsellor who had laughed it off, explaining that everyone suffered with imposter syndrome from time to time; she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. On the matter of flirting, she had kept that one to herself. It felt too personal and she was sure it would come across as vain. Occasionally it was unwarranted; the older mens’ eyes moving down her legs when she took to the stage in a short skirt back in Seoul, or the way she jumped in alarm when someone once slipped their hand down the back of her jeans while she stood tightly packed in an elevator in Osaka. But other times she found her heart racing and stomach churning; not thinking of Jimin until she tucked herself in bed at night. A pretty, tall waitress brushing her hand as she handed over the bill in a Thai restaurant, or the hotel doorman who had helped her move her luggage earlier in the week and smiled kindly at her in the lobby. She knew Jimin, of all people, would understand. She had seen the way he played the audience, like he had a secret to share with them all. Early in their relationship it had made her crazy; the way he seemed to flirt with anyone he came into contact with, often without even realising. But now the tables had turned. He would understand; but she wasn’t sure he would accept it.

She glanced a warily at the shadowy corner of the room where an oversized bouquet of red roses sat on the dresser. They had arrived earlier to the hotel room, along with a postcard sized letter from her manager. He had been unable to make the trip to Taiwan but was waiting for her in Tokyo; the contract was ready, whenever she was ready to sign. The flowers seemed like a bribe; the gesture leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She wondered if the other two girls had received any, or if the privilege was all hers.

The sound of her ringtone, a chirpy, summer tune, alerted her to the fact that an hour had already passed and it was getting late. She quickly swiped the screen and raised it to her ear, not wanting to wake up the neighbours.

“Hello?”

There was a pause before Jimin spoke. “How are you?”

“Good.” She squinted at her watch with a frown. “What time is it there?”

“2am.”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” She asked, a little baffled. He hadn’t called her this late in a while.

“I only just got in. There was a company dinner.” He explained. “What are you up to?”

She hesitated. “Just thinking.”

He laughed, softly mocking her. “Just thinking?”

She shook her head, dismissing it. “Oh, it’s nothing…I was drying my hair.” She lied, fingering the ends of the bone-dry locks in an automatic response. “Da-eun dyed the tips purple for the photoshoot.”

“I liked the pink.” He groaned, a little sulkily.

“They thought purple would fit better with the concept photos.” She mumbled deflatedly. “It’s not really my choice.”

“You could change it when you come home.” He said hopefully. She heard the flirtatious grin in his voice and could picture his smile on the other end. “They can’t do anything about it once your contract has ended.”

“Maybe.”

She sounded distant and he noticed the change at once.

“Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes tightly, temporarily blocking out the glare from the laptop screen. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”

“Did you take a look at the brochures I emailed you?”

“I haven’t had time. I’m sure whatever you pick will be fine.” She knew she sounded a little irritated but was unable to mask it. The weight of the day suddenly seemed to dawn on her and she wanted nothing more than to go to bed. The last thing she wanted to talk about was moving house.

“I’d really like you to help.” He argued lightly. “There’s a three bedroom going for sale on the Han River. Yoongi says it’s a good deal.”

Ara sighed. “I’m sure he’s right.”

A pause.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I wish you’d stop asking.” She pleaded, feeling on the verge of tears. Jimin seemed to hear the tremor in her voice and thought for a long moment before he spoke, tentatively.

“Maybe you should ask the doctor to change your medication again.”

Ara clutched the phone tightly. “It’s fine.” She tried to smile, hoping it would show in her voice. “I’m feeling much better, just tired.”

“Is that a side effect?”

He sounded concerned and she nodded to herself, though she knew full well she hadn’t taken the time to read the little leaflet properly. “Probably. Maybe I just need some sleep.”

“Okay.” He agreed, though she sensed his trepidation. “I’d better go then.”

He sounded disappointed and Ara felt guilty once more. “I’m sorry Jimin.” She apologised softly. “It really was nice that you called. It’s just these time zones…”

“I understand.”

She wondered if he did. Her eyes felt damp beneath her heavy, false eyelashes, making them itch. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

***

She had forgotten her contact lenses and had to rummage through her Birkin to retrieve her reading glasses. They felt strange on her nose and she wondered how she had ever made it through high school wearing them. At least she had been given a moment’s peace to read through the contract. The office overlooked Ueno Station and the rush of traffic below would be too distracting had someone also been watching her.

‘As a permanent member of the label you should not bring the company into disrepute…’

She read carefully, though the paperwork seemed much larger than the last one she had signed. Some of the phrases looked familiar, such as the declaration of her dedication to being a ‘brand ambassador’, but others were definitely new. Her gaze hovered over one line:

‘...should not jeopardize future success…not limited to personal relationships, controversial thought or opinion including strong ties to political associations, ideologies or groups.’

She expected no less, particularly after Mimi was caught on camera reading a Betty Friedan book. The first part was more complicated and she wondered if Jimin’s management had asked something similar of him.

With a sigh, she continued down the page, skimming the text now but picking up on key words which seemed important, ‘Maintain a visible and transparent social media presence….Agree to the screening and management of said accounts with the view of protecting our artists and their wellbeing.’

By the time she reached the end, it did not seem to matter and there was a strange comfort in realising this. The past three years had been carefully planned, organised, operated; her future written for her from the moment she stepped foot on stage for the first time. The moments of quiet between shows, or during her increasingly short stays back in Seoul, only seemed to complicate things further. Her thoughts were a mess whenever she stopped to breathe for a moment, and maybe it was easier to shut them off altogether; to give over all control and decision-making to someone else than to try and deal with them all herself.

The fountain pen was heavier than she expected as she picked it off the table. It had the company brand embossed on the side in gold-leaf which seemed to reflect the fading light outside as the sun set below the concrete structure of the art museum to the West. Slowly, she signed her name on the final page; the ink blotting a little as she moved aside the bound file and repeated the motion on the second copy. The second attempt was neater as she grew used to the feel of the pen in her hand. There was a knack to it; just like many of the things she had grown to learn in her adult life; underwear should be washed on the delicate cycle, t-shirts should be turned inside out before they are ironed, glasses should not be left in the sink too long, should they smash. She had an assistant to do those things now, and her clothes were mostly dry cleaned these days.

She neatened the piles of paper and put the lid back on the pen, so the ink wouldn’t dry. The first contract had been signed in black Biro, which hadn’t come with such demands. Reaching down, she picked up her black handbag and carefully folded her personal copy, slipping it between her lipstick and glasses case before adding the pen. She had probably paid for it anyway; in her own way. The green light on her phone was blinking and she slid it from the pouch in the lining. The text had arrived while she was in the meeting, which is why she hadn’t heard her phone go off. Her thumb paused over the messenger button for a moment, before she tapped the screen lightly; Jimin’s name and picture coming into view in the little window above the text.

‘One more week! :)’

***

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captain-tch · 3 years

Text

All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive.

TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, VIOLENCE

chapter 11: welcome to a dictatorship utopia

previous chapter

Kiko couldn’t stop the venomous glare she was shooting as Niragi loosened the ties at her feet. Her hands had been freed, the cable ties a bit too tight for her liking. She knew for sure Niragi was responsible for the sharp indents in her skin.

As if her gaze burned into him, he looked up. The corner of his mouth twisted at the stony expression on her face. Finally removing her leg ties, he sent her a wink. Kiko shuddered.

Jumping from her seat, she rushed to Tetsu’s side, pushing his face up and lightly tapping his cheeks. He still wasn’t responding. Her fingers frantically searched for his pulse point, relieved to find a strong pulse beating at her skin.

“Here are your wristbands - the numbers on them reflect your position here at the Beach. The lower the number, the sooner you leave.” Hatter had to wave the wristbands into her eye line for her to even notice.

She cautiously pried them from his hands. On the wristbands, the numbers 112 and 113 were inscribed. Kiko felt the sudden urge to vomit. Being in this hell to complete the set of cards 113 times? She wasn’t sure she would be able to cope.

She fastened the 112 wristband on Tetsu’s wrist, careful to leave it loose enough that it wouldn’t aggravate his skin.

“Chishiya, please can you take our esteemed guests to see Ann? They seem in desperate need of medical attention.” Hatter ordered a member of the Beach. “You can take them to their rooms after.”

Kiko rolled her eyes, thinking about the shoulder pumping blood down her arm. Some of the damage was caused by them, jack bastards.

Reluctantly, a man in a white hoodie peeled himself away from the wall, gesturing for Kiko to follow. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed Tetsu and lifted him, forcing his arm over her shoulder and a steadying hand at his waist. She winced as Tetsu’s fingers kept drifting past her fresh wound with every step they took.

“And one more thing.” Hatter’s words stopped her in her tracks. All Kiko could muster was a slight turn of her head. “Remember to have fun here. This is utopia after all.”

Kiko didn’t acknowledge that with a response. She followed her guide through the winding halls of the Beach, noting the many doors dotted down the hallways. It didn’t take long for Kiko to realise they were at some sort of resort. If she wasn’t certain in her conclusion by the layout, the thumping, heavy bass music seeping into every crevice gave her the confirmation she needed.

The walk to find Ann was an awkward one. Kiko couldn’t find the energy to ask questions, and Chishiya didn’t seem to be the type to freely offer the answers. Still she could feel his curious gaze on her the whole journey.

“I saw you in the tag game.” Chishiya surprised her by speaking. Kiko only grunted, most of her energy taken up by trying to keep Tetsu upright. “You were running around like a headless chicken.”

“We won, didn’t we?”

“Barely.” He looked at Tetsu. “I didn’t see him there.”

“We met at a different game.”

“I suppose you apply the same level of stupidity to each game.” His stare was focused on her and Tetsu’s wounds.

Kiko’s head reeled as if he had slapped her. Almost spitting, she snapped. “I don’t let everyone else do all of the work.”

“You just nearly get yourself killed instead.” If Tetsu wasn’t weighing her down, she would have wiped that little smirk off Chishiya’s face with her knuckles crunching into his nose. Before she could sneer a venomous response, he stopped in front of a door. “This is Ann.”

“Not going to lend a hand?”

He sighed, opening up the door for the pair. Kiko stumbled in with Tetsu, throwing him on a nearby bed. A woman in shorts and cropped hair looked up curiously from her chair, eyes raking up Tetsu’s body with a mild curiosity. The book she had been reading was dog earred, then placed disinterested on the bedside besides her.

She didn’t even speak as she started to gather medical supplies, quickly getting to work. “I suppose you’re the two everyone has been talking about?”

“Legendary already?”

“When a kid gets brought in who looks black and blue and a woman’s been shot? Yeah, it piques some interest.”

“Do you mind me asking what happened?”

Kiko sighed, collapsing into the chair Ann previously occupied. “People.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Ann gestured for Kiko to move towards her. Kiko shook her head, nodding towards Tetsu’s body crumpled on the bed.

“He hasn’t woken up.”

Ann opened her mouth as if to protest, her words dying on her lips as she saw the desperation swirling in Kiko’s eyes. She quickly turned away, barking an instruction to Chishiya. “Clean her up at least.”

Ann started working on Tetsu, redressing bandages and cleaning fresh wounds. Kiko felt a flare of anger slice through her at the sight of road rash marring Tetsu’s cheek. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

Chishiya begrudgingly moved towards Kiko. He reached for a bottle of vodka at Kiko’s feet, splashing it onto a rag. He gestured the bottle to Kiko - she shook her head. Chishiya didn’t push any further, peeling back her shirt from her sweat and blood slicked skin.

Kiko ground her teeth together. That sensation alone was enough to bring a thin film of tears to her eyes.

“Do you know when he’ll wake up?” Kiko hissed the words out, glaring daggers at Chishiya as he dragged the wet cloth over her wound and around it. It was like electric shock - a sudden, sharp pain, followed by a lingering buzz. Every time he moved the cloth she was zapped.

Ann paused. “He’s been through severe trauma. I’m not too sure. The extent of his injuries...”

It didn’t take Kiko much to fill in the rest of the gaps. She knew it could be hours, or worse, days before he woke up. If Niragi and his gang hadn’t knocked him out, he’d be up and walking like before. He’d probably have a severe limp; he’d be conscious.

At the thought of Niragi’s name, her fist instinctively clenched.

“Our visa runs out tomorrow.”

She knew what must be running through their minds. A heavily beaten boy who wasn’t even conscious, and a woman slowly becoming more bandage than skin. They didn’t make for a hopeful pair. Even Kiko was certain one of them would die. Kiko tried not to turn her thoughts elsewhere.

Kiko hated how Ann’s facial expression didn’t change. “You better pray he wakes up before then.”

“Would he even be able to play?”

“Only time will tell.”

Chishiya dragged the cloth over her skin one more time. With how it came back the same colour as before, Kiko knew he did it just to see her jaw clench one more time. “Can we speed this up, An?”

Ann huffed. She finished dressing the wounds for Tetsu, looking down at his beaten body. “He’s done now.”

Chishiya dropped the cloth carelessly. He stepped away from Kiko, a sudden surge of cold hitting her. She hadn’t realised how close they had been sat before, how his breath brushed her cheek, how his fingers warmed her body. His face looked almost grateful to have created the space between them.

Ann moved quickly to fill the space Chishiya left. The warmth returned and Kiko relished in it. She peeled Kiko’s shirt from her shoulder. Kiko’s face scrunched up as Ann assessed the wound, a few colourful words ripping from her body with each glove covered probing finger. "You're lucky this went straight through."

"Not sure how lucky I am." The moment Kiko saw the needle her face paled. Gulping, she looked past Ann, to Chishiya impatiently tapping his foot. “Tell me about the Beach.”

“Can you narrow it down?”

“Anything,” Kiko grunted as the needle slipped in her skin. “Please.”

Tears were forming at the edges of her eyes. She kept her gaze trained on the white haired man. She didn’t dare look at Ann, or the needle that was threading through her skin. She desperately tried not to think about the pulling sensation focused on her shoulder, or how her hands had clenched in around themselves.

“You can dance, drink, party or fuck to your hearts desire. If you follow Hatter’s rules, you can have a good life here.” Chishiya droned on, as if reciting a script. “You can’t leave the Beach unless you’re going to a game or a supply run.”

“That’s why those fuckers attacked us.” Kiko hummed in. A high pitched cry slipped past her lips as Ann dug the needle in deeper this time. Ann didn’t halt in her movements, methodically weaving through the wound. The only tell that Ann had heard her was the firm hand that fell on Kiko’s shoulder for a moment, pushing her down as if to keep her still.

Chishiya chuckled darkly. “You should be careful how you talk about them. Call them a ‘fucker’, and you’ll be killed as a traitor.”

It didn’t take long for Kiko to comprehend what he had said. The guns the militants could carry, the cocky arrogance they exuded. They must be responsible for enforcing the third rule that clearly marked the Beach not as a utopia, but a dictatorship. Kiko was grateful she hadn’t turned down Hatter’s offer. If she had, she would have likely died at the hands of Niragi. She couldn’t imagine anything worse.

"I bet they’d take great satisfaction from it." Kiko hissed, Ann tugging on her skin more harshly. She could feel dampness spreading around her shoulder and she swore to herself. "Are we nearly done?"

An didn't respond to her, continuing to threat the needle through her skin. Kiko's hand shot out to grab a table, world spinning. She wasn't sure how much longer she could cope.

"Now we're done."

Kiko didn’t hide the surge of relief that coursed through her. She gently lifted a curious hand to her shoulder, only for Ann to slap it away. Kiko’s hand fell to her side as An began to bandage the wound. “Come back here tomorrow.”

Sending Ann a grateful smile, she tried to pull Tetsu towards her, tripping over her own feet. Ann reached out a steadying hand, a frown laced onto her brow.

With a bashful smile, Kiko spoke. “Don’t suppose you have anything that could help?”

Somehow Kiko and Ann managed to fold Tetsu into a rolling office chair. Kiko pushed it down the hall, trailing behind a silent Chishiya. They walked down a few flights of stairs before stopping before a door.

He opened the door. Kiko rolled Tetsu in, carefully lifting him from the chair and placing him on the bed. The skin around her freshly stitched skin pulled - she pushed past it, ensuring Tetsu’s head was fully supported by the pillows. A slight dampness spread in her shoulder. It was a small price to pay.

Without realising it, her hand had started to drift down to his cheek. Flashes of Riku disfigured Tetsu and for one sweet moment, she could convince herself this was her brother here, sleeping, and not a stranger she wasn’t even sure she had befriended.

She couldn’t understand it. This familiar stranger held a noose around her neck. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness overcame her each time she looked at him and seeing those wounds made it ten times worse. Kiko tried to tell herself it was because she vowed to him to be his protector. She also knew she wasn’t a very good liar.

Kiko pushed a strand of Tetsu’s unruly hair away from his face. Her gaze moved to her hand.

Red.

A mangled mess.

Blood pooling beneath a horses mask.

