#and no one at school is treating her accordingly.

[anna-scribbles]

last one i promise(<—lie)

#let’s as a society think more about why adrien wanted to go to school #and what. perhaps. he thought school was #i think the way chloe describes it she really is just a beautiful rich girl with too much time on her hands #and no one at school is treating her accordingly. #abby got so mad at me today because she thinks it’s too cringe that i keep taking about adrien liking ohshc #which is like. how are you gonna know me my whole life and then be disappointed when i’m cringe. #i’ve never hidden who i am. it’s cringe all the way down #anyway #ml #my art #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #ohshc #wait i am gonna tag this thirteen actually. just go with me #thirteen

[dulcesiabits]

you arrive like a dream.

summary: you are fourteen years old when bachira breaks your heart, and you run halfway across the world to avoid him. so how are you supposed to react when the universe, against all your express wishes, brings the two of you back together again?

notes: 14k words, fic, author's notes, childhood friends, childhood heartbreak, messy relationships, really kind of a study of how people fall apart and then get back together

“I want to take a break from us.”

It’s the first thing your boyfriend says to you, barely waiting for the waitress to set down your order and clear away your laminated menus before speaking.

Instead of responding, you take a long sip of your milkshake, whipped cream sinking into a chocolate sea, your mouth flooding with sweetness. You regard the boy across from you thoughtfully, the one you’ve been dating for six months ever since he confessed to you during a school dance. He’s not the only boy you’ve ever dated in America, but he’s the one you’ve dated the longest. 

Most American boys seem to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as an exchange student from Japan. The kinder ones try not to treat you any differently than they would from your other classmates, but the worse ones will make constant jokes about hentai and mock your faint accent. 

By this point, though, you’ve learned to tune out the insults and the passive aggressive comments. You’ve always been good at dealing with other people, knowing how to read the mood and adjusting your behavior accordingly. Your teachers often praised you for being so well-behaved and conscientious. 

The meaner boys treat you like a zoo animal precisely because they want to see your reaction, so it’s better not to give them the reaction that they want. Otherwise, the second they sense hurt, they’ll sink their teeth in and never let go. Of course, they don’t seem to realize that in the same way they observe you, you can observe them right back. 

As for your boyfriend, Thomas? Well. He does his best. Or at least you think he does his best. No one mocks you to his face when he’s around, and he valiantly tells people to “knock it off” whenever he thinks you feel uncomfortable. He’s sweet, if a little obtuse, and you like him well enough. You wouldn’t date him if you didn’t. But his confession had been so out of the blue, and you had no real reason to accept him– just like you didn’t have any real reason to reject him. 

In short, your relationship started on an ambivalent whim. He’s not the sort of person you can share your thoughts with, but it’s not as if you’re looking for a lifelong companionship. He’s mild, and nice to be around, which is just what you need after everything that happened to you in Japan. He’s just like the whipped cream slowly disappearing into your milkshake in that aspect.

Your boyfriend calls your name. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me… to explain?” Thomas says softly. 

You’ve been staring into space for too long, and your milkshake is half-empty. You smile at him. “No, it’s fine. A break, right? I understand.”

“I don’t want this to be permanent. It doesn’t have to be,” Thomas says, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. “It’s just soccer season is kicking up again, and I won’t have a lot of time to spend with you. I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, or anything. And I want to focus on practice. So…” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, as if you’re the one breaking up with him, and not the other way around. “We can date again once the season is over.”

“Okay,” you say, dragging your straw through your softening milkshake. “Let’s see what happens at the end of the season.”

Thomas perks up. “Great! Do you want anything else to eat? It’s my treat.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas says.

Milkshakes are no remedies for break-ups, but you bite your tongue. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Thomas flags down the waitress, a freckled and red-haired girl who lets her stare linger a little too long. Not that you can blame her; he is cute. But Thomas, good old oblivious Thomas, only smiles innocently in return. 

Maybe you should get jealous. Pull some American teen movie line and say that “he’s your man” and put her in her place, or something equally dramatic like that. But he’s not really “your man” anymore, is he? Besides, staring is free, and, as you often hear, this is a free country. 

By the time the two of you are out of the diner, Thomas is pulling you into a hug. You limply wrap one arm around his back. “See you later,” he whispers. “You can still call me if anything happens, okay?”

Should you remind him of the international fees that it would take for him to call you Japan? “Okay.” 

You’re still standing outside the diner when Thomas waves at you through the windows of his car and pulls away from the curb. Maybe you should have asked for a ride, but getting a ride with your now-ex is a little weird. The weather is clear and the sunshine warm, so it’s a mild enough spring day for you to walk back. You’d prefer the walk, anyways, compared to the awkward silence in Thomas’s stifling truck.

Halfway down the pavement, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out: it’s your mom. There’s a seventeen hour time difference between California and Japan, and the international fees of a phone call are exorbitant, but your mom has never cared much about finances. “Money is there for you to spend it,” she always claims. Easy enough for her to say when she runs an investment firm that rakes in enough yen for her to send you abroad.

“Hello, Okaa-san,” you say when you open your phone. 

“Hello,” she coos. “Good morning! Ah, wait. It’s afternoon for you, right?”

“It’s afternoon, and you’re a day ahead of me,” you confirm.

“Oho! I forgot! So you’re talking to a time traveler right now,” she says.

“Seems so. Have any news from the future?”

“You’re going on spring break next week, right?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond before barreling on. “Why don’t you fly home to Japan for the holidays?” your mom says. “I’m already booking the tickets.”

“Why’d you even ask if you were going to do it for me?” 

“Just because you always tell me you hate it when I do things without telling you. So I’m alerting you in advance,” she chirps.

You sigh. “Okay. Send me the ticket details when you’re done.”

You can imagine your mom’s grin over the phone. “Perfect! By the way, I ran into Yu-san a little while ago. We talked about how much you used to love her art lessons! Do you remember how you used to beg to spend extra time at Yu-san’s studio?”

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the sunshine suddenly searing your neck. You fight to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. I do. Why?”

“Well, then we started talking about Meguru-kun. You always bugged me about when he could come over and play. You were such a mild-mannered child, but as soon as you saw Meguru-kun, you would just get so wild. I’d never seen you have so much fun. I swear, it was so cute.”

“Okaa-san,” you say faintly, but she continues on.

“Since it’s been so long since you were back in Japan, Yu-san and I thought it would be nice if the two of you could see each other again, so we arranged a little meeting for the four of us. Won’t it be nice to catch up with your childhood friend over dinner? There’s no need to thank me.”

There really isn’t. You gape like an open-mouthed fish after your mom’s triumphant little speech, thoughts scattering like bubbles on the surface of a pond.

“Does Meguru know that you’ve done this?” you say. It’s the only question that manages to escape. His first name feels like ash in your mouth. When did you last use it? 

“Yu-san told him right away. I think she said he was excited to see you!”

“That’s… great,” you say. “I have to go now, Okaa-san. I have something to do. I’ll see you when I fly back.”

“Okay. Love you!”

With a cheerful blip, your mom ends the call and you sink to your knees, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes. Shit. This is going to be the worst possible way to spend your spring break. Thomas is one thing, but Bachira? No way. There is absolutely no way in hell you can face him again.

You might have gotten along back in Japan, running around Chiba together as children, but it’s been years since then. Maybe if you were two regular childhood friends, you would jump with joy at the opportunity to see him. If you didn’t have the particular history you did, this would have been a pleasant surprise. But you two don’t have that sort of relationship anymore, and the thought of Bachira makes old wounds flare to life.