A stark streak on the back of a Hawaiian shirt.

“Don’t even bother trying to lock the door.” Chishiya’s voice pulled her out of her daze. She spun to him, catching the back of his hoodie leave the room and out of her line of sight.

Her legs pulled her towards the door before she could comprehend what was happening. She found the lock, testing it with deft fingers.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Oh Tetsu,” Kiko collapsed to the floor. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

#alice in borderland fanfiction #alice in borderland fanfic #alice in borderland #aib fanfiction #aib fanfic #aib

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imaginesmai · 4 years

Text

Peter Parker - Far From Home

This is long, angsty and fluffy! It follows the film, mostly.

Plot: Peter Parker has just been run over by a train. However, he has biggest worries. Like, Beck having you in his grasp.

“Oh my god, Happy”

Peter let out a loud hiss when the needle hit his skin once more, and swallowed down the tears that threatened to leave his eyes. He bit his lip, closed his eyes and endured the pain for a while longer. No more than a few hours ago, he had been all over the moon because you had asked him to go for a walk through the city. He had been inches away from kissing you, had gripped your hand and had told you the truth about his identity; well, you had figured it out, but no one needed to know that. It felt like a dream, that had turned into a nightmare because of his stupidity.

“Just a few more to go, don’t worry” Happy said, using a soft voice that Peter thought he didn’t deserve.

Another pinch, another hiss. The needle, however, wasn’t what hurt him the most. It was a mash up between the betrayal of who he thought he could trust, the guilt crushing into him like waves, and his mind running a mile per hour with the possibilities of the disaster that he had caused.

He tried looking out of the window and focused on the low hum of the plane. It was hard to disassociate from Happy stitching up his shoulder without any anaesthetic, and just when he thought he had managed to keep his breathing under control, the careful man hit some nerve and Peter jumped on his seat.

“Happy!” Peter slammed his fist on the desk, an empty cup making its way to the ground.

“Relax, Peter!” Happy tried to calm him down, but it only angered Peter more. The boy got up in a sudden move, with half of his wound still bleeding. Happy was about to drag him back to the chair when Peter turned around and faced him, showing the angry tears on his eyes.

“Don’t tell me to relax!”

Happy had known Peter for some years by then. He had thought he knew the boy fairly well to say that Peter was nothing but sunshine and rainbows. The kid made videos, introduced himself to everything – and anything – , and sometimes brought sandwiches for him when he thought Happy might not have eaten yet. But the way Peter spoke, showed him that the pain he was feeling was nothing like sunshine and rainbows. In fact, Happy thought no one should ever felt it – especially not a kid, his kid.

“How can I relax when I messed up so bad?” his voice broke at the end into a messy sob, and Peter pressed the back of his bloody hand to his lips. “I trusted – I trusted Beck. I thought he was my friend, I gave him the only thing Mr Stark left behind for me.”

“Kid, maybe – ” Happy started, but Peter cut him off.

“And now, he has her.” Peter let the tears run down his cheeks, supporting himself against the side of the plane. “He has the most important person for me and the deadliest weapon, because – because I can’t take care of anything without messing up”

His legs gave up and Happy didn’t have time to catch him before he stumbled into the nearest sit. The autopilot was, once more, the only thing that could be heard in the plane, besides Peter’s quiet sobs. Happy didn’t know much about what had happened, just that he had received a call from a very long number and had to fly through half of the world to get Peter. Since then, he had had to calm the boy down from a panic attack twice, where he had only muttered your name and asked if everything was real.

“So, please… do not tell me to relax.” Peter breathed out.

He let his body fall down until his head was nearly hitting his knees, and ran a desperate hand through his hair. It was damp with blood and sweat, and he missed so, so much the brief feeling of your hand running through his hair. It had been just a second, after he had freaked out after the whole discovery with Mysterio, and you had done it by chance. But he wanted so desperately to feel it again. Peter and Happy let the silence take over for a few minutes, and Peter used that time to get his shit together.

Finally, he heard movement and raised his head. Happy was sitting now in front of him, leaning towards him with his hands clasped together. There was only a desk between them, and that reminded him of the abysm that dissociated both of them in that moment. While Peter was witnessing his whole word crash, Happy still had to understand where that awful wound came from.

“You have to talk to me, Peter” Happy tried to sound as friendly as possible. He searched Peter’s eyes with his own, and held the smile even when he saw the pain in them.

“Y/N… she’s the girl I had the plan with” Peter started, lowering his gaze again. “I was supposed to kiss her at the top of the Eiffel tower, because she loves those awful love movies and I really, really like her Happy”

Peter started to tell him how Nick Fury had crashed his plan by changing the trip, how Beck had appeared from another universe and he had been fooled like a kid. How you had found a drone that proved his lies and had showed it to Peter, discovering his secret identity in the way. Peter avoided the details about how you had almost kissed in the bridge and how you had hug him for a while longer when he had jumped from that window; not knowing Beck was already at the hotel and had targeted you before Peter had the chance to do anything about it.

“It was all a trap. It – I-I fell for it. A-and he had her all the time, but I couldn’t… reach her” Peter tried to explain how the illusions had messed up with his head, and hadn’t let him save you. “Then – the train, I was hit by a train and I fell unconscious. I woke up before I called you”

“And that guy still has Y/N” Happy finished for him, and Peter nodded.

The shadow of you reaching for him, in Beck’s grasp, just before the train ran him over clouded if eyes. Peter wondered if you knew he was alive; you hadn’t known he was Spiderman until that night, and his powers were still some mystery for him sometimes. He wondered, too, if you were alive. If Beck wanted to, he could have killed you just after the crash.

But his ‘peter tingle’ told him you were still alive, with Beck, in case the plan had gone wrong and Peter came back. That was, probably, what scared him the post. That you would have to endure just an inch of what the illusions made to him.

Peter pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and rubbed them until he saw white spots, and then looked up to Happy.

“I don’t know what to do, Happy” Peter wasn’t afraid of sounding weak, or childish, in front of him. The man sighed. “I just – I just want her back”

“You’re Spiderman. She counts on you” Happy told him with a small smirk, and his eyes were the most real thing Peter had seen since the fight with Mysterio. “You’ll figure something out”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That Flash had a public account with no self-preservation, where he announced himself the biggest fan of spiderman and uploaded the most embarrassing things, came in handy. Peter decided to take care of the suit while Happy drove them to London, where the students were and where he hoped Mysterio would be. Ned also knew about the fiasco of the monsters, and probably MJ did too, so they were probably a threat too.

The suit he was creating was nothing like the old one. He decided to go with the original colours, eliminating the blue and using only black and red. He added a few new webs designs he was working with Tony the last time in the lab, something similar to a parachute so that he could fly down from the plane, and a thicker cloth around his body so that he wouldn’t be defeated so easily.

Like last time. Where he had seen you for the last time.

Breathing through his mouth and giving Happy a hesitant thumb up, he decided to rip the band-aid at once, jumping out without looking back. Suddenly, he was surrounded by air, clouds and pressure. Peter fell through the sky like a crumb, right into the bigger mess he had seen in a long time.

A bus was in flames, flying in the sky and being torn apart like if it was made of clay. People were running everywhere, screaming and looking for their loved ones. As Peter went down, he could see more of the scenario; like Ned gripping Betty’s arm with one hand and leading MJ away with the other, or Mr Harrington trying to calm everyone down while screeching like a fire alarm.

Peter landed on the top of the bridge, hidden from plain sight but still in a good position to see everything above him. Like, Mysterio controlling the drones with a big helmet from inside the glass tunnel, while gripping your arm and dragging you around. He sucked in a breath as he quickly searched for any injuries. You seemed fine, wearing the same floral drees you had been wearing for the opera, then stained by grease and blood. Your hair, that had been pulled up, was obstructing your face as you tried to break free from Mysterio.

But you were alive, still having the will to fight against him, and Peter could almost laugh in relief. He didn’t waste much time in relaxing, instead going for the plan that he had made up in the short trip there.

“Happy?” he muttered against his earpiece. “I – Y/N is down there”

“That’s good, kid” Happy muffled voice came through the earpiece. “You know the plan then. Turn off the earpiece and cause a distraction. I’ll be waiting on the ground, just bring her to me and I’ll put her to safety”

“Alright” Peter smiled shakily. For a moment, he hesitated. He knew he was far from just a kid, but he had really, really wanted to be a trip without any problem. Where he could talk about his feelings with you, and maybe kiss you. His hand trembled for a second; then he pressed the earpiece. “See you in a minute”

The lines of drones designed to protect Mysterio failed to detect Peter when he entered into the cloud, and the boy let his mouth hang open. There were, at least, one thousand drones flying around an open air, shooting and creating an illusion for the rest of the world. In the middle, stood the real Beck, talking angrily with someone and still holding your arm.

From where he stood on one of the drones, he could see some kind of wound on your ankle, that stopped you from moving freely. Peter gripped the end of the drone where he was resting with so much force that the mental bended under his fingers, and he had to stop himself before throwing everything through the roof. Instead of just going for Beck, he focused on the drones.

They seemed to be following a path. Move left twice, then right once, up and down three times. The plan was simple; destroy one of them so that Beck would be forced to check it out, and use the opportunity to lower you to Happy, who would put you in a safe place while Peter ended up the fight.

Peter decided to go with one that seemed lonely. It was probably in charge of something small, like the monster’s finger or his eye. He threw an explosive web to it and hid under the glass bridge when it exploded. From there, he could hear everything.

“No, I want the cape – what was that?” Beck turned around like a maniac, hissing venom into the earpiece. “Why the fuck has a drone exploded?! I said I wanted a perfect job this time!”

A unintelligible response came out of Beck’s helmet, too low even for Peter’s ear to pick up. He watched, from his place under a piece of metal, how his face became redder and redder until a vein popped out of his neck. It seemed that Peter was finally seeing Beck’s true face; a mad man that couldn’t control his emotions.

“I don’t care! I don’t – if this goes wrong, you’re dead! You hear me?! I’m gonna fucking rip you apart!” he threatened into the earpiece. Peter winced each time you were shaken around like a piece of rag, but forced himself to stay in place. “Like everything, I’ll go and solve it. But be fucking prepared for when I come back”

Beck took out the earpiece and threw it over the bridge, emitting a low grunt. Your lip trembled and more tears fell down your cheeks when his grip on your arm became more rough. Over the past few hours, you had cried, begged, yelled, insulted, sassed and said everything you could think of to the man. Still, the only thing you had received had been a nasty bruise on your cheek and a hard stamp on your foot that probably was broken.

“Now, listed to me” Beck kneeled in front of you and frowned. When he talked, spit hit your cheek. “You stay here. Quiet, still and being a good girl. If I find you an inch to the left, I’m going to throw you to the river tied to a drone. And that’s not gonna feel nice. You hear me?”

“Yes” you answered, knowing that if you didn’t he would only get angrier. “Yes, I won’t – I won’t move”

“I know you won’t” Beck scoffed, and inched closer. “But if by any chances certain spider boy comes around, you will stay put too. Because I don’t think his body would take two thousand drones shooting at him, alright?”

You nodded quickly and another sob rose up your throat. Beck got up and dragged you to the side of the bridge. He didn’t bother in tying you, because he had played with your mind enough times to know you wouldn’t move.

A drone appeared in front of him, simulating a small platform where he could step on. Beck spared you a final glare and drifted away into the mass of drones.

Peter, still hidden under the bridge, saw his chance and crawled up to where you were. He took his mask off with one hand and clenched his jaw. His body hurt and his spidey sense was screaming at him to leave, but he kept moving until he was besides you. He took a second to look at you thoughtfully; from head to toe, from how your hair was messy from being dragged and the way you hugged yourself.

It took him a while to move, because he could feel the panic attack rise to his throat, and the bile with it. He was tempted to turn to the side and empty what he had left in his stomach, but swallowed and gave you a hesitant smile. You didn’t move, neither, and he was afraid you thought he wasn’t real. Been there, done that.

“Hey” he whispered, and stepped – or crawled, since he was still in fours – forwards. “Hey, Y/N. It’s me”

“Oh my god” you squealed out, and unfolded the protective shell you had created around your body to put your hands on your mouth. “Oh my –“

“I know, I know” he stopped you, and looked quickly around to check Beck was still busy. “But I’m here. I’m – I’m real. And I can prove it! Ask me –“

“Oh my god, you’re alive!”

Peter barely could do anything before your body crushed into him. He wasn’t prepared for it, so he fell onto his butt and caught both of your bodies with his elbow. Swallowing the hiss of pain, he wrapped his free arm around your middle and hid his face on your neck.

Suddenly, he felt like a kid.

Spiderman wasn’t supposed to do that, but Peter let the first sob break through his throat and pressed you tighter against his body. Time was hot on your trails, and Peter knew that; yet he only took shaky breaths against your neck. You were talking, saying something about Beck, your class and the drones. It was all white noise, compared to his heart beating loudly against his ears.

You smelt like blood, sweat and Beck. It wasn’t a pleasant smell, because Peter was sensitive to them and, after hours of captivity, they weren’t nice. Behind them, there was also your natural smell, the one he found himself sniffling in class when you sat in front of him. It was there, just like Peter’s sanity, hanging by a thread.

Slowly, Peter pulled you back until your faces were only inches apart. He had to shift his gaze to see your features, and his lip shook dangerously. There were tears on his cheeks, and his eyes were glossy.

“I’m gonna get you out of here” Peter whispered. He didn’t want to sound weak, but it seemed that he was the one seeking your comfort. “I – Happy is down there, and he’ll take you to a safe place. I’m sorry… I couldn’t save you. Sorry.”

“It’s okay” you reassured him. “You’re saving me now, Spiderman.”

“But I couldn’t – “

“We can discuss it later” you cut him off with a small wet laugh. “I think I’m going into cardiac arrest if I spend one more second here”

Peter nodded once, twice and a last one more firmly. He got up and helped you to stand by his side, your ankle making your lean against him. Again, with just one hand, he put on his mask and jumped out of the bridge in a blink of an eye. Wind rushed past him like the familiar feeling he was used to, and he felt as if he was just in Queens, swinging back to his apartment after a rough patrol.

The occasional yelp from you and threat woke him up from his daydream.

He landed in an alley, away from the mess and destruction. Happy was waiting for you like the loyal friend he was, with a black car already on and a gun ready on his shelter. The plan was to run in the opposite direction, run by a hospital in case it was needed, and wait for Peter to go back home. It was a rushed plan, open to many problems and obstacles, hence the gun, but Peter didn’t have anything else. With a sigh, he unwrapped his arm from your waist and let you catch your breath.

“Peter – that was – we were, they were just seconds!” you smacked his shoulder lightly, and Peter didn’t have the heart to tell you it had been stitched in the ride there. “Why didn’t – I’m taking so many advantage of that.”

“We can… talk about that. At home” Peter said, voice muffled under the mask. He didn’t want to risk breaking down again, so he didn’t take off the mask. “I’ll see you there. I have, you know, to go back”

“I guess” you shuddered, and Happy honked. Neither of you cared. “Be careful”

“I will”

There went his plan, probably. The beautiful blue necklace he had brought you in Venice was probably destroyed in his backpack, wherever it was then. The kiss, shattered by an improvised kidnapping. His date, ruined by a mad murderer. And the girl he wanted to do all of that with, in front of him ready to go home.

Peter swallowed around nothing, because his throat felt dry.

“I, uh, we could do that again. No the swinging. The – the other part” Peter blushed under the mask, and you raised a brow.

“The part you got it by a train? Or the kidnapping?” you teased.

“No! No that’s – isn’t happening again. I promise. Never, ever again” Peter shook his head and raised his hands. “Like in a million years? Never. I’m sorry. Not that, it shouldn’t –“

Happy honked again, and both of you jumped a bit. He shouted something to Peter and signalled inside of the car and behind you. The place wasn’t ideal, but neither was probably kissing Spiderman. After all, you had just been kidnapped and Peter was going to risk his life for the sake of the humanity.

So nothing wasn’t ideal, but Peter wasn’t either, and that was where the magic of things laid.

There was a sudden breeze hitting the lower part of his face, and the mask rested uncomfortably against the bruises on his cheeks. Shivers ran down his spine and for a moment he was afraid, because his vison was being blocked because of the mask and his ears were covered. Probably a second before having a breakdown, he felt your lips on his.

They were soft but decisive, your hand cradling the back of his head. It wasn’t as good as what he had planned, yet he could live with that. Leaning forward and ignoring Happy’s indignant shout, he responded to the kiss. There were no fireworks or angels singings, and his body still hurt from the beating. Nothing was being solved by kissing, but he surely felt a lot better.

The kiss was awkward because of the mask, and Peter was too petrified to even think about removing it. One of his hands was resting on your hip, while the other just clenched and unclenched at his side. Your fingers cradled the baby hairs of his neck and he shudder, making you smile and push yourself tighter against his.

As quickly as it had come, it went away. You stepped back, lowered his mask and the world screamed for him again. Peter wasn’t sure, for a second, that it had been real; but then he saw the blush of your cheeks, the angry-proud smirk in Happy’s face, and the tingling on the tips of his fingers.

“Yeah, we can repeat this later” you said, and kissed his masked cheek. If he hadn’t had the mask, he would probably had been as red as it. “See you later, Peter”

Not the first date he had imagined, but he was fairly okay with it.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Holland and Peter Parker Taglist

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yvaineseleneposts · 3 years

Text

Kiss and Make up, pt 8

A/N: Loosely based on the film “To all the boys I’ve loved before” as requested by @teehxk

This is part eight of a series and the final part

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Reader

Word Count: 727

Warning(s): swearing

After the talk with my big brother, I felt more comfortable but I still couldn’t really think. My mind was as cluttered as my room. So I picked a playlist from Spotify and decided to clean my room. And I don’t mean the ‘oh, look what I found. This is from 5 years ago’ cleaning, I mean the taking everything out of the closet and drawers and Marie Kondo the shit out of it. During this massive cleaning spree, I thought it would be a great idea to take a walk. I drove myself to the beach and spend almost an hour there, the sand felt so great between my toes and the sound of the waves crashing really calmed me down. I hadn’t been to the beach for so long, I forgot how much I loved it. Then I drove myself home and organised the rest of my room.

It took me two whole days to clean and organise my room how I wanted it. During the second day, Kyan stopped by to apologize. “So you didn’t really love me?” he asks. “Well, I always thought you were attractive, if that makes it any better, but I believe I was more in love with the idea of dating my brother’s best friend”, I explain to him. “Do you love Ashton?” Of all the things he could’ve asked me, he had to ask this and truth be told, I didn’t really have an answer. “I don’t know. I thought I was, I mean we were so good at acting. Sometimes I pretended that it was real, that he actually loved me. It’s so strange really, I send all of those letters and I never got a love letter back”, I chuckle and look at Kyan. “Maybe you just never noticed.” After this commend, he just leaves and I am flabbergasted. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I walk back to my room to finish the cleaning when I notice the old shoebox sitting on my desk. I open the box and inside I find all the notes Ashton has ever send me. It dawned on me what Kyan meant by “maybe you just never noticed” because all of Ashton’s notes where in fact small love letters. I didn’t think anything of them at first, some I had never actually read, simply because we were pretending and there it was, a note written with a different colour pen and the date written above it from a few days before the ski trip. I looked over to the clock on my wall, five thirty-five Ashton was still at basketball practice. I quickly freshen up and change my tracksuit for something a little more attractive. Then I run down the stairs and yell at my dad that I might be home for dinner around seven. As I step into the car, my nerves start to kick in.

I make my way to school as quickly as I can, while still following the rules, of course, we wouldn’t want a speeding ticket when I have to declare my love. As soon as I arrive at school, I don’t even bother parking the car, I just stop the car and run as fast as I can to the basketball court.

“Luke! I yell across the field, “have you seen Ashton?!” “I think he went to the dressing rooms, because we’re already finished for the day”, Luke replies and I make a B-line towards the changing rooms. As I walk in calling for his name, I feel like Hilary Duff in that Cinderella film with Austin Ames, where she delivered that bad-ass speech. Suddenly, I see him, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still wet, surrounded by a few of his mates. I don’t think about it twice, walk right up to him and kiss him on the lips. “I love you too. I am so sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner, it’s just that Cam was fucking with my mind and I didn’t know if I co-” and right there and then he stops me and kisses me on the lips. (honestly to be honest the biggest cliché ever but eh it’s not so bad when it’s you getting kissed) “So what now?” Ashton asks. “No more contract, no more weird ass situations, just honesty and us.”

_______________________________________________________________

Hiii guys,

So this was the final part, I want to thank you guys for being so patient with me, school and internship have been killing me slowly… but yeah anyways I hope you enjoyed the series. And request for blurbs and one short are always open.

All the love, me xx.

#ashton #ashtonirwin #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #5sos ashton #irwin #ashton imagine #ashton irwin blurb #ashton blurb #5sos imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine

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desdamona-evangaline · 3 years

Text

Karma, Kayano, Nagisa and Sugino were excited. Well. Kayano, Nagisa and Sugino were exited.

“Are we really going to spend our Friday night looking at bones?” Wines Karma.

“Come on, they got a new exhibit! It’s the fourth largest bone found ever!” Said Sugino.

“”I heard it’s a dinosaur hip.” Chimed in Kayano.

“Plus,” said Nagisa “Koro-sesei said it would be a learning experience”

“Fine whatever”

Kayano leapt to her feet “Forget the bones!”

Exclamations of dismay ensued. Karma had just gotten on bored.

“No, no! Apples releasing a new iPad! And giving away free ones as a promotion! All we have to do is make a video about apples to win!”

“Come on, I want to see the museum.” Said Nagisa.

“I’ll help” said Sugino. “We’ll get Okajima to film.”

“Yes! Get ready. I feel a brainstorm coming on”

They grabbed a napkin and started drawing their heart stopping Apple based videos. This would be epic. Tales of Apple drama, costumes, lighting. This would be bigger than the Titanic!

“Didn’t that sink?”

“Shut up Karma!”

Karma laughed at their antics. Nagisa on the other hand frowned. “I wanted to go to the museum. It’s closed for repairs for a week starting Saturday.”

“We can still go”

“Um....” Nagisa mumbled vaguely. Things had been a tad... awkward since Karma had come back. They hadn’t really hung out together for long since the whole.... friendship break up. He didn’t want to be stressed all evening.

“Look, it’s fine. It’s not like... a big deal.” Pointed out Karma.

“It’s just hanging out.”

“”I guess. Sure”

Kayano popped up smiling. “Aww, like a date?”

Nagisa nearly fell off his chair. Oh God. Mortified.

“No, not a date” hissed Karma. “Just. Hanging out.”

“Have fun on your .not. date.” She cooed before running for dear life. Sugino looked at Karmas face and made a swift exit. Nagisa’s was trying to fight his blush. Oh God he was all red. Idiot!

“It’s not a date.” Karma said again, rather forcefully.

“Just. Hanging. Out”

“Got it.”

“See you at 7”

Karma casually walked away praying his face didn’t rival the colour of his hair. He was not going on a date with Nagisa. And his heart certainly wasn’t beating any harder than normal. Nagisa buried his head in his school bag. It wasn’t a date. Stop panicking! What should he wear?

It took Kayano took zero seconds to convince Okajima to film their video. The thought of an IPad with high zoom camera filled him with glee. Disturbing glee but glee all the same. Nakamura’s blackmail sences were tingling. A date? Between the two most oblivious boys in the class? She new what she was doing this evening. She grabbed Hinano. Now her sights were set on the boys she needed a new accomplice. The girl was easy to convince.

“Finally!! My OTP!!”

“Whatever, bring your binoculars.”

“Trust me. We won’t miss a single second of this legendary meet up”

After school Kayano, Sugino and Okajima asked/begged/bribed Koro-Sensei to fetch them costumes. Their grand idea? An interpretation of apples through ballet. The competition would never see it coming. Kayano wore a green tutu, Sugino a red ballet jacket and shorts. Okajima stood by with the camera. The only problem? None of them knew anything about ballet.

“Don’t you like.... stand on your toes? And sort of spin?”

“I think I can do an arabesque.”

“Jumping is involved?”

The bone museum was just as eventful as one could expect. By which it wasn’t eventful at all and Karma was going insane.

“Are we done yet? It’s a rock! It’s not like it can move”

“It’s a fossil and I want to look at it a little longer”

“It’s a grey rock. I’ll find you 20 outside, can we go now?”

“Don’t you think it’s lovely?”

“It’s almost as picturesque as you my darling little bon...”

“I will hit you with the bone if you finish that sentence”

The Apple ballet plot line was fabulous. Stupendous. Electronic. But the skills? Less so.

“Just twirl. Twirl. Kayano for the love of God TWIRL!”

“I’m basically standing on my big toe do you think this is easy!”

“Sugino, you twirl then!”

No response came from the pile of body that used to be Sugino. Arabesque’s were harder than you’d imagine. Okajima dumped the camera and leapt onto the podium they were using as a stage.

“Just go on one leg and spin like this!”

Kayano didn’t know exactly what happened. After blacking out for a moment she came to under a desk, Sugino’s knee on her head and Okajima stuck in a broken floor board. Time for the good old YouTube tutorial.

Karma kicked himself internally. What was he doing? Why did he say that? This was supposed to be a causal meet up between friends and he was ... flirting? Could you even call that flirting? What ever it was it certainly wasn’t casual. Nagisa was staring straight ahead at the bone. Stop blushing stop blushing stop blushing. Karma was just teasing. This was not. A. Date. He didn’t really mean it. Blushing harder under Karma’s grin, he fought off any unacceptable emotion. But.

He had called him lovely.

Hinano and Nakamura lurked behind a display of elderly bow ties. They came armed with a romance magazine including a stage by stage guide to love. Stage one. The Compliments. Already a solid start. Hinano screamed internally.

“Lovely?” Thought Nakumura. Interesting choice. He’d have to up the anti if he wanted to get anywhere with Nagisa. The boy was completely oblivious. Get down on one knee and he’d ask if your shoelaces were untied.

“I’m hungry.” Announced Karma, formally ending their bone viewing.

Since it wasn’t a date they didn’t plan on getting dinner anywhere fancy. What they were getting was barbaque food. From a literal hole in a brick wall. The smell alone was enough to throw romance out the window.

“It smells like..”

“Best not to think about it.”

“My leg is broken”

“Your leg is not broken”

“It’s broken!”

“Sugino your fine! Do the jump!”

“I swear to God Kayano I quit!”

“If you quit I’ll make you wish you’d never been born!”

All in all, thought Okajima to himself, letting the camera roll through out the afternoon showed scenes more entertaining than traditional ballet ever could.

“That is the most disgusting food I’ve ever seen” hissed Hinano.

This couldn’t be right. Even Karma couldn’t be idiotic enough to bring a date to this mess of a restaurant. They were sitting on the side walk for goodness sake. And the guy running the place looked like he was considering a murder. Come to think of it that’s probably where the meat came from.

“This tastes terrible Karma. Amazing job!”

“Karma laughed and took another bite of the thing that resembled a burger. See? They could hangout. No feelings. Just good friends. Nagisa was just a good friend who was illuminated by the white street light like an angel. Who’s eyes almost glowed and who was sitting close enough to Kiss...”

“OTP for life!!!” Hissed Hinano as Nakamura punched the air. 10 more inches. 5! 4, 3, 2

Nagisa’s phone made all 4 of them jump.

He answered to hear Kayano’s frantic whispers.

“We need help. Susan needs a hospital!”

“Hospital? Who’s Susan?”

“We were pirouetteing” explained Kayano as she dodged a thrown plate, “and Sugino accidentally threw me into a tree, the branch broke and I fell on a deer. Her antler broke! Her names Susan and she’s trying to kill us!”

“I don’t think girl deers have antlers”

“THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU SHOULD BE TAKING FROM THIS CONVERSATION!”

“Alright I’m on my way. Karma, we need to go save Kayano and Sugino from a distressed deer.”

“Sure” he muttered. “Why not”

Nakamura comforted Hinano. She would kill that deer with her own bare hands. Or maybe with a baseball bat.

It took a long time to get the deer into an animal hospital. He (or she) was a biter. The nurses criticised Karma’s method of transportation. In fairness it did look pretty odd when they arrived dragging a basket full of deer tied up with fairylights. But, as Karma argued, they did arrive at their destination. All they had to do now what wait as the nurses got the animal painkillers and possibly anger management therapy. Now Nagisa, Kayano, Sugino and Karma were in the waiting room recovering.

Exhausted Nagisa rested his head on Karma’s shoulder. Not in a romantic way or anything.

“Awww” cooed one lady.”Your such a cute couple”

“Oh! No.” Said Nagisa quickly lifting his head.

“We’re just friends.”

“Why?”

“Ummm”

“You’d be great together” man joined in.

Karma shook his head “no, all the dating stuff wouldn’t work out”

“If I may chime in,” Said another guy in a hat.

“Are you avoiding romance because of your fear of separation?”

“My what?” Karma looked personally insulted. “I don’t have a fear of separation”

“Listen young man” said a women behind Nagisa.

“You need to reassure that red headed fellow you will always be there for him.”

“I don’t want to talk about this” said Nagisa, mortification flooding through him.

“Perhaps that’s what’s driving you apart” said hat guy. “Your worried he won’t appreciate and except your efforts”

Sugino and Kayano took turns holding vending machine popcorn.

“No, I just don’t want to date him. Karma’s my friend”

“Is he. Or is he just putting up with you” asked some girl to the left.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, I’m just telling you what you tell yourself buddy”

Karma stood up angrily. “Let’s stop this right there, our love life is none of your business”

“So you do have a love life?”

Two nurses restrainted Karma from attacking the hat guy.

Nakumura crashed through the door with Hinano at her heels.

“Everyone shut up! It’s time for your moment! Stage 3 happens 4 hours into the date! You have 86 seconds!”

“The hell are you talking about?” Yelled Karma as Nagisa buried his head in his hands.

“Oh God!” Screamed one women, “It’s about to get real!”

“Lady you need to chill” hissed Sugino through his popcorn. “Karma! This is your time! Tell him how you feel!” Wailed Hinata.

“What is going on?” Whispers Nagisa.

“It might be too late soon!” Called hat guy.

“Am I dead?” Whispered Nagisa.

“Do it! We support you!” Yelled the nurse.

“Am I in hell?” Nagisa asked himself.

“Take the initiative Karma! Kiss him!”

Kamra threw himself at Nakamura with the sole intent to kill.Nagisa tackled him.

“No killing Nakumura. Or me after this”

The audience gasped. Hinata cheered. Kayano clapped. Nagisa kissed. And kissed. And kissed.Silence. Staring down at Karma Nagisa waited for his fist. It never came.

“I can’t believe this was our first date. Do-over?”

The whole room cheered.

The next day Karma and Nagisa headed out for first date round two. Nakumura and Hinata spread the news. Kayano and Sugino met to discuss their aid to the Karmagisa cause. It was worth it, even though they never got an iPad.

Then Sugino frowned

“Hey, what happened to Okajima?”

Okajima bowed as he received his prize. His short film “What two mental ballerinas would do for an iPad” won him first place. Life was good.

@darlingimawitch

#darlingimawitch #Pluto #AssClassSecretSanta2020

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corolune · 3 years

Text

Breathing Underwater / Chapter One — Zephyr

AO3 / Tumblr Alex had always known he wasn’t like other children. They didn't hear the song of the ocean in their ears, or feel the thrumming rhythm of the waves in their hearts like he did. Then he finds a silvery coat made of seal fur, glistening and calling him to slip it on — and everything he thought he knew about himself washes away like foam on the sea. Alex Rider is a selkie, and this is the story of how a seal becomes a spy. Prologue 〰 Chapter 1: Zephyr 〰 Chapter 2: Nimbus

zeph·yr — a light wind from the west.

Alex Rider was seven years old when he learned that none of the other children heard the ocean’s song in their ears. A half-formed rhythm that beat in time with his breath, the way the Thames rushed in tune with the hustle and bustle of London.

Mrs. Smith held her finger to her lips, quieting the loud chatter of the class, and beckoned Katie to continue her show and tell.

“And this one,” Katie held up a large, spiralling shell in her hands, “is called a conch shell. When you hold it up to your ear, it sounds like you’re at the beach! It has ocean sounds in it and it’s really really cool. Miss, can I pass it around, for everyone to hear?”

“Yes, you may, but we’ll have to be quiet so we can hear the ocean waves, right class?”

As the shell made its way around the circle of children, Alex leaned into Tom and whispered, “Why would you need a shell to hear the ocean? I can hear it just fine wherever I am!”

Tom shot him a curious look from under his curly, dark fringe. “Yeah, you can imagine how it sounds, but with the shell you can really hear it!”

Alex furrowed his brow, shaking his head, but decided to wait and see what exactly this ocean sound was. The others oohed and ahhed excitedly, holding the conch up to their ears, and soon enough it was his turn.

Tom bounced in place, eyes going wide as he handed the shell over to him with a grin. Cupping it gently to his ear, he listened and waited, but there was nothing other than the sound of air rushing through the twists and turns in the spirally shell. Squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hand over his other ear, he strained his hearing, but it still sounded nothing like the ocean.

When he blinked his eyes open, it was to Tom’s concerned look, and his neighbour poking his arm.

“Come on Alex, it’s my turn!” James whined, as Alex continued to stare at the shell in his hands. He passed it over to him, leaning over to Tom.

“That didn’t sound anything like the ocean.”

“What are you talking about, mate? That totally sounded like waves on a beach!”