You can’t blame your mom for not knowing, not really. You’ve mentioned your American boyfriends here and there, but you tend to keep a tight lid on your love life, as you’ve always been her pristine, studious child. You try not to make it a habit to keep secrets from your mom.

In fact, the only secret you’ve ever kept from her is that Bachira Meguru broke your heart when you were fourteen years old. 

–

You have always wanted to be the perfect child for your mom.

Ever since you could remember, your afternoons and weekends were full of different lessons, from piano to dance, and English to math tutoring. Your mom cooed with excitement at all your new hobbies, demanding you show her every time you learned a new musical piece or math equation. You charged headfirst into whatever skill you could learn to mold yourself into a well-rounded adult, so no one could find a way to look down on your mom. All of her business associates patted you on the head and spoke indulgently at you. As if you couldn’t sense the way they viewed you as an extension of your mom, and a way to judge her.

Art lessons, however, were when your life took a sudden, unexpected turn.

You remembered this: you were eight, and it was a cool spring day during your very first lesson, and Bachira-san had given you free reign of the canvas, handing you a palette and a brush. Her lessons always took place in her studio, the door open to let in the breeze, sunlight sinking into stacks of piled canvas and painting supplies placed haphazardly on every free surface.

You stared up at Bachira-san with a frown, looking uncertainly in her smiling face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked.

“Whatever you want,” she replied, ruffling the top of your head. You gave a squeak of protest. 

“But what do you want?” you persisted. 

“I want you to do whatever you want,” Bachira-san said with a grin. “Why don’t I give you some space to paint? I’ll come back in a little bit, ‘kay?”

And so Bachira-san had left you in front of a canvas, your frown growing as you dipped a brush into the green paint. Incomprehensible. The adults in your life always had such clear expectations for you, and Bachira-san’s instructions feel like she just handed you a blank map and told you to chart unexplored territory. 

You dragged a tentative, watery streak of green on the bright white canvas, but it looked ugly and intrusive. You’d marred the pristine surface already.

Something brushed your foot. You looked down to see a football rolling across the wooden floor of the studio, and not a second later, the small head of a child peeking around the corner of the door. 

“Kaa-san! I’m back– eh? Who are you?”

The boy approached you curiously. There was a bandage on his face, and streaks of dirt running down his legs and striping his cheeks.

“Who are you?” you demanded, brandishing your brush like a sword. “I’m having an art lesson right now.”

Undeterred, the boy tilted his head like a giant chipmunk. “Art lesson? This is where Kaa-san works.”

“Huh…” Your teacher must be his mom, and he must be her son, you deduced. 

Seemingly losing interest, the boy ran after the football, which had lodged in the corner. With a few swift kicks, the boy skilfully bounced it up on his knee, his elbow, and his head. It was just like the seals you saw once at the aquarium, who could perform the same tricks for a few fish as incentive.

“Hey! Can you play football?” the boy said suddenly, turning back to you with the ball balanced precariously on his head.

“Football? I can’t play. I have to study art.”

“But that’s boring… Wait!” The boy brightened as he lurched towards you, wrestling the brush from your grasp. You watched in horror as the boy slashed the brush across the canvas, dipping randomly into the paint, creating an incomprehensible mess of lines and paint splatters. “Done! Now you can play with me.”

You shoved him, as hard as you could, and the boy toppled to the floor, his football bouncing sadly into a pile of canvas. “What are you doing? You– you ruined it!”

“I helped you,” the boy protested. He leaped up into the air, regarding you quizzically. “Kaa-san paints like that all the time.”

“Bachira-san– Bachira-san is a real artist! You can’t just– argh!” You stumbled at him, annoyed, tiny fists swinging, but the boy only dodged out of the way.

A grin splitted his face. “Are we playing now? Yay!”

You don’t know how long this chase lasted. All you knew was that you wanted to wipe that unbearably happy look from his face after he ruined your lesson, because how on earth could you explain this to Bachira-san? But the boy only danced around, laughing as you tried to lunge at him, always just one step away from you.

You weren’t unathletic, but the boy had stamina on another level, because while you sweated and panted, hands on your knees, he only skipped in circles around you. “Hey,” the boy said. “Are you done already? Come on. Let’s play some more.”

How annoying! How super, super annoying! You gave a great yell as you jumped at him, and, startled, the boy couldn’t move away fast in enough time. The two of you crashed onto the floor, rolling and tumbling. You pulled at his hair and the boy grabbed at your cheeks.

“I’m back! Are you done with– Meguru? Kiddo?”

The two of you froze as Bachira-san stepped into the studio, a plate of cookies in her hand. The two of you watched her with big silent eyes as she surveyed the room. And, for the first time, you realized that you had knocked over some of her paint tubes and canvas, and the two of you were covered in streaks of paint and dust from the floor.

You sprang up as Bachira-san moved closer to the canvas you were supposed to paint on– the one her son had ruined. Your hands were clammy as you lowered your head, like a criminal readying for their punishment.

“Hey, nice artwork, kiddo,” Bachira-san said, breaking into a smile. “Very avante-garde.”

“He… he was the one who did it,” you mumbled, face heating up with shame, pointing at the boy– Meuguru– who was still on the floor. 

He stuck out his tongue. “I only helped!”

“Well, the both of you did a great job,” Bachira-san said. 

“Really…?” you mumbled, looking down at your black shoes, now scraped and scuffed from your scuffle across the floor. 

“Yes, really! Why don’t the two of you have some snacks?”

The three of you munched on cookies for the rest of the lesson as Bachira-san explained the color palette and different forms of art to you. Meguru gifted you the very last cookie with a beaming expression on his face as if you hadn’t tried to tear his hair out, and you thanked him quietly. 

During your next lesson, Meguru was waiting by the entrance of the studio. When he saw you, a goofy smile stole across his face, and he bounded towards you like a puppy.

“Here!” He thrust some flowers into your face. They were small and white, with five different petals. You took them gingerly. 

“What are these for?” you asked.

“For you! So we can be friends! I had a lot of fun with you last time, but you didn’t look really happy. Kaa-san said I have to be aware of other people’s feelings, so this is a ‘let’s be friends’ flower!” 

“You want to be friends with me?” you mumbled.

“Yup! No take backs,” Meguru added. “We’re friends for life now, okay?”

 “Are you sure?” you said. “Yesterday I was rude to you.”

“Were you?” Meguru tilted his head. “Does that matter?”

“I was. I’m sorry,” you said.

“We’re friends! So it’s okay. Hey, this time, you’ll play football with me, right?”

He grabbed your hand, and you carefully wrapped your fingers around his. For some reason, there was a strange fluttering in your chest. Why did holding Meguru’s hand feel a little different from holding your mom’s, or your friend’s hand at school? 

But all you know is this: ever since you took Meguru’s hand that day, you don’t think you’ve ever really let go.

–

You haven’t stepped foot in Japan for three years.

There’s always been an excuse not to: you were busy with studying. You had clubs and other activities. It would be too much of a hassle, and really, you wanted to enjoy every minute abroad you could get.

Your mom bought your excuses easily, so you never had to tell her the real reason you stayed away, the same reason you even bothered to study abroad in the first place: you didn’t want to be in the same country as Bachira Meguru.

But when your plane descends and jolts to a stop, when you pass through customs and scramble to find your luggage at the baggage claim, when you take that first wobbly step into the spring sunshine, squinting into the sky as you raise your hand to shield your eyes, you have no more excuses left. It’s like the universe won’t let you run away, because why the hell does Golden Week fall during the same week during your American spring break? Bachira is on break, same as you, so you can’t even use the excuse that he’s in school to avoid him. It’s a coincidence, or the universe is laughing at you for thinking you could get away so easily.