“Waves? But the ocean sounds like a song Tom, and there’s just air in that shell!”

Mrs. Smith cleared her throat, and Alex realized that his whisper was perhaps not much of a whisper after all. “Would you boys like to share what’s going on?”

“Sorry Miss,” Alex mumbled, as Tom continued to glare righteously at him.

“Tom? Is something the matter?” Mrs. Smith raised her eyebrow pointedly.

“Sorry Miss, it’s just that Alex said the shell doesn’t sound like the ocean at all!” At this, the rest of his classmates' voices rose into a rumble and Alex’s cheeks grew pinker by the second.

“It sounds like waves, I suppose, but not like the ocean,” he tried to explain.

“But waves are the ocean!” James exclaimed, while Crystal gasped at him. “If it sounds like waves, it sounds like the ocean,” she said.

Alex sunk deeper into his seat and vowed to never bring up this topic again. Never ever. Especially the bit about the ocean song, which Tom teased him about for weeks afterward.

〰〰

Alex spent his days doing schoolwork, playing football, and sneaking onto the tube with Tom to go to the shops downtown. He learned to avoid other topics, too, like how Ian left him alone at home, or in a hotel when they were on holiday. Or how sometimes, Ian would come home from work trips covered in bruises and scrapes. He made friends easily enough, and then Ian hired Jack to keep him company. It helped him forget that feeling of loneliness that hovered over him like a rain cloud, as if there was something he was missing, like the melody of a song he couldn’t quite remember.

Sometimes, when he was alone at night, he stared up at the stars from his little window and wondered what his parents were like. He barely remembered much of when he was little. Sometimes he thought of the light on the surface of the sea, reflecting into the water below where kelp waved in giant fronds. He remembered cold air on his face and the smell of salt. His parents must have loved the sea, to have taken him to the beach as a baby.

The months passed by, and he got a new bicycle, learned Jack was terrible at cooking, and finally watched the X-Men films Tom had been gushing about. Soon enough, his tenth birthday had come and gone, and summer was upon them.

When the high tides came, at his uncle’s lake cottage in the country, Alex’s blood thrummed hard in his ears. The dark night blanketed the small hamlet, an inky sky bleeding into the city lights that he could see far into the distance. A little lake, too big to be a pond, rippled in the balmy breeze as he lay propped up on his elbows in the grass nearby. If he closed his eyes he could hear the water’s shush-shush-shush in time with his heartbeat.

He was a city boy, but something about the vast, empty lake called to him. He supposed other ten year olds would feel a bit frightened, left alone in the wilderness for hours, where the nearest city was a half hour’s drive away. He never liked the country very much, not when he and Ian went into the woods or hiked up a mountain. But here, there was something that quelled the itchy feeling that had him feeling lost, like he was holding a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit.

When he heard the car rumbling on the dusty path, he rolled onto his knees and peered over the cattails in the moor. Ian was back from his trip into the little town, and maybe now he would finally stop being so mysterious and tell him the real reason they were here.

“Alex! Come and help me with these,” Ian called, opening up the boot of the car.

Scrambling down the grassy knoll, Alex reached him to see old crates and crumbling piles of paper amongst the grocery bags.

“What’s all this? Where’d you get all this old stuff?”

Ian smiled crookedly. “Help me haul it inside and I’ll tell you!”

The crates were splintered and creaky, rocking with every step on the uneven cobblestone of the driveway. The papers were bundled into musty files, but between the two of them it was short work to gather everything into the foyer of the little cottage.

“So did you drive us up here to go to an estate sale or something without me? Bet I could have found something a lot cooler than some old paperwork.” Alex grinned as he put down the last box.

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t buy any of this. Lucky for me no one had come across it yet.”

He pried one of the crates open. Inside, there were soft cotton dresses, yellowed with age, in floral prints and geometric lines in vibrant colours.

“These things, they’re your mother’s.”

He blinked, looking up sharply.

“My mum’s? But...I thought there wasn’t...” Alex stumbled over his words, confused and hopeful all at once. “I thought there wasn’t anything left of hers,” he finished in a soft, timid voice, feeling something pull at his chest. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, trying to remember his mum’s face. The smell of sea salt wafted up from where he shook out the folds. A large seashell, curved into a spiral, fell out as he lifted it away, clattering onto the wooden floor, and he reached after it. In his hands, the shell was smooth.

“I didn’t think so either,” Ian said. “But last time I came up here, remember I had to check on some things for our holiday?”

Alex nodded, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears like the thrum of the ocean.

“Helen—your mum—she had a safe in the little bank in town. Just by chance that the man there recognized the name Rider, good thing we weren’t playing disguises, eh?”

Alex had moved onto untying the twine from the bundles of files. The folders were dry, caked with dust, and brittle. The papers inside were less dusty but equally crisp with age. Inside they held an eclectic mix of newspaper clippings and postcards, photographs of people he didn’t recognize, and pressed flowers. Little mementos of a life lived, a life that Alex had had little chance to wonder about.

His parents had died in an accident. But in him now, seeing these objects that his—mum—had once lovingly saved, a spark flared into a hopeful warmth. He read and read his mother’s journal until his eyes slid shut, and he felt Ian lift him up and tuck him into bed. He dreamt of Venice and Prague, of coffee shops and delicate flowers blooming under gentle care. His dreams were full of strange people and stranger plots surrounding both his mum and his dad.

〰〰

The next morning when he woke, he could feel the ocean’s rhythm in his ears, louder than it had ever been before. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, to see Ian already awake and halfway through his toast.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Ian said around a mouthful of crunchy bread.

Plopping into a chair, Alex stole some from the pile for himself, spreading a very generous amount of jam onto his piece.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. The jam was really very good. Actually, now that he thought about it, he felt very good too, light and happy for the first time in, well, a long time. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even make out words in the usually jumbled melody in his ears.

Come...sea...little...

He chewed over this development as he finished breakfast, glancing at the crates and papers still piled up in the foyer from the night before. There was just one box he hadn’t gotten to before falling asleep — it was sealed shut so tightly that he hadn’t been able to pry it open by himself.

Ian noticed his gaze. “We can bring those with us for you to keep, when we drive back home.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Alex nodded. “But I didn’t get a chance to look inside that one, can you help me get it open?”

Without noticing it, he found himself in front of the small box and running his fingers over the little notches in the wood, as if he’d been pulled towards it. A dull rhythm echoed in his ears like a siren song.

Armed with a sharp knife, his uncle pried open the lid. Whatever was inside was wrapped in packing paper and plastic, and an unassuming beige envelope rested on top. “For Alex R.,” it read in curly script, and the back of it was sealed shut with a sticker in the shape of a round, pink heart.

Ian leaned over his shoulder, humming with interest at this new mystery. “I’d reckon your mum left you this, Alex. Strange that I never came across any of this when you were younger.”

“You mean this is all a lucky accident? If we hadn’t come here...if you hadn’t gone to that bank, I wouldn’t have ever gotten any of this?” It wasn’t the first time Alex had had this thought since Ian first told him what he’d brought, and it seemed a little too much like coincidence.

“Perhaps, but then again, maybe she’d assumed you’d go looking for her things one day or another. Either way, it doesn’t matter — go on, open that envelope, I’m dying to see what’s inside just as much as you are!” Ian grinned, and Alex could feel the excitement rolling off of his uncle, who was always thrilled to play detective. Truth be told, he was excited too — it wasn’t everyday that he discovered an old family treasure.

The sticker peeled open easily, its stickiness long since disappeared. Inside, there was thick, creamy stationery paper, folded into thirds, and something shifted inside with a dull clinking sound. A golden chain slid out, flowing into his palm like liquid metal. Tiny shells dotted the chain and a small seashell hung from the middle.

“I remember that necklace,” Ian said thoughtfully. “I only met your mother a few times, but I can remember her wearing it — the seashell opens like a locket, I think, though I can’t recall what was inside it.”

Alex was more interested in the letter than a piece of glittering, girly jewelry, and he was happy to hand it off to Ian to inspect. Unfolding the elegant paper, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see his name on it, but he still couldn’t hold back a small gasp. The curly letters were undoubtedly his mother’s.

Dearest Alex,

In this box is something that has been yours since the day you were born. I’ve kept it safe and hidden, and hopefully you will find it one day when you need it. I wish that I was able to share this with you, face to face.

You must know by now, that you are different from other children; I am sure you never had to be taught to swim, and that the waves call to you in a way unlike anything else. You make friends easily, and others are charmed by you when you smile. You get those traits from me.

There is something else you get from me, too. Like me, you are a selkie, and your life is equally in the sea as it is on land. The sealskin in this box — this is yours. Wear the coat and you will swim as a seal, slip it off and you will walk once more.

Make sure to never lose your skin, always keep it safe and hidden, always keep it a secret. If you lose your skin, you must find it before someone else takes it and holds power over you.

My mother gave me this necklace, and now I’m giving it to you—a rare shell that will be a compass to your coat should you ever lose it. I hope that one day, you will find someone you trust with your life, someone you can share your secret with.

I love you with all my heart, my darling son.

Your Mum,

Helen R.

With slightly watery eyes, he looked up to see Ian nonchalantly trying to read the letter from where he sat next to him. Nothing in the letter made any sense to him—he’d heard of selkies of course, but the idea that his long lost mother was a seal was so weird that it passed right over his head. Distantly he noticed Ian taking the letter from him to read properly, but Alex was too much in the midst of an identity crisis to notice.

The soft, crinkling sounds of paper roused him from his circling thoughts. He turned to see Ian crumpling up the packing paper and tearing open the thin plastic that covered the contents of the box, tipping it over.

Soft, white fur with patches of grey unfurled onto the floor, somehow familiar, beckoning Alex. Something in his chest unfurled along with it, and for the first time that feeling of something missing, that yearning for something more, dissolved like foam on the sea. He ran his hands through the short, white fur, and knew that this was what he’d lost, and now found.

“This is yours,” Ian said.

That night, as Ian sat at the dock and Alex, clad in the silvery fur, dove into the cold lake water shimmering with moonlight, everything he thought he knew about himself washed away.

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#my writing #alex rider #fic #my fic #fanfiction #breathing underwater #selkies #selkie au

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nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

#dream smp #mcyt #irl fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #nihachu #ranboo #vee's writing #2021

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [16]

Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

➜ Words: 3.5k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

He’s never there. Like a ghost, Jimin vanishes from thin air. As if he never even moved in. Like you didn’t wake up one morning to a moving truck and cardboard boxes everywhere in the hall that made you trip. Like you never spent countless nights teaching him how to sing and the ins and outs of Broadway. Like you never came home after a long day to a brunette boy in pajamas cooking and singing to himself at the stove. It feels like a dream. The only evidence that he existed in your life is lingering traces of him left in your apartment, toothbrush, hair products, soft sweaters that you still wear and bring up to your nose and cry into. Even after three weeks, you’re still sobbing even when you try not to. As long as there’s silence, your mind wanders back to him and tears start shedding down your cheeks. You feel the mattress dip. “Y/N.” Yeonjeon pulls back the covers and sighs at the mess you’ve become. She hands you a cold water bottle. “For God's sake, stop crying. Aren’t you tired? Drink some water before you become dehydrated and die.” “I….I-I’m sorry,” you hiccup, wiping your face with the back of your head. You lift yourself to drink the bottle while you’re still hiccuping. The actress sighs. “What’s the point of drinking if you’re going to cry it out. Finish the bottle!” she shouts when you begin to put it down only half-finished. You listen to her and finish it off. “I’m sorry.” You pull the covers to your chin, tempted to drag it over your head again, but you know she’ll rip it off of you. You’ve been here long enough to know that Yeonjeon hates talking to lumps — she prefers to see facial expressions and to sickly revel in how upset someone can look from her jabs. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too, alright?” she grumbles and sighs. Yeonjeon would offer to take you out and find a rebound, but it doesn’t seem like you're even close to being at the stage of wanting to go outside. “Don’t you have your performance in two weeks?” You don’t make a sound, merely sniffling. You stare at the huge mountain of tissues on the nightstand from wiping your snot and tears. “You gotta get better before then, come on, Y/N. You’re not even trying right now. At least two weeks ago you took a shower. Have you even washed your hair since then?” You stay quiet for a second before your lips part— “I...I love him.” “Uh-huh. He probably loves you too, but y’all are dumbasses.” The thought that Jimin might still love you has you sobbing even louder. You wail, shifting in her covers to face away from her. Yeonjeon slaps her hand against her face, wishing it would knock her right out so she wouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit. “Oh my god. Listen, I love when you come over, but this is pretty pathetic even for you, Y/N. It’s been three weeks. When are you planning to go home?” “I,” you hiccup, “don’t know.” “Are you scared of running into him or what?” That’s not it. You spent a week in your apartment before taking refuge in Yeonjeon’s home. But that short time frame was enough to realize the chances of you running into him are slim. Jimin is seldom there. He hasn’t moved out, technically still your neighbor, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s living somewhere else now. Or crashing at some pretty girl’s house and sleeping in her bed instead. “No.” “Then what are you scared of?” That you’ll come home to your empty apartment and realize he’ll never come back. That you’ll realize it was your fault that you kicked him out of your apartment and he’s disappeared off the face of the planet because of it. That all his lingering belongings are still there, belongings that you could never throw out. You can’t even bring yourself to call or text him. He probably wouldn’t pick up. And knowing that the silence is inevitable no matter what you do is the worst. “I love him…” “Yeah, and I fucking would love it if you got off your ass.” Yeonjeon isn’t very good at comforting people. She made that known when you came to her. But she serves the truth on a silver platter, and says what you need to hear. “You’ve said you’ve loved him probably a million times by now. I’m sick of it. I get it. You two are dumb and pathetic for each other. But unless you want your career to go down the drain like your relationship, you should clean yourself up, Y/N.” You cry louder and she rolls her eyes. But as you cry, vision fogged up by saltwater, you peel the covers off of you. Slowly, you get to your feet. “There you go.” Yeonjeon nods in approval, watching you stumble to the bathroom after grabbing your script from the other nightstand and pressing it to your chest like it’s a lifeline. You try singing in the shower in between your sobs and reciting your lines in the middle of your hiccups.

The door to your apartment opens. You’ve returned home for a full day now after much convincing and Yeonjeon threatening to throw you out the street if you don’t get your shit together. You’ve decided that you’re going to take it one day at a time. But you can’t help the way you stop in front of his door instead of leaving for rehearsals. You linger. Eyes stinging. Until you tear them away and lurch down the hall, rounding the corner to the stairwell. It’s bad timing. At the same moment as you turn, the door to Jimin’s apartment opens. The pair of you miss each other by sheer seconds. And if you saw him, you’d find that Jimin’s become a ghost. His skin is a sickly shade, hair in disarray, nose red, the underneath of his eyes also a shade of scarlet from incessantly rubbing and crying. Even now his eyes are still glossy. He braces himself against the wall, facing your apartment door. “Y/N?” Jimin’s voice cracks. It’s the most horrible sound that’s left his throat. He knocks on your door again, knuckles weakly rapping against the surface. “Y/N? I...need to talk.” No one answers. He tries the bell, but to no avail. Of course. You wouldn’t want to talk to someone like him — not face to face, not through text, not through phone. You probably hate him now and he wouldn’t blame you. He’s a selfish prick that’s time and time again taken you for granted. “I...I love you, please...p-please, open the door,” Jimin sobs and silence answers. He tightens his hold on the note in his hand. He was scared this would happen — that you wouldn’t want to talk to him, that you wouldn’t want to see him. So he tried to write something instead to hand to you. He wasn’t sure what he could say to make it better in a few words, and he wrote a million versions, a thousand different things. But the note that was in his hands was the one he chose in the end, the final one he decided on. It’s written carefully, as best as he could with a shaking hand. But as he looks down to the white square of paper in his hand, he doesn’t know if he can slip it underneath your door. After another beat, he crumples the note in his fist. Jimin turns back to his apartment, shuts the door and throws it into the garbage. Your eyes never see it. It never read his words— I’m sorry. I love you.