You pause to scroll through your phone; there’s a few messages from your mom, and an email from Thomas. You hover over the message with your thumb, before swiping away. You told him to email you if he needed you, since it’s not like he had Line or Whatsapp, but you didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.

Everyone is speaking in rushed Japanese around you. It’s a sea of people with black hair and black eyes and luggage and appointments and harried expressions, hurrying in every direction. This is home. America has never felt more far away.

You wander to the edge of the curb, phone still held loosely to your ear as a car pulls up. Your mom rolls down the side window, scarf around her throat and a grin wide on her face. “Hello, hello. Look who’s decided to show up on our side of the globe again.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you acknowledge. 

The driver steps out to put your luggage in the trunk, and your mom rests her arm against the window. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” you say. “It’s not that far from California to Japan.”

“Perfect! So I assume you’ll be ready for dinner in a few hours?”

“Dinner?”

“Well, there’s this wonderful seafood restaurant I wanted to take Yu-san to, and Meguru-kun is free, so we planned our little get-together for today.” Your mom winks, but you feel as if someone pushed you off the airplane without a parachute. Actually, you’d have preferred that to whatever torture this is.

“Okaa-san, I can’t,” you protest, taking a step back. “I just got back. I’m tired. I–”

“Nonsense! It’s just some dinner. Aren’t you excited to see Meguru-kun?”

You force a queasy smile. “But I need to get ready. I want to shower and–”

“Then we can stop by home before we go to dinner. It’s not as if we’re going right now. Come, come. Hop in the car. The sooner we get back, the more time you’ll have to freshen up.”

The next few hours pass by in a weightless blur. You turn the water as hot as it can go and stand under the thundering steam until your fingers turn pruny. You pick out a tasteful outfit, decide you’re trying too hard, and settle for something casual, but then it feels like you’re not trying hard enough. This goes back and forth for half an hour until you throw on the first thing you picked out of your closet.

It almost feels like you’re getting ready for a date, and the thought makes you want to laugh hysterically.

When you’re done, you flop onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You haven’t been in this room for years, and there’s no dust, but it feels like a graveyard, a testament to a different time. There are faded patches of discolored paint on the wall where you once hung up photos of you and Bachira, and empty spots on your shelves where the plastic toys he won for you at summer fairs had once stood. You forgot where you put those old trinkets. They’re either shoved in a box in the back of your closet, or buried in a garbage heap.

Your mom calls your name. “Time to go! Are you ready?”

You’re not. You never will be, but you descend down the stairs and get into the car. You still feel weightless. Dread is the only thing propelling you forward, and it grows heavier with each passing step, weighing you down with its leaden mass.

The restaurant is all polished glass and cool blue tones, so you feel like you’re standing underwater when you step inside. The tablecloths are pressed, the menus so new and shiny you think you could cut yourself on their edges. You’re scurried off to a corner table, next to a painting of the ocean, layered with many painful shades of blue, the frothy white waves so textured you could lick it off like cream.

You order something. You’re not sure what, but the waiter is smiling at your choice.

“Yu-san is running a bit late,” your mom says, with her bright red lipstick which always looks elegant on her and never tacky. You feel childish, all of a sudden, trying to play at being a composed adult, next to her and her genuine enthusiasm for old family friends.

You hope Bachira and his mom never get here. Because of a traffic jam, perhaps. Or a sudden freak accident that cuts off their path, so they have to stay home. Or maybe they’ll just forget, and you can call the whole thing a wash.

“Ah, there she is! Yu-san! Meguru-kun!” Your mom waves wildly, her arm springing back and forth.

Against your will, you turn, biting the inside of your cheek hard. They’re both in street clothes, which sends a dull jolt of surprise through you, but then again, your old teacher has never been one for formalities. You focus hard on her instead of the boy next to her, never taking your eyes off her once as they both settle at the table. Your mom hugs Bachira-san, and they both giggle like schoolgirls. There’s paint on Bachira-san’s sleeves, faint splatters of red and blue and purple. Her hair is in a bun, pulled low.

She reaches out for you, and you melt into her embrace. She smells like paint, like salt water, with an artificial floral scent from her shampoo. “It’s been so long! You’ve gotten so much bigger. Have you been keeping up with your art?”

“I still sketch sometimes,” you say. “But I’ve been busy.”

Bachira-san laughs, a charming sound like windchimes. “Ah, so my lessons weren’t totally wasted! I’d love to see what you’ve been sketching. America has been nice to you, I see.”

You’ve chewed your cheek for too long. The sharp copper of blood fills your mouth like new pennies, and you manage to work your lips into the shape of a smile. “It’s been fun studying abroad.”

And then Bachira calls your name, and you feel like you’re fourteen again, getting your heart broken for the first time. “Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”

You fight to maintain your smile. You can’t look him directly in the eye, so you look somewhere over his shoulder. Has his hair gotten longer? It looks like his mom had tried to tame his bangs with clips. “Hi. It has been a long time.” There. You even sound like you’re happy to see him.

Bachira and his mom order. She and your mom are drinking glasses of red wine, absorbed in their own world, so it’s just you and Bachira. He’s tearing his napkin into little pieces, a miniature blizzard that only grows in intensity with each ticking second. You’re both silent. Is he feeling just as nervous as you? Or are you the only one idiotically aware of the tension? Maybe he doesn’t even notice at all.

“Meguru-kun is on his school’s soccer team?” your mom asks suddenly, forcing the two of you to look at her. “That’s amazing! I heard you want to go to nationals.”

“Yup yup!” Bachira says. “It’s fun to play with everyone.”

“That’s great!” Your mom nudges you with her elbow. “This one over here is juggling a ton of different clubs in America, too. A math team, and a science one, and an art club on top of it, I think.”

Bachira is looking at you now. You stare hard at your glass of water, avoiding his eyes. The silence grows, stretching between the two of you, taut as a wire. Your mom looks back and forth between the two of you, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.

You stand. “Okaa-san, I think I need a bit of a break. I’m still dizzy from my flight,” you say politely, flawlessly. You smile at Bachira-san and your mom, and throw a fuzzy look in Bachira’s direction.

“Are you? I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Do you–”

“I just need some air,” you say, still smiling as you back away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

You flee before anyone can respond, pushing through the doors and into the dizzying sunlight. It’s a coward’s move, but so what? You’ve never pretended to be strong. Your go-to is to put on a smile and smooth over any situation. It’s better not to rock the boat. It’s better to just keep everyone happy– but you can’t do that now. You can’t do this, not now, not in front of Bachira Meguru. 

You look up and down the streets, disoriented as you stumble to a stop. Where are you? The restaurant is at the end of the block, and you’ve somehow paced down the entire length of the street in your desire to escape. This is a high-end area with exclusive fashion stores and exorbitant restaurants, and their polished facades only make you feel smaller and uglier.

You sigh. Maybe it would be better to go home, to leave now before you worry anyone further. You would just ascribe all blame to your plane flight, and no one would be any wiser.

Just as you make up your mind, you see a figure blurring down the street, dashing at an impossibly high speed– a blur of yellow, no, a boy, running straight towards you– alarmed, you try to move to the side, but then he screeches to a stop right in front of you.

It’s Bachira. Shit shit shit— But then he abruptly spins around until all you can see is his back and the way his hair sticks up at the ends, perpetually untamable.

“What are you doing?” you say, irritated. Is this another one of his childish pranks?

“You don’t want to see me, right?” he says, more quietly than you thought he was capable of. 

“I–”

“This way, you won’t have to look at me. Is that okay?”

“So?” you say. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to,” you say petulantly. You flush; why does Bachira bring out your inner child? “There’s nothing for us to say,” you add more coldly.

“I miss you.” The world, in its perpetual motion, freezes for just an instant at his words. Planets stop their revolutions. The tectonic plates pause. Everything slows down, to this single moment in time and space.

You can only manage to faintly say, “So what?” The world resumes spinning again.

“I want to talk to you again,” he says. 

“I don’t care,” you say again.

“I’ll bug you if you don’t come see me again,” he says. “I’ll blow up your phone. I’m gonna send you a ton of mail. I’ll even go to your house and–”

“Stop!” you snap. “You sound like a stalker. Bachira, you know things can’t move backwards, right? We can only go forward. And I don’t want to act buddy buddy with you again.”

“One chance. Pleaseeee. Come on. If you talk with me just once, I won’t bother you again! I promise! Otherwise I’m going to call you! Every! Single! Day!”

You sigh. With the way Bachira is, you have no doubt that he would make good on his threat, no matter how childish or ridiculous he sounds right now. Just once. You could talk to him just once. Besides, this way, you could get rid of all your lingering feelings, and it’d be the same relief of a loose, bothersome baby tooth finally falling out of your mouth.

“Fine. I’ll see you just once. But!” you add, raising your voice before he can throw his hands up in the air in joy. “I decide when and where we will meet.”

“Yay!” Bachira whoops, waving his arms. “Let’s go back, then!”

“Go back where?”

“To the restaurant, duh. The food arrived. I was supposed to tell you that, actually. Oops!”

It would be so easy to just go home right now. But… you glance at the back of Bachira’s hair again. He’s grown taller. And despite his antsy movements, shifting back and forth on his feet, he still hasn’t turned back to look at you once, keeping his ridiculous promise.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you say grudgingly. Your steps feel light as you stare at Bachira, following him all the while, but he still doesn’t look back at you.

At the table, your mom smiles at you. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” you respond. The next time you look at Bachira, you finally meet him in the eye, and his smile lights up his face, just like it did when you were little, the sun rising to sweep the world in light and color.

–

Art lessons with Bachira-san quickly became your favorite thing in the world.

Maybe it was because she never demanded unerring perfection from you, nor did she treat you like a little doll. She delighted in every advancement you made with art, no matter how messy or imperfect. She treated you like you already had things worth saying, and listened to you babble about anything on your mind.

But as much as you loved those things, what you most loved about art lessons with Bachira-san was her son, Meguru.

At some point in the afternoon, he would inadvertently drag you away from your canvas for an adventure through the neighborhood. Bachira-san never seemed to care, and would even encourage you to leave your pastels behind and pick up a stick to be a sword, as long as you had finished drawing at least one thing that you liked.

So, in those perfect sunny afternoons, you would poke at bugs, digging worms out of the dirt and following ants back to their nest and lifting up rocks to watch rollie pollies curl up. You would climb trees, always trying to outrace each other and get to the tallest branch. You would pretend to be pirates and adventurers, clamoring up and down the slides on the park, searching for treasure.

Mostly, though, Bachira wanted to play football.

“You gotta kick it like this! And that!” he cheered, dribbling the ball back and forth between his feet in lithe, swift steps.

“Huh?” you said, trying to keep up with his movements. You always did well during your elementary school’s sports meet, but Meguru was on another level. 

“No, no! More like this!” Meguru said, and kicked the ball high in the air, only to catch it with his knee. 

“I’ll try,” you said. 

“Yay! Then let’s play a few games, okay?”

And you played, not because you particularly loved football, like Meguru did, but because you liked it when he smiled. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. Why would you need anything else? The boundaries of your world began and ended with his hand in yours.

Bachira-san would let him sit in on your lessons on slow days, too, even though he would invariably end up doodling on your canvas instead of his.

“Use your own paper, Meguru!” you retorted as Meguru scribbled a lumpy shadow onto the corner of your sketchpad. “This one is mine!”

“Eh? But we’re friends! So I can draw on yours!”

And then the two of you bickered playfully until you ended up doodling all over each other’s works, which Bachira-san then dubbed a “collaborative masterpiece,” and hung up the pictures side by side on a corkboard in her studio. It made your heart flutter to see the papers fluttering like friends.

Other times, Meguru would wander off in the middle of your lesson after drawing to his heart’s content, grabbing the football that was perpetually by his side.

“I’m done,” Meguru said, throwing down his colored pencil. There was a strange red creation on his page, some machine with a thousand different blue and green buttons and square windows. It had dragon wings and a boat’s rudder, and soared through scribbled stars and over choppy turquoise waves.

“What is that?” you asked him.

“A car that can fly across the ocean,” Meguru explained. “I’m gonna drive it up to pick up all my favorite football players, and there’s gonna be a stadium in it, and we’re all gonna play football together!”

“Can I come, too?”

“Duh! You can sit in the pilot seat with me. That’s why I made it so big,” he said, before dribbling his football out the studio door.

Even if he wandered off, Meguru would always rejoin the two of you on time for lunch. He had some sort of sixth sense for the moment Bachira-san started passing out snacks, peeking his head (sometimes with twigs or dirt scattered in his hair) around the studio door, cheerfully announcing, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back, Meguru! You’re just in time for a snack,” Bachira-san said, sweeping her hands at the row of pudding cups on the table. You were sitting quietly in a chair, posture straight, methodically scooping out every last bit of pudding with your spoon.

“Pudding! It’s pudding time,” Meguru exclaimed cheerfully at the sight of the snacks, running up to the table to snatch up several cups and a spoon in his chubby hands. 

“Meguru! Leave some for your friend!” Bachira-san scolded lightly, and Meguru would come running right back to you. 

“Here,” he said, dropping a cup in front of you.

Meguru could never sit still, so your eyes were inevitably drawn to him as he danced around the room, running from corner to corner and shoving pudding into his mouth so fast his cheeks puffed out like a small animal’s. Whenever he caught your eye he would stick out his tongue, and you would stick out your tongue in return. When there was only one pudding cup left on the table, you reached for it, before turning to Meguru. 

“Have this,” you said, handing him the pudding cup, which Meguru had been eying with a wide open mouth and sparkling eyes.

“Yay! Thanks!” he said. “Let’s share it!”

“I saved it for you, though.”

Meguru shook his head as he unpeeled the cap, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of the shiny, golden treat. “Well, I want you to have some, too.”

There was no better pudding in the world than the spoonfuls you had that day, Meguru graciously proffering the very last bite for you to eat. The memory of that sweetness resounded through your dreams. 

Even your mom had gotten used to your chattering about Meguru. He was your favorite topic, and nothing was ever quite as important or interesting as him. As soon as your mom’s car pulled up to the curb at the end of your lessons, you would clamber inside, your artwork for the day clutched tightly in your hands, and a new story about Meguru on your lips.

“Okaa-san, Okaa-san,” you said brightly. “Guess what Meguru did today?”

“Let me guess,” your mom said playfully as the driver pulled away from the curb. “The two of you played together?”

“Yup! This time, we pretended to be monkeys living in the trees! And then we got into a monkey war! And we threw a bunch of sticks at each other, and Bachira-san let us eat bananas for a snack! And we kept trying to peel them like monkeys, too.”