After months of filming and editing, the amount of grueling work you knew it took, it’s finally finished. You tug on your black dress, lost in the sea of glamour and high-maintenance movie critics. But you still search for Jimin. Yeonjeon called you a dumb bitch when you expressed that you wanted a ticket to the early premier of Jimin’s movie. But she gave it to you anyway through her connections. The Broadway actress even helped you slap on a thick layer of makeup to hide the mess you were in for crying all day and night. She didn’t come herself — citing that she wanted to be spared from your stupidity. You wish you could spare yourself too, but you missed him too much to worry about your pride and how idiotic you were for doing this. Though it seems like your effort is futile, that you’re being played again by the world, that you’ve been dealt a bad hand. You can’t find Jimin in the crowd no matter how hard you search with your eyes or where you turn. Eventually, you’re pushed into the theater, forced to take your place at the very back in the corner. Even then you don’t see Jimin. The director and main actors briefly introduce the movie, giving a speech of how wonderful everything was. And Jimin’s missing the entire time. It’s not until the lights dim and five minutes into the movie, you see a black shadow enter and quickly sneaking to one of the front row seats. In the darkness of the theater, all you’re allowed to see is the back of Jimin’s head. But at least you get to see his face on the big screen. You get to hear his voice. You get to feel the way your heart blooms with pride. And you cry quietly in the theater, wiping your tears away with hopes that no one notices. // People file out gradually, spilling out of the theater. Jimin’s able to talk to a few people who compliment the movie’s storyline and his skills. He musters a smile, but it’s hard to network when his mind isn’t in the right state. He knows he’s losing out on chances when he’s not staying focused, but he can’t come to feign happiness. It’s in the middle of a conversation with some wife of a critic that the corner of his eye catches something. Or rather, someone familiar. His head whips over. “Excuse me….” Jimin walks away as if entranced. Then his footsteps speed up. He swears he saw it — the strands of your hair, the profile of your face, your eyes, lashes, the slope of your nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow. He saw a familiar black dress, the one you never got to wear outside, the one he saw on the night he forgot about his promise. “Y/N?” Jimin shouts above the crowd of people like a crazed man. He moves past them, ignoring people’s grumble, gasps, and dirty looks. “Y/N?!” He fights through the group of people, lifting himself to look over people’s heads. He feels like he’s swimming against the current of the sea, a horde of people in between you and him. After a moment, Jimin manages to stumble out from the mass of people, and he turns his body to every direction possible. But you’re gone. Vanished. Like it was a mere figment of his desperate imagination. That’s right. It’s impossible. How could you come here? Why would you? “Are you alright, man?” Jungkook finds him, doe eyes wide and full of concern. Jimin’s still looking everywhere he can, brows furrowed deep enough to hurt, the knot ruining his features. “I...I thought I saw her.” Jungkook finally understands and sighs, patting his friend on the back. “I’m sorry, dude.” And the actor is genuinely sympathetic. He knew how much Jimin loved you.

For a long time, neither of you could find equilibrium between your relationship and your ambitions. It seemed to be one or the other. It seemed like you had to make a choice, a choice neither you nor Jimin wanted to make when they were both equally valued. But now you've lost half of what you wanted, a huge component lost — and suddenly, there’s so much time left. Suddenly, it feels so empty. The production you were working on was going exceptionally well. Now that you’re performing in the evenings, mornings and early afternoons have become open time slots. Time used to feel so short and fleeting, like you were constantly trying to grasp for it. But now it mocks you by showing up in abundance. You wonder if Jimin feels the same way now that his movie's complete. You’re singing alone in an empty studio. It’s a good excuse for you to not go back to your apartment and have to be faced with the fact that he's never there anymore. But you’re interrupted halfway through a duet you used to sing with Jimin by a knock on the door. “Hey there! Thought I'd find you here. I hope I’m not interrupting.” A small smile lifts on your features — it’s not as stiff as it's usually been. “It’s okay. It's been a while, Taehyung.” Taehyung grins, entering with his arms behind his back, head quirked to one side. “I know. I'm sorry. I've been so swamped with work lately — which is actually something I wanted to talk to you about — but I can't wait to catch up with you and Jimin soon.” You feel yourself tense, blood running cold, but you try not to show it and it’s getting easier. “What did you want to talk about?” The blonde man’s eyes sparkle in excitement. “Sit down, sit down. This is pretty important.” You laugh, taking a seat and he claims a spot right across from you. “Okay. What is it?” “Alright. So I've been fairly busy for the past few months finishing my own screenplay that I've been working on for years.” “That's so exciting, Taehyung!” You mean it too. In many ways, he’s like you, on his own path trying to reach success. You’ve known for a long time he's been an aspiring screenplay and producer. “I know.” Taehyung grins, mouth drawn into a rectangle, irises twinkling with lights from above. “And I got it approved by Director Lee and I pitched it to a whole bunch of people, and it worked! And I'm going to be running my own original production here on Broadway.” Your eyes are wide and you smile, reaching over to hug him. Taehyung laughs, squeezing you once before you let go of one another. “That is so incredible, Taehyung. I'm...speechless.” “That makes the two of us,” he laughs again. “But I wanted to talk to you specifically because I want you to be my main female lead.” “What?” “Will you do me the honours?” Taehyung asks with a blazing smile. “Are you serious?” “More than I could ever be.” “I....” Your mouth is a gaping hole and you gasp for breath. “I don't know what to say.” “Say yes please.” Taehyung snickers. “I promise, it's a really fun character and I think you'll suit it. To be frank, you're the only one I can imagine for the role. I've envisioned you for a long time now.” You’re emotional. Touched. “Yes!” “Yes?” “Yes, I'll do it!” There’s no one more than you trust as a director and producer than Taehyung in this sort of thing. You know whatever he's created, it'll be spectacular, and you feel overwhelmingly grateful that he’s chosen you to take on such a big role. “Thank you.” “No, thank you!” He fist pumps the air, eagerness infectious and it makes giggles bubble out of your chest. “There’s so much I want to tell you, but first thing first, it's going to be called 'The Colour of Our Voices'.” “‘The Colour of Our Voices’?” “Yeah, what do you think? It's about a senior actress who's been on Broadway for a decade now and she's lost her passion for acting and singing, but she meets this newcomer actor who's really lively and optimistic. It's going to be a love story with some drama in it.” “I think that sounds lovely, Taehyung.” He smiles. “Thank you. Now all I have to talk to is Jimin. Don't tell him I told you though — I want to keep it a surprise.” “Jimin?” “I want him to play the main male lead. You think he'll say yes? I know he's been busy on his own projects…” “Taehyung.” Your lips draw into a straight light, eyes dimming. “Jimin and I, we’ve broken up.” The man blinks, ears not picking up on what you just said. “You guys have spoken up?” “No, we’ve broken up.” “Oh.” “Yeah…” As you say it, your bottom lip starts trembling again. Taehyung must see the way your expression crumples — the tears making your eyes glossy, the furrow of your brows, the twitch of your cheek muscles and scrunch of your nose, because he becomes alert. “Are you okay?” His hands lift, not sure if he should touch you or how he should even comfort you. Taehyung can barely get over his own shock. He’s baffled beyond speech. “W-What happened? I thought you two…..I thought….you guys were….” You end up with a tissue in your hand, dabbing underneath your eyes as the conversation takes an unexpected turn. “—came out of nowhere. I just….I don’t know what to do anymore.” Taehyung nods, having listened quietly for the past ten minutes. “I could’ve never guessed. Since when did his head get so far up his own ass?” He playfully bumps into your shoulder, trying to stop you from crying. You muster a smile. “It was my fault too. I knew he felt really guilty, but I didn’t do anything to help him. I just didn’t know he felt that bad about...us.” “Hey, it’s okay. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” Taehyung quips, easing you. “Do you still want me to—” “Yeah. I don’t want you to take an opportunity away from him. I don’t want to ruin your vision if you’ve always imagined Jimin.” You nod. “I...I can be professional.” “Okay. If you change your mind, tell me, alright? I don’t want any of you guys to be uncomfortable and if you think you can’t work together, I’ll find some way to accommodate or change my plan.” “Yeah, but I think I’ll be okay. I just need some time.” He understands and hums warmly. “If you want, I can go beat him up first.” You smile in the middle of a sniffle. “Yeonjeon already offered that.” “I bet she did. But it’s always better to jump someone when you have a whole team of them,” he says, and you burst out laughing. “How about this?” Taehyung leans in, voice dropping into a husky whisper. “We break into Jimin’s home in the middle of the night and beat the shit out of him. You get a cane. Yeonjeon gets a golf club. I get a baseball bat.” You laugh again — Taehyung always knows how to make you feel better.

In the meanwhile, Jimin steps off the elevator. He ignores the stares he gets from people passing by. He knows he looks like a mess, that he hasn’t showered in days, that his hair is a wreck. He can only imagine what his face looks like. Nonetheless, the brunette wobbles down the hall. He wonders if you’re in the studio — you’ve always said the last room on the second floor was perfect, that the acoustics were just right somehow in comparison to the others. He remembers clearly. It seems like these days Jimin’s recalling all the details about you. Memories. Things that you’ve said. He plays them over like broken records in his head. Jimin braces himself on the wall as he gets close enough to the end of the corridor. And then his ears perk at the light sound of your sudden laughter. Goosebumps raise all over his arms. But as he peeks into the room, he finds you with Taehyung. The two of you are laughing and smiling together. Your expression is lit up, happier than you were with him in the past few months. Jimin stares for a second. He was wrong. Looking at you from afar isn’t enough to satisfy him. To know that you were still well, to see you when he missed you so much — it’s not enough for him to feel better. Jimin doesn’t step forward into the light. He doesn’t allow himself to be known. He doesn’t confront you, and ask if you were there on the day of the early premier. If you were there for him. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment for you. He doesn’t want to make you upset anymore. So he walks away.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts angst #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #IT'S ALMOST THE END Y'ALL #TWO MORE CHAPTERS LEFT!

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terrorhqs · 4 years

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[tw: blood, major character death]

A week after the takeover, the Promethean is well on its way to finish its trek. Cutting through calm and complacent waters, the crew and guests note that the ice that had once held them hostage has dissipated overnight with the dark and the gloom. Perhaps the deaths of the soldier and the girl sated the beast, some whisper — it’s leaving us alone. No, their comrade scoffs. Too easy. You heard the French - the thing killed a boatload of them before it left them alone! Two people are nothing but crumbs to it. It’ll be back.

“You’re all buffoons”, another chimes in. “The Agathe? Mutineers all along. It’s as Estrada said. They killed their crew and are killing ours too.”

Amid the new tension borne of the mutiny, suspense heavy as wool hangs over the ship as it resumes its course. Lookouts are silent as they watch the ice, dread fraying their nerves, the same thought trawling across their conscience. Surely, it will reappear. After everything, it will come back.

But nothing parts the ocean, not even the breeze. An uneasy quiet descends upon the ship as those with an interest in completing the passage outnumber those who seek to return now that the waters promise an easy journey. An end to all of this is feasible — the only question remains: will all that’s been lost have been worth it? Is there any end that justifies the means?

It’ll be weeks, months yet before the Promethean reaches Hong Kong, but a call rings out in the midst of the morning. Wick and Bastien, high atop and on lookout, wave down wildly at the deckhands below.

“Land! Land ahead!”

A seaman relays the message, bursts into the captain’s quarters where Marcus waits, in covenant with Hugo. Both men snap their heads at once, when they see the rallied cry that’s being picked up among the ranks. Both men, yes, to the slack curl of their jaw, can hardly credit it. It cannot be, their dark eyes say, pupils flashing. Even down to their mannerism, they have begun to look the same.

“Land, sir. Lookout’s caught sight of land. Of a city - and its harbor!”

The vice-admiral-made-captain starts in his seat, brow furrowing, skeptical. “You’re joking. Even you must have looked at a map, we’ve got quite a way before even—”

“I swear it!” In his haste, he doesn’t mind his manners. As frantic as anyone’s ever seen, even Estrada cannot deny the truth from his eyes. “The lads are calling for you up-deck, Sir. The whole world is. A port awaits us.”

The rest of those onboard join the watch on the upper deck, curious clamoring seizing even those under the watchful eye of a musket barrel. There is no mistaking it - an oceanside city perched on low, rocky stone worn by lapping waves is clear through the spyglass. Slender, shimmering buildings of white spiral towards the sky in spires; others buildings are lower to the ground, and all are built with the same stone upon which the city sits and all are half-hidden behind a mist.

“Make plans to dock.”

—

“Don’t stand up, Dowling. It’s only me. I come bearing news.”

Silence. In the space between the bottom of the floor and the door, Malachy’s silhouette shifts.

“Too much of a coward to face me, Estrada?” Ragged voice tears through the air like a dagger, muffled through the door. “State your peace and leave.”

“Is that an order, captain?” A humorless, hollow laugh. “This is a gesture of goodwill, Dowling. I’d mind yourself until I’ve said what I’ve come to say.” He pauses. Perhaps to hide his own disbelief. Perhaps to spite Malachy. “We’ve fucking crossed it, Dowling. We think we’ve found the passage and we’ve found a way through. Hell, we might have already crossed it. We’ve got a city in sight and we’re making plans to dock in their harbor.”

A long pause. “No. No, that can’t be. It’s far too soon. A week, that’s not enough.”

“Say it as much as you want. By the time we lay anchor, you can come see for yourself. I reckon, see, that it won’t even be a day. As a truce, I’ll let you out—supervised, of course, and never too far from my sight. But freedom, Dowling. You’re to partake in it as well.”

“Thrilled, are you?” A soft thump on the other side of the door as Malachy leans against it. “How neatly this all transpires for you as soon as you seize the helm. Should’ve mutinied sooner, I bet you’re thinking.”

“Not here to question it. For your sake, I hope you don’t either.”

—

Up close, the mist that cloaks the city shifts with every step taken. Appearing transparent once, then cloudy with a thin, greenish film next, then shimmering with an opalescent, abalone sheen. It is cold, but not cold enough for the thick coats that have proven imperative for standing outside in the Arctic. A strange humidity permeates the air - it is thin and thick, at once, and one feels a shortness and a swelling in every inhale - not painful, nor is it natural. The luster visible from the sea is procured from shells embedded into the foundation of every building, in between the stone and plaster - old and weathered, they glint in the light that parts through the mist. Perhaps the first thing that can be glimpsed, like a maroon carpet of colour, is the red sands on the eastward beach. Ground to a fine point, blanketing uniformly around the village until the paved streets begin to stretch on, it resembles a carpet of leaves or clipped gems as much as a natural phenomenon.

No other ships are docked at the silent harbor. Cobblestone lines the path up the crumbling seawall and into the city where townsfolk mill about in the marketplaces and town square, a vast space eclipsed by grand, towering edifices - a spindly cathedral demarcated by an unfamiliar brass symbol of the very tallest of its spires; an ancient, squat tavern; an inn with patrons streaming in and out like shoals; a surfeit of various shops of every variety, marked not by words or names, but by images painted into the overhanging signs. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, one realizes there is an absence of gas lamps that dotted London in abundance. Instead, white wax candles spill over every ledge, every crook and cranny, their bases melted into the stone and bedrock and wood.

Townsfolk cast strange, curious glances at these newcomers, but their gazes never linger long before they carry on with their businesses. The accents are implacable, though they speak English - not even a mishmash of any known dialects, but entirely unfamiliar. Not even the Promethean’s most well-traveled guests can narrow their tongue or the origin of their accents down.

The shops and inns here refuse currency - one takes what they need, and they carry their debt with them until it's repaid, metaphorically or literally.

—

Malachy emerges from the boiler room a fragmented man, gaze trained on the multiple barrel ends that follow his every movement. Every breath he takes lifts his entire body in a heaving pulse-thrum. Hair unkempt and eyes wild with animal fury, his lips lift into a sneer as he finds Marcus in the crowd of muskets.

“Is this where I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy, Estrada?” He appraises the armed crew. “And your lackeys, for their restraint?”

“Chin up, Dowling.” The vice-admiral’s lips curl into a grimace. “Even you cannot deny this good fortune. Certainly this justifies some of the trouble.”

“It justifies nothing. If you’re wise, you’ll not let me out of your sight.”

No more is exchanged between the two men before Malachy is ushered up the main ladderway, up to the upper deck and onto the dock, one armed escort in front and behind him. The rest of the crew begin to disembark, all who aligned with Malachy closely followed by another who wasn’t.

The dock creaks beneath their feet, and the procession is slow, tentative, upon reaching this new port. Everything is familiar, and yet nothing is - not even the screech of a gull to announce their arrival.

Then, a scream, feral and hoarse.

Behind them, Jules takes advantage of the momentary awe and sweeps the legs of her captor, knocks them into the harbor waters. A musket fires. The narrow dock doesn’t allow much in the way of room, and those who have not yet made it out of the ship clamber back on. Captors shout for their captives to STAND STILL, MOVE BACK down into the lower deck, but the chaos and the overlapping shouts overpower them. Smaller squabbles break out as the rest milk the opportunity given to them by Jules’ commotion. Ahead of them all, Malachy slams himself into the guard in front of them, tackling them both to the ground. His second escort scrambles for a clear shot, musket trembling - only to lurch back, struck in the shoulder. Behind him, Ephraim had broken free and wrestled the gun from his warden, his aim true then and now as he holds it steady on Malachy’s escort, who wordlessly surrenders his own weapon to Malachy.

On the boat, chaos descends. Roi has easily overtaken his guard, pinning them to the side of the boat. Before he can hurl them into the water, Mariah throws himself onto his back, pinning the steward’s neck into the crook of his elbow. A flash of silver in his free palm - but then Laurents is on him, twisting their arm back until the knife drops to the ground with a clatter, and drives his fist into the mercenary’s gut, allowing Roi the chance to break free. Elias dives for the dagger and slashes at the ankles of Fahra’s guard, who had her wrists firmly in their grip. He cuts deep, cuts an unthinkable and irreparable gash over both calves; enough to maim, perhaps, if another one of Estrada’s hounds had not stepped in. The second man, bigger, wrangles the steward into a deathgrip. They both take the fall, tumbling several paces across the teak. In the somersault, the snowfall of movement and limbs, Ayla Dowling steps in with a lifeline. A physical rope, no time for metaphor, no time for anything but the hard gnashing of the present. The doe loops the rope around the guard’s neck, and, with a vicious tug that no one would’ve wagered on, pulls him off Elias and onto the planks. She waits no second before helping Elias up, and together they join Jack, the sergeant’s dagger blocking Violet’s aim on August.

Some paces away, Noemie leads the rest of the Agathe survivors through the skirmish and off the ship - they start down the docks, but Katja blocks their way, and it’s her musket to their none. She grabs Tristan by the arm, presses the musket to his stomach - if you want him alive, you’ll do as I say. A gun close by goes off, causing all of them to flinch. In that instant, Nyima breaks from the hostage group to lunge at Katja. The two scuffle, until Nyima gets a grip at the barrel of the musket, shoves it into the air - it goes off. Tristan tries to pin Katja down, and she hisses, points the gun at him - Nyima yanks the barrel back. It goes off again - whether by accident or as a result of the scuffle or by intention, it finds its mark.

A wail cuts through the air, and for a moment, the bedlam stills. Nyima clutches a weeping wound on her chest, collapsing into Tristan’s arms. Ever the protectress, she is restless still even with her grievous wound, tries to force herself before the rest of the Agathe survivors as they fall to her side. This is one of the last attempts, the last slingshots of action in her muscles and spirit: to interpose between her friends and Katja. The translator backs away, wide-eyed, but still in possession of her wits - weapon poised to fire again if they tried to seek retribution.

“Call Jonathan! Casimir! Help her!” Emma begs to no one in particular. She is quick to kneel, had already torn off half the scarves she was wearing, and is pressing dry palms, wet cloth, crimson sash to Nyima’s blooming chest. The petal spreads, swallows the entire front of the amulet’s dress. For all her time spent in gardens, for all that she turned stem and stalk to see the wonders of the world, this is a flower Emma cannot understand. Cannot weed out, or stall, or even conceive of. The blood flows, pours, goes over easy; a swell like the motion of waves, on what was once a ferocious, then a frozen, now an utterly becalmed sea. Nyima’s hand raises to Emma’s cheek, and, like the curl of a gentle claw, wraps around the jawline. Tristan falls to her other side. She whispers something to both of them, a voice that doesn’t carry, a wisp already flattened into velvet by the winds. Then she presses her own face into Tristan’s thigh. Her Judas, her Captain; it’s hardly appropriate, isn't’ it, that he’s the one that has been betrayed again—that he’s the one left behind. Perhaps this is why the cook smiles to him, last. To assure, as much as assuage. To promise there is another turn to this story, even as her own is already fading.

By now, Malachy and his officers and Marcus and his loyalists have found the source of commotion and gathered, wordlessly. Jonathan weaves through to reach Nyima - there’s shifting, the subtle sounds of men taking aim, and Ephraim immediately raises his gun to Marcus. It takes his own Captain’s voice to make him lower it, hip level, eyes murderous.

“Let them go. Let her…” Malachy pauses, swallowing through his hoarseness. There is no doubt as to the injury’s severity - the bleeding has not abetted, thick rivulets seeping through Emma’s fingers and pooling on the fallow ground. Malachy Dowling was a man of many wounds; some borne within, some hidden, but most of all witnessed. He knows what a death mark looks like. Nyima’s body is a canvass of carnage.

Not much for Jonathan to do, no, not much for anyone to do at all. Doing has led them here; the rough, loud, prideful fall of it. The impossible tally. The Captain, the former Captain, rises his voice once more. “Let them care for her in peace. You’ve had the upper hand, and now - now neither of us do.”

It’s Tristan’s cry that announces it; the death, the finality. Emma’s face is as white as the sky above them. Hands as rusty as the sands on this beach, on this strange place of salvation. Ayla and Noemie huddle closer to lift her up, lift her away from Nyima, but she won’t go. It seems no one is going anywhere, anymore — the whole possibility of it has been culled. Bones resting as slack as burlap; as unconscious as the flotsam left after a flood.

Behind him, Edward and Jaya usher those they knew to be aligned with the old command off the docks and into the city. Marcus watches, impenetrable, his own musket held limp at his side, unmoving, unspeaking.

Then he extends a hand to Katja, like a faraway tyrant, the stone hewn statue of one, calling home its acolytes. He waits until the thief, once-translator, now trembling toll paid in blood, comes into his shadow. Lays a hand on her shoulder, protective and proprietary all at once. Lays a gaze, then, like the snag of a chain; drags it over all of them that remained up deck. Only then he begins to speak.

“So that is how these things end: the pointless brutality of it. Man’s obsession to keep a code of honour that has long stopped serving. Has everyone seen it, looked their fill? Good. I am nothing if not prophetic, hm? Now. Now. Let us make sure no other prediction of mine will see the garrish, gruesome light of day. Have you all had enough of mutiny and cockfights? Are you ready to make something of your life?”

His body turns to the rest of the crew, a full recoil, almost a repose.

“Seems to me this is as good a place to start as any.”

To his own, Malachy offers his own words. Exhaustion permeates his words, weighs them heavy as lead - the fight is over, all there is left to do is rest. Regroup. Loss, they all know by now, regardless of their alignment, is consumptive. It eats and it steals and it offers nothing in return. “Let us not forget the dangers that have led us here. Betrayals. Mutinies. Guns at our heads as we lived and slept. A beast that knows not of compassion nor mercy. Just because we are alive does not mean we are safe - do not let your guard down. Rest, and we will regather. Salvation, whether it be here, or home, awaits us in unity.”

OOC: We hope you enjoyed today’s plot drop, lovely members and lurkers! The Promethean has landed in strange new lands where nothing is at it seems, with tension aboard boiling over into a chaotic climax. The crew has mostly dispersed into the city, with each side of the mutiny looking to gain their bearings and regain control.

A poll will be posted in the discord so that you can choose if your muses retreated with Malachy Dowling or stayed anchored with Marcus Estrada. Please remember that everyone who helped Mal/Jules stage the insurgency is no longer a crew member. However, if your character has motives for staying (a loved one, a status as double agent, suddenly undecided etc.) you are welcome to have them remain on the Promethean. Just be sure to keep us up to date if any major loyalties have shifted, and, as always, to have a blast writing & plotting through these little rats’s conflicts.

There is, of course, much to explore in this nameless port city, including NEW LOCATIONS, listed below, and new NPCs with which to interact as sideblogs. These will be ran by the admin team: K., Venli, and Rhi, and will be strangers to the rest of the crew, each bringing their own motives, mysteries, and intricacies into the interaction. Keep an eye out for the follow post within the next few days! More locations will also be added as the plot and exploration of the area progresses. As of now, THE CAPTAIN is an active muse and may interact with the rest of the characters. Have fun, and happy writing!

AT HANGMAN’S TRINKETS.

At the other end of the port, pushed far enough from the seaside that it almost looks like any other village, splays the tight, narrow venue of the store. If most buildings on the docks look comely, a peace that alludes to most corners of the world where the ocean laps the shore, this one has a marked touch to it. It draws the eye, the firm painted a gaudy russet, as red as the sands that litter the eastward beach. Despite its hue, the sign has been battered into something closer to dried blood by the gale, and the marks on it are illegible. Could be any human language, or not at all. Perhaps what makes the shop stand out even more is the absence resounding in the harbour. The maroon posts are entirely devoid of any other ship, not even small fishing vessels anchored at half-length on the wharf. It should make the Promethean loom, but instead it diminishes it; could be soothing, could be dangerous, the way the quiet waves knock it about, with very few inhabitants coming to stare at it, to help tie it to the pier, or even to barter. Yet there is plenty of bartering to be done further inland. The rest of the expanse might be barren, but the shop is bright and bundled up, like an old woman sat by the fire. A string of fairy lights are hung over it in a diagonal row, the sash of it lolling slack enough to catch a taller sailor’s head and dapple it with warmth. At the counter, a young, plucky clerk spreads their arms in welcome. Behind them, vials, jars, and tinkling bottles litter the entire front wall. It is such a kaleidoscope of size and color that any customer might be more dazzled than tempted to purchase. From camphor oil to whale teeth necklaces, from silk handkerchiefs to beads of black glass, everything seems ready to be displayed, bartered, and doubted. The clerk is nothing but exhilarated to have someone to talk to at last. Their bronze face is dappled with the hanging lights, and a nose ring stretches from their septum to their ear. That golden chain makes them look both older and younger at once — as they chuckle and lapse into chatter, already ready to soak up all the information visitors might bestow, it becomes more and more difficult to gauge their age. Or their intentions…. How much will you share?

HIGHWAYMAN’S REST.

Perhaps the most striking front belongs to the port’s hotel, a polished three-tiered complex that occupies the main street. Oddly enough, despite the fact that the port seems all but deserted, the building has the most upkeep in the area. The outer walls are painted olive green, in a stark contrast with the houses’ cream-colored front and the greyed, saltwind-bitten outstretches of wood along the pier. The double doors allow a glimmer of light to cross the threshold, since its glass panels are painted with scenes that resemble the stained glass on churches and temples all over the world. Once inside, the vista opens on a waiting room decked with paintings and sculptures, with works of art that don’t seem to resemble anyone in particular. In order to ring the receptionist’s bell, you have to wrangle your hand through a number of small statutes. One bust on the receptionist’s counter, reads king sylvester stuart. Another, an effigy that seemed carved in filigree, depicts josephine robespierre. On the usual, there is no one in the waiting room, and no noises pour from above. For all intents and purposes, it feels as if the entire establishment is deserted; or perhaps never used in the first place, simply spruced, polished, and displayed for the hollow beauty of it. On the fourth clanger of the bell, the receptionist finally walks into view. A door in the wall opens, and they step through with a merry gait, not allowing anything to be glimpsed behind them. At once, they are ready to sort the visitor with the best sets of chambers for their disposition. They try to strike up a conversation, one hand already on the ledger, and do not even presume to ask for money until after the end of the stay. Their demeanor might almost foster the sense of a homecoming; only their remarks, and the parental, proprietary style of their speech, makes it feel more like a transaction instead. For all the luxury that defines the hotel, a visitor may wonder if, in fact, they’re being sold something else underneath. However, after such a long journey of darkness and water, who can say no to even a few hours in an ivory bedroom—for a dalliance, a tumble into unconsciousness, or just to experience the decadent beauty of those who’ve had easier lives?

THE SIREN’S SORROW.

Coming up from the docks, the hard-teak stairs lead into a bulky tavern, a building more squat than inviting, which carries a barrack’s efficiency about it. The place’s foundation looks rooted into the scaffolding itself, the moldy, barnacled pillars somehow supporting the weight of the place. At the ground level, the dingy, round windows open up into the street, but it’s difficult to peer through the grime crusted over the glass pannels. At the upper level, which the two-storied construction seems to be bowled over, the blinds are drawn shut, their velvet dusted a bile-yellow even from afar. Yet through it all, what actually grabs the visitor’s by the throat, is the strange allure of the place. Not a disparaged charm, mind you—most of these sailors have spent their pay and day in shindigs far worse than this. It is not much, in way of grotesque, just as it is not much in way of poetry. But a certain shimmer permeates throughout, like mist gathering over the shingles, and it renders the place noble and faraway. One might almost expect to see a lighthouse cave around it. When the doors open, the interior is low-ceilinged and vast, the chambers burrowing further than the outside lets on. Depending on how the sunlight, which is still paltry further off the Arctic glare, the main room of the tavern looks both too hollow and too overcrowded, all at once. Truth be told, no one can be certain if it’s not the most beautiful place they’ve ever seen; if only because it peals out to a sense of humanity, a sense of being rooted down. It takes a while to realize that the humanity, for all its urgency, is slightly skewed at the corner. Takes a while to gather up the questions, rather than just gawk at a bar stool that isn’t nailed down into the ship’s timber floor; at a glass that isn’t canister, but actual earthenware, tangible and frail. When the questions do gather, the barkeep is there for the tending. Jaded, old, he seems to have borne both the glow and the gloom of the place, allowed it to mantle them from brow to navel. They seem, also, like the kind of man who has heard a story for every life the sailors wished upon, for every lie they cast over dice. What will you ask him?

#thqadmin #thqevent #make urself comfortable friends #its a chonky one!!#tw blood #tw death #tw major character death

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awhitehead17 · 4 years

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Would You Go If I Asked You?

TimKon, High School AU, Prom, Friendship, Suit Shopping, Fluff, Humour, Getting Together.

Summary: It's that time of year when everyone talks about nothing except prom. Tim hates it. He doesn't want to go and has repeatedly told his friends this, they just aren't listening to him. However, his adamant decision about not going becomes questionable when his best friend appears at his house, dressed to the nines, and asks him a certain question.

Enjoy! :D

“Cassie that’s beautiful!”

“You’re going to look stunning!”

“I wished mine looked like that!”

Tim rubs his hands over his face and groans. Thanks to Bart, Jamie and Kon he had been left alone at the lunch table with all of the girls in their friendship group. While he loved them all, being alone with them while they gossip and talk about dresses and make-up wasn’t something Tim enjoyed doing.

At the moment, because it’s that time of year, all they were talking about was prom. Cassie was showing everyone at the table a picture of the dress she will be wearing. Tim catches a glimpse of the photo and has to admit, that was a stunning dress. A long red dress, covered in a gold glitter pattern, the glitter wasn’t too in your face but was just enough that in certain lighting you could see it sparkle.

This goes on for most of lunch, the girls each show the others what dress they’ll be wearing or are planning on buying. Tim blanks out of the conversation in favour of his phone, how could the guys leave him to the wolves like this? He knows that Kon and Jamie both have football training (a short session during lunch) and how Bart is stuck in chemistry catching up with work, but that didn’t stop Tim from scowling and cussing them out.

It was nearing the end of lunch and most of the girls start to get up from the table, saying their goodbyes before leaving for class. Soon enough it was just Cassie and Tim left at the table.

“Sorry for ignoring you Tim.” She says apologetically turning to face him.

Tim shrugs and gives her an easy smile, “Na don’t worry about it, I know what you girls all get like. Especially this time of year with prom around the corner.”

“Yeah. So…” She trails off looking at him expectantly.

He raises an eyebrow, “So what?”

She huff and smacks him in the arm, “You know what! Got yourself a nice looking tux yet?”

This time Tim huffs and shakes his head. It was only a matter of time before that question came up, though he’s surprised it didn’t come up earlier when the whole group was together.

Cassie sighs, “Tim come on, we’ve talked about this. Why don’t you want to go? It’ll be fun and everyone is going.”

Tim shrugs, “I don’t know, I just don’t see the point in going. I don’t really want to go if I’m being honest.”

“There’ll be food, music, dancing and we’ll all have a blast because the whole group is going!”

“Sounds great, I hope you have fun.” Tim deadpans. She uses that same line every time when trying to convince him to go.

That’s when the first warning bell rings, indicating the end of lunch and to start getting to class. Together they start getting up and walking to class. Before they part ways, Tim turns to her, “I’ll think about it.”

She doesn’t look convinced, “You said that three weeks ago. Better think quickly because it’s only four weeks away!”

They part ways and Tim shakes his head. Right, another four weeks of nonstop talking about prom and everything surrounding the topic. Great times.

“I’ve still got to decide on what colour I want. I know what style I want but just can’t pick a colour. I’m stuck between light grey and dark grey.”

“How dark is the dark grey?”

“A charcoal kind of grey.”

“I would say go for that one. It’ll match your hair better.”

“I suppose.”

Tim was ready to smash his face into a brick wall. If anyone thinks that girls are worse than guys for getting ready, or worrying about their appearance, they are very wrong. Guys are just as bad, if not worse, than girls.

It was after school and they were chilling at the local park on the grass in the nice weather. It didn’t take long for the conversation they were having to turn to the topic of prom. Tim just couldn’t get away from it.

Bart had brought the topic up wanting opinions on what suit colour they think he should get. Kon and Jamie immediately jump in on the topic and offer him their opinions.

Kon leans back on his arms and looks up at the sky, “Man I’m glad I got mine done early, saves me worrying about it now and at last minute.”

Next to him Jamie snorts, “The only reason you’re done is because your Ma made you get it early. We all know you would’ve been getting it the day before amigo.”

Grins at him, “but my point still stands. What about you? You got yours yet?”