“How exciting! I didn’t realize I was taking a monkey home with me today,” your mom replied. “Are you having fun with your art lessons?”

“I’m having a lot of fun, Okaa-san. I’m learning a lot!” You squirmed in your seat. “Oh! But you have to hear about what Meguru did!”

You didn’t know if your mom ever got tired of you chattering on and on about Meguru. If she did, she never let it show, and she watched you with gentle eyes the whole time you talked. 

“You act differently around Meguru-kun,” she said.

“Is that bad?” you asked anxiously, suddenly alert.

She smiled. “No, not at all. Everyone has different sides to them. But I’m glad you’re good friends with him. You talk about him all the time.”

You fiddled with your fingers, feeling strangely pleased and shy all at once. Meguru always stirred unknown emotions in you. “I just like him a lot!”

“Enough to marry him?” your mom teased.

Your face brightened at her words; you hadn’t even realized that was an option. But it was such a great idea. If you married Meguru, then the two of you could be together forever. It just made a lot of sense; who else in the world would you rather spend your entire life with? No one else could compare to your best friend. If you lived in the same house, then you could have sleepovers everyday, and never be separated. “I do!”

Your mom laughed. “Does he want to marry you, though? You can’t decide that on your own!”

“He will if I ask him,” you explained. “He doesn’t say no to me.”

Your mom laughed even harder at that, tears springing to the corner of her eyes. “So he’ll do whatever you say? That sounds very sweet of him.” 

However, one memory from this period of time stood out to you, clearer than the rest. You would dream about it, taking it down from a shelf to blow off the dust and stare into its depths.

It was a hot spring day, about a year after you had started art lessons, and Meguru stumbled into the studio with bruises on his face and scrapes on his knees. He had been gone for most of the afternoon, which had disappointed you slightly, but you knew you would see him again. However, you never imagined it would be like this.

“Meguru!” You ran to him, watercolor brush dropping to the paint splattered floor, stopping to grab his shoulders in concern. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Bachira-san?”

Meguru shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “No.” 

“What happened?” you asked urgently. “You’re hurt!” 

Ushering him to a seat, you ran to the sink and grabbed a towel, running it under a gush of cold water, before returning and dabbing at Meguru’s wounds as gently as you could. Blood came away in thin streaks like paint. 

“Hey…” Meguru began quietly, in a small voice. He didn’t sound like the cheerful boy you knew, the one who was never phased and bounced off from every mistake and accident with a bright smile. It reminded you a little of how, when you were driving home after lessons, you would peek back at Meguru. His figure looked a little lonely outlined against the sunset, as he bounced a soccer ball quietly to himself. 

“What is it?” You ran back to the sink, where you opened the cabinet underneath it to fish out some bandaids. 

“We’re friends, right?” Meguru asked. 

“Huh? Where’s this coming from? Of course we are. What else would I be?” 

Meguru looked down at his knees as you slapped a bandaid on his skinned knees without a complaint. 

“So you don’t think I’m weird, right?” he said, and his lips quivered with each word. “You’re not gonna leave me?” 

“You’re not weird,” you said firmly. It occurred to you, then, that Meguru never talked about anyone in his life outside of you and Bachira-san. You hadn’t seen him with any other kids your age, either. Maybe you were his whole world, in the same way he was yours. “You’re my best friend, and I would never leave you. If you’re worried about it, then we could get married.” 

“Married?” Meguru peeked at you from under the fringe of his bangs. 

“So we can be together forever,” you explained. 

Meguru smiled, just a little, a wobbly uplifting of his mouth. “Okay! Pinky-promise me, then! We’re gonna get married.”

You lifted up your hand and, with all the clumsy reverence of a child, locked pinkies with Meguru. You shook once, twice, and then let go, as if this was a ceremony as solemn as a real wedding. 

“What happened, though, Meguru? Are you sure it’s okay if I don’t get Bachira-san?” 

Meguru shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because we have each other, right?” 

You beamed at him, sunshine spilling in your chest, a golden glow. “Right. We’ll always have each other!”

–

Over the next few days, Bachira’s promise hangs over you like a darkening cloud, slowly threatening rain. 

It’s not like you forgot what you told him. You would contact him, eventually. But there was a time and place for everything, and this required more delicate care than anything you’ve undertaken so far. Besides, when you look at your phone screen, you feel a flush of embarrassment. You’ve never been able to bring yourself to block Bachira’s contact, and you still know his number by heart. 

When you first moved to America, a small, foolish part of you thought that he would contact you eventually. He would come running back to you, unable to stand the distance any longer. In your most unbearable, romantic daydreams, he would fly over to California and beg you to go home to Japan with him. But the weeks passed, and you entertained desperate thoughts each time you saw the lack of notifications on your phone screen.

You should message him first. No, you should call him. Or call Bachira-san instead, and learn more about Bachira through her. Or you could show up at one of his football games, and Bachira would be overcome by emotion and throw his arms around you and everything would be repaired, as easy as that. 

But your dreams were nothing compared to the overwhelming silence of reality. No, it was better to find a way to bury the memory of Bachira, and find someone else. There were so many people in the world, and maybe you had been too distracted to realize that, out there, there was someone more perfect and wonderful for you. That’s how you found yourself dating Thomas, accepting his confession without a second thought.

You’re reminded of that time as your fingers hover over Bachira’s icon now, sitting cross-legged on your bed. Keep it simple. A short message. 

Are you free to meet up today? I think we should go to the park near your house.

Not even a few seconds later, your phone dings.

yes!!!!!!! heading over now :3

Now? You aren’t even ready! Is your outfit good? What about your appearance? Your hands flutter nervously. You could be over at the park in a matter of minutes if you took the car, but… Wait. Why are you worrying over this sort of thing again? Why do you still care so much about his opinion? Knowing Bachira, it’d all be the same to him whenever you showed up in a trash bag or a thousand dollar suit. He’s never been one to care much for appearances. 

Your phone buzzes again, and you whip it up to your face. It’s not a message from Bachira, but an email from Thomas. Your heart lunches as you open it to read a simple message asking about your trip, and if you’ve been well. 

You’ve forgotten entirely about him. Instead, you’ve been thinking only of Bachira. Sure, you’re technically not dating Thomas right now, but why does it still make you feel so guilty?

You made a note to yourself to message Thomas back later. You can only handle one thing at a time right now, and Bachira is the major agenda on your list. It only takes a few minutes for you to make your way to the park, agonizingly short and slow at the same time, as if time is warping around you.

Bachira is sitting on one of the swings, twisting the metal chains in spirals and letting go slowly, so he twists in dizzying loops. The air is soft, perfumed with the scent of newly flowering trees, white petals falling like pale rain.

You pause just outside the entrance. He hasn’t noticed you yet. When did Bachira grow taller? He’s always had a round face, but puberty has melted the last of his baby fat away. His hair, at least, is as messy as ever, strands curling in every direction away from his face, his wild bangs held in check by a few clips clinging to remain on. 

The worst part is that you know him still, that you will always know him. That you would recognize him even under a different name or if you had been struck blind and deaf. You would know him by your touch alone, by scent, by taste. The very space Bachira occupies is left changed by his presence, and you could chase his lingering trails for the rest of your life. 

“Bachira,” you greet, walking slowly to where he’s still twisting in circles. You grab the chains, jerking him to a sudden stop, and he tilts his head up to look at you as he sways back and forth on the swings, your shadow falling across his face. 

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re here!” 

You nod. Your voice has fled in Bachira’s presence, and all you can do is drink him in.

“I missed you,” Bachira says.

“We met a few days ago.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant I missed you the whole time you were gone from Japan! I thought of you the whole time.”

You finally manage to unstick your voice. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“Because you told me not to. You were so mad at me. I didn’t want to make you madder.”

“Did you think I hated you?” you say. 

“You didn’t?” he says quietly.

“I…” you begin, then clear your throat. “I could never hate you.”

Bachira kicks at the ground. “Then why didn’t you text me?” he says, echoing your question.

“I was mad, Bachira. I…”

“You said we were best friends.”

You blink. Once, twice. “I did. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Then are we still best friends?”

“I…” You duck your head so he can’t see your face. “It’s been so long. And…” You can’t forget what happened in middle school. You can’t return to the way your relationship used to be, when you were children, and the world was simple, and uncomplicated. Why did he look at you like the two of you could? “It’s different now.” 

“I always thought you were my best friend,” he says plaintively. “That’s never changed.” 

“Then in middle school, why did you…” You chew the tender flesh of your cheek. 

When you were in America, you had fantasized about what you would say to him, how you would redo your argument and say the right words to strike home. You had thought about running into him again, and how the perfect speech would flow from your mouth, conveying all your feelings, mending whatever had broken all those years ago. In angrier times, you thought about hitting right where it hurt, your words like a sword, and you, the perfect, righteous victim. Now, though? Now your sentences come in bits and pieces, awkward and stilted, breaking under his gaze. 

“Why did you do that to me, Bachira?” you continue quietly. “Do you think we can go back to the way we were before, just like that?”

A buzz emanates from your pocket. Grateful for the distraction, you drop your grip from the swings. There are imprints of the chain links on your palm as you swipe open your new notification.

“Is it your mom?” Bachira asks.

You squint at the bright email on your phone. “No. It’s from my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” There’s a strange quaver in Bachira’s voice.

“My boyfriend. In America,” you add. “He plays football, too, and he drives me to places.” You feel mean then, your heart shriveling into something small and petty. You hadn’t intended to lie about Thomas, who was just your ex, but the lie feels good as you drink in Bachira’s lost gaze, eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotions. 

“I’m qualified to make nationals for football,” Bachira says, that odd tone still in his voice. 

“So is my boyfriend,” you add. The football season in America had just started, but Bachira didn’t need to know that. 

“Cars are overrated. I just walk everywhere. It helps me become a better player,” Bachira adds. 

“I should probably go so I can respond to him,” you say, waving your phone, ambling slowly towards the park entrance. Bachira’s gaze never leaves your phone.

Bachira kicks hard at the ground, shoes digging into the angry dirt. “So you like him, then? You like him a lot?” 

“Bachira.” Your gaze bores into him. A breeze, sweet with the scent of flowers, ruffles his hair. “The way we are now, I don’t think you have the right to question me.” 

He flinches, spinning the swing into motion, as if he can fly far from your words. But he’s only going back and forth in one direction, legs kicking at the sky. 

You watch him for a while longer. All the anger drains out of you then. What is it that you came back here for, anyways? What are you looking for? What do you want? If growing up is going to be so painful, then maybe Bachira is right. You should have remained the way you once were, just the two of you. 

–

By pulling some strings and begging your mom, you were able to get into the same public middle school as Meguru. The plan initially had been to send you to a fancy prep school overseas for both middle and high school, but you rebelled and pleaded, threatening to run away and to ruin the family reputation. 

“I’ve never seen you cry so hard,” your mom teased. “From the way you were acting, I might as well have been torturing you. I didn’t realize you hated the idea of studying abroad so much.” 

Your face burned at her words. “I’m sorry, Okaa-san.”

“Don’t be. It was cute. You hardly ever act like that, so it was nice to see.” She slid a sly smile at you. “But I wonder… is there a particular reason you wanted to go to this middle school?” 

You shook your head vehemently. “No! Not at all!” 

“Really? Not even for a certain little cute friend of yours?” your mom continues. 

“Okaa-san!” you protested, and she threw up her hands in surrender. 

When you started middle school with Meguru in the spring, though, it hadn’t been like what you expected. For starters, there was always a sea of people around you, pushing Meguru away like he was a piece of kelp set adrift on the tide. You knew how to make friends; how to smile just so, or to reply in the right lulls in the conversation to keep it going. But Meguru was always in a corner by himself. Even when you invited him over, your classmates would smile awkwardly at his nonchalant comments, or find reasons to drift away.

“He’s weird,” one of your classmates confided in you, one hand cupped around her mouth. “He talks to himself sometimes, and he never pays attention in class. He’s not a bad guy, but… he should try to fit in more.”

She looked expectantly at you, as if offering you a gift. You backed away from her instead, your own smile strained. “I see. But I like Meguru the way he is. He’s not doing anything wrong, and I don’t see why he has to change.” 

Regardless of how the other students treated Meguru, though, you were determined not to let it affect you.

You were the only one to greet him in the hallways, and to sit by him during lunch. In the warm weather, the two of you would sit side by side in a secluded corner of the classroom, or try to find a place to sit outside under the shade of some trees. You walked home with him (because he preferred to dribble his football on the way, instead of taking a ride in your car), and walked to school with him, asking the driver to drop you off in front of his house. You dragged Meguru to study with you, somehow pulling him through each exam by the skin of his teeth, because you refused to imagine a situation in which the two of you wouldn’t be in a class together. Your classmates started joking that if they wanted to find you, all they had to do was call Meguru’s name, and you would pop up expectantly. 

It was shaping up to be a good three years of middle school. You would graduate on time at this rate, and go to high school together. The only issue, though, was something that took place during the start of your third year of middle school. A classmate of yours had asked you to meet him after school, surrounded by two of his friends who grinned and elbowed him as he rubbed his neck, refusing to look you in the eye. 

You didn’t think much of it at the time. When you showed up at the classroom, he turned to you with a sudden desperation, face red, and bowed. 

“Please go out with me!” he said. “I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!” 

“Huh?” You gripped the straps of your bag tighter. “You… you like me?”

He bowed even more deeply at your confused tone. “Is it no good? Do you not feel anything for me?”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry,” you said gently. 

The boy groaned. “I knew it. It’s because of Bachira, right? The two of you are always together. I don’t stand a chance against him.” 

“Because of Meguru?” you repeated. 

The boy nodded. “You like each other, right? It’s obvious. Man, I shouldn’t have tried to get in between that.”

You couldn’t find the words to deny him or to fix the misunderstanding, even after the two of you parted. You and Meguru? Of course you liked him. He was your best friend. 

But you couldn’t let go of that boy’s words. You mulled over them, again and again. Like clothes that no longer fit quite right, your relationship with Meguru had changed shape before you had noticed. Somehow, that boy was the first to notice.

You always waited for Meguru to finish soccer practice, no matter how late it ran. Sometimes you had student council duties, or you would just sit cross-legged and work on your homework as he ran around the field. You’d done this for all three years of middle school, and the entire team knew you by name. The coach would jokingly ask if you were okay if you ever missed a day of practice, calling you an honorary member of the team. 

Today was no different, and you made your way to the soccer field to wait for him. Without fail, when Meguru finished, the first thing he did was whip his head around, looking for you. As soon as he did, he made a beeline straight to you, without a care in the world. 

He threw his arms around you from behind, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You shrieked, and he laughed, and you were a tangled pile of clinging limbs and grass stains.

It’s what he did. It’s what he was like. So why did your heart burst like a thousand butterflies into flight, reacting to his touch? He’s always been touchy. Your classmate was getting in your head. 