Jamie nods, “Nearly, just need to get a tie now.”

“Aw man that's what else I gotta think about!” Bart exclaims, “I need to work out whether I get a tie or a bowtie!”

The two of them start bickering about what would look better and Tim decides just to let them get on with it. That’s when Kon turns to him, poking him in the leg to get his attention. “You’ve been awfully quiet Timmers. How about you? What suit you got?”

Tim takes a breath and reminds himself that Kon is his best friend and lashing out at him for the question, when he very well knows Tim’s opinion on prom, wasn’t really acceptable. “I don’t have one and I won’t be getting one. You know that I don’t want to go.”

Kon frowns and Tim feels slightly guilty for the harsh tone of voice he had used but thankfully his friend doesn’t take any offence. “Well I didn’t know if you had changed your mind about it yet that’s all. There's still time if you do want to go.”

He shakes his head not really want to hear it. Thankfully, Tim is saved from that conversation when the others get their attention again.

“Hey guys, we’re going to go shopping this weekend to look at accessories. Want to come?”

Kon sends Tim one last look before turning away, “Yeah sure. I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”

They all look at Tim waiting for his answer and after a moment of debating he shrugs, “Fine, at least it’ll get me out the house for a bit.” He rather not go, there was a new RP game that was coming out this weekend that was calling his name but as he said, at least he’ll get out of the house and at the same time be with his mates.

That Saturday afternoon Tim finds himself in a clothes store trailing behind his friends. They had been to at least three different shops before this one in search for accessories for Bart’s prom suit. Bart has been leading them all over the mall for several hours looking for what he wants and it didn’t seem like he was going to be stopping any time soon.

He and Jamie were over by the ties looking and comparing different ones while bickering about everything the other pulls up. Tim rolls his eyes at their behaviour. At this rate they’ll be leaving this shop with empty hands.

Tim was soon distracted when a heavy arm wraps itself around his neck, he’s then forced to bend over as knuckles rub harshly against his scalp. Letting out a squawk Tim fights back until he’s released, he pushes the other body away and stands up straight to sort out the damage that had been done to his hair.

Opposite him Kon was laughing and Tim couldn’t fight the smile that makes its way onto his face as he watches his best friend. After a moment Kon gets a hold of himself and chucks his arm back over Tim, this time letting it rest against his shoulders.

“Would you stop frowning man? I swear it’s going to end up sticking and you’ll look like that for the rest of your life. What’s wrong dude?”

Tim sighs and shrugs, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Kon’s other hand comes up and flicks him in the ear. Tim complains and rubs the sore spot. “Yeah right dude, I know you, remember.”

Well he’s not wrong, they’ve known one another since they were pubescent teenagers. Kon gives him a squeeze, “Now come on, we may as well make use of our time because I don’t think they’ll be finished arguing over ties anytime soon.”

His best friend leads them through the shop and Tim simply lets him, it wasn’t until they were standing in front of suits that Tim gives him a disapproving look. “Just at least look at some of them, see if any catches your eye!”

Tim rolls his eyes and goes to argue but seeing the determination on Kon’s face he thinks better of it and decides to humour his friend instead. Looking can’t hurt anyone right?

Two hours later, somehow, Tim finds himself walking out of the store carrying a new suit. He doesn’t know how it happened, just that it did and how it was mostly Kon’s fault. Jamie and Bart also walk out of the store carrying something of their own. Bart now has a bowtie that matches the colour of his suit and Jamie walks out with the tie he wanted.

Tim still doesn’t know if he’ll go to prom, even after finally getting a suit for it. He couldn’t deny that spending the day with Kon, just the two of them by some extent, was actually pretty nice. They don’t spend a lot of time together just by themselves, the only thing that would have made today better would have been if they were doing anything else other than suit shopping.

Three weeks go by and it’s finally the night of prom. His grade at school had been buzzing and that’s all people could talk about. Tim very much wanted to skip the day at school but he was forced to go anyway. Somehow he came out the other side still somewhat sane.

However he wasn’t going.

He didn’t want to go. The suit he brought a few weeks ago remains hung up on the back of his bedroom door completely untouched and still in its bag it came in.

Instead, he was choosing to spend this night in his comfy clothes, surrounded by his favourite snacks and watching a few new films that’s popped up on Netflix recently. At least that’s what he was planning because then a knock came from the front door and Dana was shouting up to him.

“Tim, your friend’s here. I’ll let him up!”

Tim barely had time to try and work out what she means when his bedroom door was opening and revealing his best friend. His mouth drops open when Kon walks into the room, dressed in a navy tux with a white shirt, fancy dress shoes and his hair was styled and jelled back. He looked hot.

Kon beams at him, his smile unintentionally finishing off his whole look. He looked perfect. Not that Tim was going to tell him that of course.

“Hey man.” Kon greets him in the end.

Getting over himself Tim sits up on his bed and shoots his friend a look, “Hey Kon. What you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with everyone else?”

“I thought I’d make a small diversion on my way to Cassie’s.” He explains giving Tim a once over. “You’re not dressed.”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Kon I’m not going, I’ve told you this. Therefore I don’t need to get dressed. I hope you all have a good time though and I’ll have a look at the photos later on.”

Kon sighs and Tim feels himself bristle at the action. “That just won’t do…” Kon mumbles to himself before walking around Tim’s room, he finds Tim’s suit hanging on the door and picks it up, bringing it over to his bed.

“Now come on, get dressed, shouldn’t take you too long and we can be at Cassie’s by the hour.”

Tim glares at his friend and crosses his arms over his chest, refusing to even make a comment at the behaviour.

Kon’s frown soon morphs into his puppy dog eyes look, the one he uses when he wants to get his own way. “Please Timmy.”

“No Kon. I am this close to telling you to fuck off right now.”

“Oh come on dude please!” Kon whines, he then moves and sits down next to Tim on the bed, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “It won’t be the same without you man. Please come, at least for me if not anything else.”

Tim snorts at his words, “You asking me to prom Kon?” He teases with a small smile. In the back of his mind he’s screaming at the idea of it.

Next to him Kon stiffens, “Would that work? Would you change your mind if I asked you?”

Most likely. “Well I know you wouldn’t actually mean it now though.” Tim comments with a raised eyebrow.

Kon shoots him a determined look and stands up off the bed, he moves around so he’s in front of Tim and kneels on the ground. He reaches out and takes one of Tim’s hands in his own, holding it steady, “Timothy Jackson Drake, would you do me the honour and be my date to tonight’s prom?”

God, why does this seem so much like a wedding proposal? Kon looks absolutely stunning and the way he was just looking up at Tim with hope in his eyes. Tim feels his barriers finally break, the ones he’s had up since this whole prom nonsense started

“Yeah okay, fine. I’ll go.” Tim mutters in the end, defeated. He wishes that it was really real, not that he’ll ever tell Kon that. He’s kept his crush very close to his heart and hasn’t told anyone about it, he’s really tried to not make it obvious the entire time.

Once again Kon beams at him, he stands up and makes Tim rise up with him. Before Tim could protest Kon was wrapping him up in a hug and holding him close. Tim tenses for a moment but soon relaxes into the contact.

They pull apart but neither of them actually let go of the other and Tim finds himself staring up at Kon’s face. He doesn’t know who moves first but he certainly knows when their lips make contact, the world could end and he wouldn’t have even noticed.

Kon’s lips were soft and kind of tasted minty, he feels the other teens hand rise up and cup the back of his head as they tilt their heads to accommodate the action better. When Kon nips his lips Tim lets out a moan and opens his mouth which Kon instantly takes advantage of.

They eventually separate and Tim blinks up at him, wondering what the hell that was all about. Did that really just happen?

“Okay so I have wanted to do that for a really long time and I really hope this doesn’t end our friendship, but in all seriousness would you actually like to go to prom with me despite you obviously not wanting to go. I know the group is all just going as friends but I would really like it-”

Tim stops Kon’s nervous rambling by kissing him again. This time keeping it short and sweet.

“Yes, you know what yes, I’ll go with you to prom Conner Kent. And I have also wanted to do that for a long time.”

There’s a pause between them but eventually Kon leans forward and rests his forehead against Tim’s, smiling dopily. There’s a similar smile on Tim’s own face that he doesn’t bother try to fight.

No one comments when they turn up late to prom. Their group of friends all smile knowingly at Tim and he gets the suspicious feeling that he had somehow been set up on the whole thing, especially when no one comments on how he’s turned up after, very clearly, stating he didn’t want to go.

Tim wasn’t going to complain however, especially not then because he gets to hold Kon’s hand and dance with him, he’ll just demand answers out of them all later on. He’s glad he went prom after all.

#Tim Drake #Kon-El #timkon #TimKon Week 2020 #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #high school au #prom #tim really doesn't want to go #maybe someone can change his mind...#friendship #humour #fluff #jamie reyes #shopping #fanfiction #general rating #day two

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ninetalees · 4 years

Text

Sufferance, Chapter 4

A/N: Wow, finally finished this lol. I’ll be honest, rushed the end a little and it’s not my best work, but I may go back and rework it sometime; I just wanted to get this out! The first three chapters came out so quickly, lol – the time it took to get this one out is far more on par with how quickly future chapters will be released. Have a full-time job, yo.

If anyone is interested in 'mood music': Listened to this on repeat for the funeral scene, and this on repeat for the scene in the Weald

Anyways, hope you all enjoy regardless! As always feedback is greatly appreciated <3

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019411/chapters/62749174

It was a grey, miserable day in Ballonlea.

Hop looked up at the oppressive cloud cover; it made the world seem smaller, somehow. The trees that encircled the village appeared closer to the ground, watchful sentinels hunched together in mourning. He stood a small distance apart from the cortege of mostly Gym Leaders and league officials that hovered around the entrance to the Gym, murmuring goodbyes and one by one departing from the crowd. They were an uncharacteristically monochrome bunch today, save for the bright pink accents on everyone’s outfits: cufflinks, ties, jewellery. Ornamentation fit to honour a queen – or a fairy-type master.

Hop fidgeted in the uncomfortably tight dress shirt that he had worn perhaps twice before in his life and threw an impatient glance at his brother. Leon, who had accompanied him, stood close by with Raihan and Gloria, deep in hushed conversation and with no clear intention to make a move any time soon. Hop sighed. As glad as he was he had been able to pay his respects to Opal for the final time, funerals really weren’t his scene. He had always been someone to break a silence with a joke, to raise someone out of a frown with a playful nudge to the ribs. In short, everything about his manner was far away from the etiquette involved in miserable affairs such as these. That said, the gym had rung with laughter moreso than it had in sniffles during the service – Opal’s legacy was one far more of mirth than of sadness. The roster of Galar’s elite would not be the same without her.

He turned away, wiping his sleeve free of the thin film of damp that had settled there. Appropriate weather for a funeral, he supposed. It was but a drizzle, at least – not utterly pissing. The bodies milling around him had a silver sheen to their dark clothes, as though wrapped in clingfilm. It was in that moment he realised that everyone around him was dressed in black. Bede, who had been adorned in pink, was nowhere to be seen.

Hop looked around, confused. Bede had, of course, led the procession today. Even Hop had to admit he had done a superb job: he had been poised and utterly eloquent, in both his eulogy and his place at the head of the cortege. The pink on everyone’s outfits had been at Bede’s behest, but Bede himself had gone all out, donning an electric pink suit and tie with a rose-patterned shirt, elaborate magenta shoes (Hop hadn’t known you could even get leather in that colour) and a pink diamond earring that sparked on the end of a rose-gold chain. Indeed, in that get-up he was hard to miss, so Hop could confirm immediately that he was nowhere to be seen among the remaining mourners. Despite the ill-will that still lingered between them after several years, it was concerning. Bede’s apparent equanimity could only stretch so far, Hop was sure. Opal’s death would affect him more than all of them combined and he knew if it were him he wouldn’t really want to be alone with his thoughts right now.

He glanced over at Leon one last time to ascertain there was no sign of movement. He was leaning against Raihan, whose hand was resting on the small of his back. No, they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. Satisfied, Hop stole away to follow the footprints in the mud back towards the graveside, nestled in a small grotto in the Glimwood Tangle. He was glad of the strategically placed glow of the mushrooms that guided his way.

When Hop stepped into the grotto Bede was standing with his back to him, shoulders drawn taut. Hop padded cautiously forward to come and stand by his side. Bede’s face was outwardly smooth, pensive, but the hard lines of his posture were a giveaway, his body a dam braced against the deluge of grief that threatened to crash forth. For a long moment there was no sound but the wind whispering between the leaves and the gentle patter of rain. For once in his life, Hop was lost for words.

“Hey Hop,” Bede murmured at last. His voice was low, a rumble in the back of his throat. He didn’t take his eyes off the soon-to-be-grave.

Hop eyed him. “Hey,” he replied. If the world had seemed smaller before, it was nothing compared to now. All of existence had been whittled down to them and this hole in the ground. There was nothing outside of here but thick undergrowth and grey, grey cloud.

“I…” Hop hesitated. “I noticed you were missing. I thought… well…” What had he thought? What was he doing here? He signed. “I just… wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess.” In that instant Hop wondered why he had been stupid enough to come: what could he possibly have to say that would make any of this alright?

“I’m okay.” Bede tucked his hands into his armpits in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold and let out a long breath. “It was just… so loud back there. I needed a minute.”

Hop chuckled. “Yeah, was quite a turn-out, huh?” he folded his hands behind his head. “Opal was really something. She’ll be missed.”

Bede frowned, and Hop noticed his jaw clench. “Mm,” he mumbled. “Yeah.”

Hop’s smile faded. All too late, he was beginning to realise that whatever state he had expected to find Bede in, it hadn’t been… this. Rationally, of course, he had known the now-Gym Leader would be crushed, but Hop had never managed to conceptualise Bede as someone who existed beyond their former rivalry. He had never paused to consider that Bede possessed an inner life, the capacity for emotion beyond disdainful arrogance. Hop ached with some unnameable feeling as he regarded him now, top-full with grief.

Before he could fully register what he was doing, his arm had reached out to place a hand on Bede’s shoulder. He felt Bede suck in a surprised intake of breath and for the first time turned to look Hop in the eye, his own glassy with unshed tears.

“Bede…” his words were little more than a whisper; there was a lump in his throat all of a sudden. “Bede I’m so sorry.” And he meant it, meant it more than he could ever possibly hope to convey.

Bede opened his mouth. With that tiny movement, Hop felt his entire body shift beneath his touch, testament to the tension that was holding him together. Before he could speak, however, the sound of someone clearing their throat stopped them both in their tracks.

Magnolia stood at the entry-way to the grotto, eyes partially obscured by the netting of her hat. Hop jumped rapidly back from Bede, as though having been burned.

“Professor,” he blurted. “Uh… hi.” Bede remained silent.

Magnolia nodded solemnly. “Hop.” She raised her walking stick for a moment to gesture back in the direction they had come. “Your brother is looking for you. I said I would come and find you, as I was heading this way myself.” Her gaze flickered to Bede, who had turned back to the grave. “I wanted to speak to Bede, if you don’t mind.”

Hop knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Of course.” He took a step back, aware of Magnolia’s eyes tracing his every move. “Bede, I’ll… I’ll see you around. I… It’ll be okay.”

Bede merely nodded, the movement mechanical. Hop eyed him for a second longer, overcome with helplessness. He wanted to stay, to find the right words, but the moment was gone. He was surplus to requirements.

He turned away, mud sucking at his shoes. Magnolia stepped up to take his place by Bede’s side and he disappeared back into the undergrowth without a word.

Once out of earshot, compelled by forces unknown, he paused to glance back over his shoulder. The bright, unmistakeable shape of Bede was on his knees in the dirt, Magnolia’s hand on his shoulder.

Hop stared, chest tight, before Leon’s voice calling him from beyond the trees summoned him back on his way.

***

Hop had lain awake for several hours after settling down for the night, unable to get the image of Bede standing by the graveside out of his head. For a long time he simply stared at the ceiling, aimlessly watching the dance of the colours that undulated at the corners of his vision as he pondered.

Why was it he was recalling this moment now? The memory and the strange swell of feeling that accompanied it had been perfectly preserved, as though his brain had had a sense it would have some significance later. Akin to spring-cleaning, when odds and ends were set aside without use for now but would definitely have some divine purpose in the future. There hadn’t come a time when the three-legged Wooloo plush from his childhood had come in handy in the past ten years or so, but he was positive he would find a use for it any day now.

Eventually, he gave up on the pretence he was attempting to sleep and slid out of bed to pad to the kitchen and fetch himself some water. He plucked a glass from where it was drying on the dish-rack to fill it and sat at his small kitchen table. He sank slowly down until his chin rested on the chipped laminate, fingers still clasped around the glass. The cool sensation of it in his hand kept him present, from spiralling off into the abyss of his confused thoughts.