“There you are!” Meguru said, looping his arms around your neck, heedless of who was watching, even if the team was used to his antics. “Let’s go home now!”

When he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, you couldn’t move, skin hot wherever he touched you. 

“Okay, let’s go home, Meguru,” you said softly.

As soon as you went home, you sprinted past your mom to leap onto your bed and hug your pillow. You liked Meguru. You liked him so much, and it was so obvious now. It was the most natural stage for your relationship to progress to. Maybe you had always liked him, and you just didn’t have the words for it until now. Meguru had always been the most special person in the world to you, and that idea had simply taken on a new shade of meaning.

He had promised to be with you forever, hadn’t he? And Meguru would never break a promise to you.

You were careful not to let Meguru know your feelings over the following months. It would be embarrassing if he discovered them so soon, especially when it had taken you so long to realize them. But everyday after you went home, you would list all the things he had done that day, like touching your hand and hugging you, and calling your name three different times during history class. Everything about him felt so much more special now. 

You liked him. You liked him so much. And you had to do something about it before graduation. As the months dripped by like water falling from a melting icicle, you planned when to make your move: on the most romantic day of the year. 

During Valentine’s Day, you splayed your bandaged fingers across your desk in anticipation, your gift wrapped neatly in your backpack.

It had taken you all week to make the chocolates, which you had painstakingly molded into chocolate hearts. Since it was the first Valentine’s in which you were giving someone chocolate, you had delicately filled each heart with different fruit flavored jams– strawberry, orange, and even pineapple, Meguru’s favorite. The chocolates were nestled in a bag of pink cellophane and white tissue paper, with a red ribbon neatly tied in a bow on top. You had refused help from everyone, even the chef and your mom, because it was more special if you did it by yourself. 

You hadn’t been able to stop bouncing in your seat all morning, nervous energy thrumming through you as the teacher’s history lecture went in one ear and out the other. The chocolates burned like a secret in your school bag, and you couldn’t resist fiddling with the zipper, constantly sliding it down to make sure the gift was still there.

When lunch finally rolled around, like an anxious puppy, you jumped out of your seat and headed straight to Meguru, who was sleeping, his head buried in his arms and doodles scattered across his notebooks like stars.

“Meguru,” you said, shaking his shoulder. “Meguru, wake up. Class is over.”

“Uh?” Meguru blinked one slow, sleepy eye at you, before stretching. “It is?”

“Yes. I have something to show you,” you emphasized. “It’s a surprise.”

“What is it?” He sat up, staring at you expectantly. 

You glanced around the classroom; only a few people were still in their seats, eating homemade lunches and chatting with their friends, heads bent over magazines or phones. Reaching in your bag, you fumbled for the chocolates, hands trembling as you presented them to Meguru.

“Chocolate? Wow, thanks!” His eyes lit up as he reached for the bag, untying it and shaking a few of the hearts into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, his lips curling up in bliss. “These are so good!”

“I made them myself,” you explained shyly. “It took a while, but… I wanted to do something special for you, Meguru.”

He stuffed another chocolate into his mouth. “Thanks! You’re the best friend ever!”

Your face twitched at his choice of words, but you still plowed on. “Well… These aren’t just any chocolates, you know? Do you remember what day it is?”

“Uh…”

“It’s Valentine’s,” you supplied impatiently. “So, um…”

“These are friendship chocolates?” Meguru asked, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.

“No.” Your hands were clammy now. It was just Meguru. Meguru, who you’ve known forever. Meguru, who promised to be by your side. Meguru, who understood you more than anyone else in the world. Why were you so afraid? He’d never hurt you.

“Can I share these with my mom?” Meguru continued innocently. “I think she’d love ‘em, too.”

“No!” Meguru stared at you, and your cheeks burned. “Sorry. I can make some for Bachira-san later. But these are special, Meguru. They’re… they’re not friendship chocolates.”

A sudden hush descended over the classroom. You were on a stage, a bright, hot spotlight beaming down on you and making your neck sweat. This wasn’t anything like what you read about how confessions went in shoujo manga. Meguru’s clueless eyes burned into you, and it was like he didn’t understand the script you were trying to read for him.

Meguru ate another heart, gnashing it beneath his teeth. “Eh? What other kind of chocolate can they be?”

You forced the words out. “They’re… they’re romantic.  I’m confessing to you. I like you, Meguru.”

Your breathing was shallow, and your heart beat like a frightened animal. You couldn’t look at him anymore, and the heaviness of your words dropped like stones onto the floor. 

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry.” The awkwardness in Meguru’s voice was too much. You backed away from his desk, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. When you looked up, you could see your classmates, feigning disinterest as they purposefully avoided your gaze. 

You burst out of the classroom, ignoring the sound of Meguru’s chair screeching back as he yelled after you, “Wait!”

You were fast, but Meguru was faster. You skidded down the steps wildly, taking several at a time, and you were half down the landing when Meguru caught up to you. He called your name at the top of the stairs, but you refused to look back– and then, he landed in front of you, breathing heavily, shirt sleeves rolled up. He had jumped down an entire flight of stairs to catch up to you. 

Meguru called your name. “Wait! Wait, wait.”

You turned your head away, but you could still sense Meguru in front of you. Your childhood friend. Your best friend. You had drawn hearts around his name in the back of your notebook this morning.

“What is it?” you said softly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Meguru had just been surprised, and now he would confess his feelings.

 It was a joke, right?” he said uncertainly. “You were joking. It was a weird joke, but–”

“I wasn’t joking!” you yelled, shoving him backwards with a wild strength that surprised you. You haven’t been this mad at him since you first met. 

Meguru stumbled back a few steps, watching you with wide eyes. It was an expression you hadn’t seen on him before: confused, lost, and afraid. Shouldn’t you be the one making that face?

“Okay. Um. It’s just weird if our relationship changes like that. You and me? That’s kinda weird,” he said again. “We’re friends! I don’t want to be anything else.”

You dug your nails into the meat of your palm until the pain was all you could think about. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“Huh?” Now Meguru looked even more afraid.

“I like you, Meguru,” you said, a broken sob in your voice. “I can’t just be friends with you. I…”

Meguru stepped closer to you. There was a starburst of hope in your chest, before it was dashed by Meguru dropping your Valentine’s Day chocolate in your hands. You curled your fingers over the hearts, crushing them in your palm.

“I don’t want to do this,” Meguru mumbled. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, okay?”

“You’re a coward,” you said furiously, pushing all your hurt into your voice. You weren’t sad. You weren’t going to cry. Not especially in front of him. “I– I don’t want to see you again. Don’t talk to me. You liar! You said you would always be by my side!”

When you looked down the stairs, you could see a few of your fellow students, awkwardly hovering near the bottom of the landing. They averted their gazes when they met your eyes, but your whole body felt hot with rage and embarrassment. How many people had seen and heard the two of you? By tomorrow, everyone in school would probably be gossiping about how you were rejected by Meguru.

You ran. You ran, and this time, Meguru didn’t stop you as you jumped down the stairs. Somehow, you made your way home. You started listlessly at your phone, but there was no message from Meguru. You had been the one to tell him not to contact you, but… you threw your phone onto your bed.

Stupid Meguru. Stupid you. It had never occurred to you that Meguru might not feel the same way as you. You had been so arrogant, so certain that he liked you, and now you had embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school. 

Did he forget? He promised to marry you. But that had been on a childish whim of his, no doubt, something he had long forgotten. You buried your head in your arms, and cried until you could drown the entirety of Chiba in your tears.