He didn’t understand why he cared so much. He had known from the moment Bede stepped off the train at Wedgehurst – it seemed like a lifetime ago now - that they would fight. It was inevitable, there was far too much history there for him to ignore. He knew that now. Until Bede could find it in himself to regard Hop with anything but aloof disdain, nothing would change. Right? What good was there fretting over what had always been bound to occur?

Opal’s funeral had been the sole instance Hop could recall where Bede had displayed any glimmer of vulnerability. It had stirred Hop to see this figure in his life who had always been such a source of resentment and frustration near-crippled by grief, barely able to hold the carefully assembled pieces of himself together. In that moment Hop had been able to brush away the shards of their relationship scattered like glass on their respective paths and simply provide a comforting presence for a person in pain.

Bede had appreciated that. Like he had appreciated Hop working with him to carry out Opal’s unfinished research and…

This is bigger than you.

He slowly raised his head to rest his chin in his hand, eyes wide, so ashamed all of a sudden he felt sick.

He thought of Bede that day when Amelia had asked for his autograph, how wary and apologetic he had been in the aftermath. And earlier today, when they had been at Magnolia’s and Bede had been so complimentary of Hop’s work; Hop had always believed it had been some game, some nasty trick. When Hop least expected it, Bede would pull the rug from under his feet and grind his confidence into the mud once more, the same mud Bede had proclaimed Hop was dragging his brother’s reputation through.

At Opal’s funeral Hop had managed to cover the thorn that festered in his side and dangle an olive branch without fully realising the enormity of the gesture. Here, all these years later, Bede had been attempting to do the same, and each time Hop had waved him away as though he were a particularly annoying insect, stubbornly convinced it was only possible Bede was sending him up in order to take him down.

This is bigger than you.

Hop took a sip of water from the glass that was now slippery with condensation and stood to gaze out the window. The lights of Wedgehurst and Postwick were bright pinpricks in the darkness, guiding his eyes to where the shapes of trees slightly distorted the line of the horizon.

Maybe it was finally time to try and put the past behind him.

Hop knew what he had to do.

***

It was not yet fully light when Hop made his way out to Route 1. Morning was just beginning to bleed into the sky, chasing away the remnants of the fitful night he had had. Upon settling on his plan he had gone back to bed and managed a few hours of what could technically be deemed ‘sleep’; as he stepped out into the fresh morning air, however, his eyes remained heavy, scratchy with tiredness. He recalled Bede’s comment that morning he had arrived and chuckled to himself as he set out: why weren’t there any coffee outlets in such a sleepy town as this?

It didn’t take him long to arrive at his post. He leaned against the wall that encircled the field beside Gloria’s house; for a stranger the rough-hewn stone that dug into the skin might have been uncomfortable, but locals like himself were more than accustomed. He settled into place and swiped at his cheeks, damp from tears produced by the crisp breeze and constant yawning, before pulling his phone from his pocket to occupy himself. Hopefully, Hannah would not arise before Bede – he was aware he was in full view of the kitchen window and were she to stumble sleepily over to the sink to fill the kettle he would be seen. These stirrings of unease did not sit with well with him; he had passed many hours of his life in this very spot, foot tapping with impatience, waiting for Gloria to materialise at the threshold whilst Hannah waved cheerily from that same window. Now, however, he had no excuse to be here: none that could be easily explained, at least.

The more time that passed, the closer Hop came to giving in and bolting. He pretended to look at his phone whilst casting frequent, increasingly impatient glances at the sun climbing ever-higher in the sky. It was strange, how confidence in seemingly well-constructed ideas assembled under the cover of darkness dissipated immediately in the light of day. No wonder plotting usually happened at night. What if Bede refused to forgive him? What then?

Before Hop could give in to his paranoia, Gloria’s front door swung open. Instinctively he sucked in a breath and flattened his body against the wall, as though doing so would effectively hide him in any way. Bede appeared a second later, hair damp and skin still lightly flushed from the shower. He bade a jovial goodbye to Hannah and sprung down the uneven garden steps, neatly avoiding a large crack Hop knew was in the second-to-last one without looking down. Hop ignored the slight swell of indignation at this and raised a hand to wave. “Hey, Bede,” he greeted, as cheerfully as he could muster. Bede started as though he had come charging at him with a shotgun – Hop supposed he might as well have. Whilst his toothy grin was a trademark of his to most of his acquaintances, Bede would be far more familiar with the pouty jut of his lower lip.

“Morning.” Bede blinked at him warily. He had come to a halt at the gate and hung there now, reluctant to cross into uncharted territory. Hop kept a respectful distance a few feet away, arm still half-raised in awkward greeting. He hurriedly folded it behind his back and cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of himself. He hadn’t planned exactly what he was going to say – truthfully, part of him had been sure he wouldn’t make it this far. The duo eyed each other tensely. Unspoken questions flickered across Bede’s expression, but Hop knew he would not deign to speak first.

“Listen…” he looked away, rubbing the base of his neck. He was mildly surprised to feel it was damp with sweat. “I…” He met his gaze with difficulty. “I wanted to apologise. For what I said yesterday.”

He trailed off, uncertain. Bede allowed the silence to linger for a second or two. When it was clear Hop was not going to continue, he spoke. “Well?”

Hop stared, missing a beat. “Pardon?” he asked foolishly.

“Are you going to apologise?”

Hop drew himself up, reigned in whatever stupid comment he had been about to snarl in retaliation. “Right,” he managed instead. Proclaiming the intention to apologise didn’t count; it was funny how frequently people forgot that. He coughed, embarrassed. “I’m… sorry.” The words slipped out more easily than he had anticipated. The sincerity imbued within them lent him confidence, relaxed his posture and steadied his gaze.

Bede held his eyes and waited, expectant of an addendum, the terms and conditions around Hop’s sudden remorse. When none came he pressed his lips together and looked away, scuffed the dirt with his shoe. Hop resisted the urge to fill the silence: it was Bede’s turn, now.

“Thank you, Hop,” he murmured at last. Hop badly wanted to slide a finger under his chin, raise his face to his so he could examine his expression. “I know… that can’t have been easy.” Finally, finally, as though receptive of Hop’s discomfort, he lifted his eyes and in a smooth, singular motion crossed the space between them to hold out his hand. “I meant what I said yesterday – we don’t have to be friends. You don’t have to like me. But I’m glad we can at least be civil.” He didn’t add starting from now but the words hung in the air regardless, akin to a sneeze stifled in the fold of an elbow.

“Um… yeah.” Hop grasped his hand and shook it firmly, wanting a suitable sign-off for his apology. Bede’s grip was clammy, palm damp like his own. Was it possible Bede was as nervous as he was? “About that.” His lips curled into a shaky smile, a peace offering. “I… did a lot of thinking last night. And I realised… you were right in what you said yesterday. About me being unable to let go of the past.” He released Bede’s hand to run it sheepishly through his hair. “I haven’t been fair to you, now or… ever, really. We were kids before, and things were so different for both of us. I guess… maybe I’m not as over it as I thought I was.” His smile became rueful. “But that’s my problem. I think… I mean, we could try to be friends, right?”

Bede blinked, wrongfooted. He opened his mouth, lips forming the shape of a word, before he shut it again and once more directed his gaze to his shoes. “Well… I…” he peered up at Hop through his hair, uncharacteristically… bashful, almost. “Thank you… thank you for saying that.” His voice sounded a slight hoarse all of a sudden, as though attempting to speak through a cough. “I… would like that very much.”

Hop’s lips unfurled into his signature sunny grin and for the second time that morning (some sort of record, surely) he reached out and seized Bede’s hand again. “Glad to hear it!” he chirped. “Here’s to us being adults.” Bede nodded slowly, eyes wide with bewilderment at the sudden switch in disposition. Had Gloria been there, she would have wryly remarked he would get used to it.

“Anyway,” Hop continued, conversational, as though they had merely been discussing the weather all this time. “As I mentioned, I was doing a lot of thinking last night. And I have to confess there’s something I’ve been… not hiding, exactly, but… well not sharing with you that could possibly have some answers regarding our project.” He half-turned to point in the direction of the Weald. “And I thought now would be a good time to show you. As some sort of gesture, I suppose?” he scratched his cheek. “Something like that. Whatever you want to call it, I think it’s important.” He gestured for Bede to follow. “This way?”

Bede’s eyes darted from Hop, to the treeline, then back again. “Uh…” his mind was still awhirl with all that had just transpired. “I… guess?” the words trailed off in a question. Of course he wanted badly to patch things up with Hop, but there were plenty of cautionary tales out there around wandering into the woods with… with what? What were they now? He had been into the Weald many times with the budding professor at this point, but… this was different. Somehow, he was aware that if he were to step into the shadow of the trees with him now, everything would change; was it not the most human reaction in the world to cling to what you knew?

Hop could read clearly the hesitancy in his eyes. How alien it was, to be on the other side of the tracks – did Bede think he had some awful trick up his sleeve? His own gaze softened, and he smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. “It’s good,” he murmured. “I swear.”

Irritation clouded Bede’s face for an instant, a shadow passing briefly over the sun. It was the most familiar expression Hop had seen adorn his features thus far. “I’m sure it is,” he replied curtly. “I just…” he shook his head. “Nothing. Lead the way.”

***

It was considerably colder in the Weald. Light had difficulty penetrating the thick canopy overhead at the best of times, but at this tender hour the milky morning rays could be felt as keenly as the nip of a Cutiefly on the rump of a Copperjah. The undergrowth surrounding them was a-bustle with activity with the onset of dawn. Rookiedee could be heard stirring to wakefulness in song, their high, warbling notes companionable with the crunch of their footsteps across the forest floor, and occasionally a streak of grey lightning in the form of a Skwovet would cross their path, dashing for the safety of the overhanging branches. Hop had pulled slightly ahead, jittery with excited energy. Bede struggled to keep up with his darting sure-footedness, lacking in the instinct Hop had for the Weald. The trees seemed to part voluntarily for Hop, ushering him by with a bow and a nod before crowding forth to shove Bede back, a last-ditch attempt to obscure whatever it was Hop had been hiding from him. Bede would not be deterred.

Eventually Hop realised he could no longer hear the crash of Bede’s steps behind him and spun in place to animatedly assure him they were almost there (can you see the glow up ahead?) only to blink at the emptiness behind him. He drew to a halt, near-vibrating with impatience, just shy of a cartoonish hop from foot to foot. Bede stumbled up beside him a few seconds later. He paused to pick some leaves from his perfect hair, breath coming slightly laboured. Hop opened his mouth to speak, a playful quip on his lips, only to realise Bede was shivering slightly. Without thinking, Hop fumbled in his pocket to unravel his scarf that was bundled there and paused to hand it over.

“Here,” he murmured. His voice had become soft; conspiratorial, almost. They were deep into the Weald, now – no longer alone. The trees appeared to have drawn closer, the tremor of their leaves in the weak breeze reminiscent of whispered conversation.

Bede’s eyes fluttered with surprise, and Hop caught himself observing in that instant how thick his eyelashes were. Like bleached clumps of desert grass surrounding an oasis. He was in the middle of contemplating how stupid that thought was when Bede grasped the proffered scarf.

“Thanks,” he replied, avoiding Hop’s gaze and sweeping forward, so Hop didn’t have time to properly assess if that really was a faint colour on his cheeks.

Hop shook his head and followed, eager to leave the strangeness of whatever that moment had been behind them. They had arrived at the arch of trees that lined the path to the altar and Hop felt a familiar flush of anticipation. He had been here countless times before, of course, but it was never any less special. They burst through the treeline to stumble over crumbling stone, and Hop immediately felt the peace of the atmosphere settle over him, akin to relaxing into bed after a long day. When he looked over at Bede he was blinking rapidly, eyes struggling to adjust without the shroud of fog obscuring his vision. Hop waited, a benign smile tracing his features as he met Bede’s gaze with an expectant look.

“Well.” He gestured toward the altar. “Here we are.”

Bede had frozen, hands only partially lowered from where he had been rubbing his eyes. Hop surpassed a chuckle; the pose gave him the look of a child who had been distracted mid-cry by a toy waved in his face.

“What is this place?” Bede whispered, awestruck.

“Follow me,” Hop replied. Were it Gloria, he would have reached out and grabbed his wrist. But it wasn’t. Instead, he twitched his head in the direction of the altar and led him to stand in the shadow of the crumbling stonework. Bede lingered warily by his side, body taut with the breath he was holding. Hop grinned at him encouragingly and knelt down to run a careful finger along the blade of the Rusted Sword.

“This is the birthplace of Zacian and Zamazenta.” Hop turned to meet his gaze over his shoulder. “This is where they lay for thousands of years, protecting the Weald. And this is where myself and Gloria came to rouse them when…”

“The Darkest Day,” Bede murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. “I remember.”

Hop nodded and rose to his feet, hand going to caress the cool metal of the Pokéball at his belt. “We had met them, once before,” he continued. “The day our journeys began… we chased a runaway Wooloo into here and got lost in the fog. It was worse than it is at the moment, if you can believe it.” He chuckled. “They chased us away, then. Had this place under their protection. But… they chose us when the time came. They came to our aid when we called for them, and later joined us as our partners.” He unlatched the Pokéball and smiled lovingly at it as he rolled it in the palm of his hand. “Zacian followed me. A Fairy-type.” He grinned at the dawning realisation in Bede’s eyes. “I thought you might like to meet them.”

Bede’s opened his mouth, but before he could reply Hop had tossed Zacian’s Pokéball to the ground. Simultaneously, they raised a hand to shield their faces as Zacian burst forth in a beam of light. Hop stepped forward to take his partner’s face in his hands, and laughed as Zacian snuffled at him affectionately. When he turned to look at Bede he was still standing, slack-jawed and stunned into silence at the casual manner in which Hop greeted this being whom until relatively recently had been spoken of only in legend.

“Zacian,” Hop moved aside to nod in Bede’s direction. “This is Bede, the Fairy Type leader here in Galar. He’d be honoured to meet you.”

Zacian flicked their ears in acknowledgement and turned to survey Bede, inquisitive. Bede merely stood for a long moment, fingers pressed to his throat. He was so still Hop could observe rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Hop cleared his throat, about to ask Bede if he was alright, before Bede broke out of his daze to stumble forward and kneel before Zacian, forehead lowered so it almost touched the earth. Hop watched with bated breath as Zacian tilted their head to observe him for a heartbeat, yellow eyes bright with intensity, before gently pressing their nose to the back of Bede’s head.

Bede was trembling when he raised himself up to meet Zacian’s gaze. They stared at one another for a long moment, deep in unspoken conversation, until Zacian lowered itself to Bede’s level in invitation. A grin unfurled over Hop’s face like a ray of sunshine through cloud as Bede placed a shaky hand atop Zacian’s head and Zacian rumbled quietly with approval when Bede stroked behind his ears. Bede appeared overcome with a humility so uncharacteristic to Hop he was almost unrecognisable; in the buttery sunlight that seemed to constantly bathe the grotto his hair and the alabaster planes of his face were alight, features slack with awe. There were only a handful of fleeting moments Hop could recall where he had seen Bede with his guard totally down: the funeral, the lab on the first day… now. Every time it seemed to stopper his breath – be it with surprise or something else, he didn’t know. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.

After an eternity Bede stepped away. He stumbled, still a tad shaky on his feet, and Hop snapped from his trance to put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, a hesitant smile on his lips. Bede regained his balance and moved away, suddenly tense.

“Thanks,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush the dust from his trouser-legs. He used the moment to gather himself, to attempt to arrange the swirl of emotion welling inside him into something resembling words. “Hop…” he swallowed. “Hop… I can’t… I don’t know how to thank you.”

Hop grinned. “No need. I thought it was about time Zacian play a part in our studies.” At the mention of his name Zacian wandered over to Hop to nose the back of his neck, and Hop let out a short bark of surprised laughter as he reached up to scratch them under the chin. “I… Zacian and this place mean a lot to myself and Gloria, obviously. I didn’t want you to know about it all because… well, you know.” His smile became sheepish. “And that was foolish, I know that now. Zacian, being Fairy-type, might have something to do with our research, and I was excluding you from that out of pettiness. Bringing you here will hopefully be a step in the right direction for the project and a gesture of goodwill moving forward, right?”

Bede nodded. “It’s an honour,” he murmured. He shook his head, still reeling. “Opal, as you know, had come here before, to study Fairy types and uncover the secrets of the Weald. I’m glad she was still alive when yourself and Gloria brought Zacian and Zamazenta back. Even if she never got to the bottom of the secrets of the Weald… knowing Zacian had returned was enough.” His voice had become rough with emotion, and Hop pretended not to notice when he raised an arm to swipe over his eyes.

“I’m glad,” Hop replied gently. “And I’m glad we did this.” It was time to put the past behind them.

Bede nodded, gaze soft. “Me too.”

#cheeryfairyshipping #bedehop #hop #bede #pokemon swsh #my writing

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