When your mom came home that night, a frown was brewing on her face, but the sight of your puffy eyes and hoarse voice stopped her lecture.

“What happened?” she asked you. “The school called me. You skipped classes.” 

You shook your head. “I want to study abroad for high school.”

“What? Are you sure? You were so excited to go to school with Meguru-kun. The process would be–”

“I don’t care,” you said. His name stung your heart. “I want to go to America, Okaa-san. Please.”

She peered at you closely, then sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about this later. But if you really want to, then it’s not too late to make it happen.” 

For the rest of your time until graduation, you avoided Meguru. You didn’t text him. When you saw him in the halls, you turned around and went a different way. You stuck closely to your other friends, and went home right away whenever you didn’t have any extracurriculars. You no longer visited the football field after school. 

No one was cruel enough to talk about your confession to your face, but you could feel the glances, hear the whispers, until everyone lost interest and moved on to the next piece of gossip.

A part of you expected Meguru to come running to you, but he quietly kept out of your way. Maybe he was avoiding you, just as much as you were avoiding him. What an odd thought; Meguru had always been the first to whine when you had to leave to visit your grandparents for the summer. He was the one who always threw his arms around you. Maybe your relationship hadn’t meant that much to him after all.

When it came time for you to move to America, you and Meguru graduated middle school without talking to each other at all. 

–

For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to talk to Thomas about Bachira.

In fact, you haven’t told any of your American friends about Bachira. You spent the first year in California trying to forget him, blindly agreeing to go on dates with any boys who showed interest in you. But their love for you was never greater than your own lack of it. Thomas is only the most recent one and you follow his lead, not out of loyalty, but convenience. 

You keep your thoughts held tight to your chest, precious secrets that you refuse to let spill out of your grasp. With everyone in your life, sometimes even your mom, you have always put up a front. The only person you didn’t do that with was with Bachira. 

Bachira is an open wound, one that grows bigger with every year, overwhelming you with its enormity and the way pressing on it still makes you ache. Your friends would laugh if you told them you were hanging on to a boy for so long, nursing this pain like your own child. They wouldn’t understand, and you would look pathetic in their eyes. There are no words in English or Japanese to describe what he means to you. His hold on you is as eternal as the way the flowers bloom during the spring, and the world revolves on its axis. 

The rest of spring break passes in a flash. You hardly run into Bachira anymore, and your mom doesn’t force any more meetings. You email Thomas, who responds with boyish enthusiasm even at your dry answers. 

The night before your morning flight, you rush up and down the stairs, sorting your various toiletries and stuffing clothes into your suitcase. 

“All ready?” your mom asks you, nursing a mug of tea at the counter, watching you bustle.

“Yes, Okaa-san,” you say obediently. She holds open her arms, and you stop by for a hug, her arms enveloping you. She runs a hand in circles along your back, humming to herself.

“You’re such a good child,” she says affectionately. “Come visit me again soon. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Okay.”

“And…” She pulls back to peer into your eyes. “You’re a little too good to me. You should try to be more wild. Rebel, so I can throw up my hands in exasperation at you and complain to all my friends.” 

“I’ll try, so you have something to talk about with your coworkers,” you say, and she pinches your nose. 

“Don’t try. Just do it,” she scolds. “I’ll always forgive you for any silly mistakes you make.”

“Okay, Okaa-san,” you say. “If I break a law, I’ll let you know in advance to prepare my bail.” 

She smiles sadly. “You’re so old now. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt in life, but I can’t fix everything for you.” 

“The world isn’t that nice,” you agree. 

“You haven’t talked to Meguru-kun recently,” she says gently. “Did something happen?” 

You stiffen, your face shuttering closed. “We’re okay. We’re just busy.” 

She stirs the tea in her mug. “Okay. I won’t push you any further. Your life is yours to live. But I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.” 

She leans in to kiss you on the forehead, and you want to cry. From the way she hesitates, you know she wants to say something else, but she simply lets you go.

How long has your mom suspected that your relationship with Bachira isn’t as pleasant as you pretend it is? You rub your forehead as you rush upstairs, dumping the last of your items into your suitcase. You sit on top of it to force it closed as you start zipping up the side, when your phone buzzes.

Bachira? No, it’s Thomas. The header of the email causes you to drop your phone in surprise.

About our relationship…

You pick up your phone, skimming the email.

Can we get back together? You read. I miss you.

How fickle. He was the one who broke up with you, and now he wants to get back together right away as soon as it’s convenient. That might not be a bad idea, though. A relationship where you knew what was expected from you, a simple transaction, would be easy. 

Your phone buzzes again; it’s an incoming call. You stare at the caller ID for a few seconds, your surprised face reflected in the screen, before you answer, pressing the phone close to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Bachira says. “I’m outside.”

“What?”

“I’m outside your door,” he repeats. “Can you come outside? If not, I’ll come in.”

“Why are you here?” You stand, heart pounding. 

“Kaa-san told me you were leaving tomorrow,” Bachira says. “So I wanted to stop by.”

“Bachira…”

“Just for a little bit,” he persists. “That’s all you need to do.”

You sigh. “All right, fine. But only for a few minutes, okay?”

You hang up, pulling on a light jacket before you’re flying down the stairs, trading your house slippers for flip flops, and burst into the cool night air. The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant swatches of peaches and reds. There��s a cool breeze, sweet with the scent of new growth.

Bachira is leaning outside your family gate, a football tucked under his arm.

“What is it?” you ask him tersely, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re going back to America?” he says.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“When will you come back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to university there,” you reply. You had planned to come back for summer break to see your mom, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay.” Bachira looks at the ground. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Why do you want to know about him?”

“Do you like him?”

“I… Sure,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “We’re on break right now because he’s busy with football season, but we’re thinking about getting back together,” you add more strongly, and Bachira kicks at the ground.

“He sounds like a jerk. Why’d he break up with you if he just wants to get back together whenever he wants?”

“At least he’s clear with his intentions,” you say sharply. “And he doesn’t run away.” 

Bachira flinches, but it doesn’t make you feel as good as it should have. “... Shouldn’t…” he mumbles. 

“What?” You tilt your head to catch his words.

“You shouldn’t get with him again,” Bachira says, still kicking at the ground like he would dribble his football. 

“Why not?” You laugh, short and bitter. “How is that your business, Bachira? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. We’re not even— we’re not even friends anymore.” 

No response. What did you expect? 

“I’m tired of this, okay?” you say softly. “All this stupid back and forth. We keep going in circles. If all we’re going to do is hurt each other, then let’s just end this here.”

Bachirs looks up at you finally, his gaze full of so much desperation and uncertainty. His chin trembles as he says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I rejected your confession. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

Bachira might as well have stabbed you. “Do you think that’s going to fix things? You’re sorry? Now? After all this time? What’s that going to fucking fix?” you say, your voice rising with each word you spit out. 

“You didn’t call me, either,” Bachira says quietly. You flinch at the raw hurt in his voice, his overwhelming sadness. “You’re the one who just left without a word. You’re the one who ignored me. You were my only friend. You were my best friend.”

You chew your lip hard. Were. Not are. “I couldn’t face you anymore,” you say. 

“I thought our friendship was stronger than that,” he says.

“I guess it wasn’t.” 

“Do you really not want to be friends anymore?” 

“What do you think? You want us to go back to how we were before and pretend nothing happened? It’s too late. Everything has changed. There’s no going back,” you spit. “You broke my heart. I… I loved you.”

“Then why did you just leave so easily? If you loved me?” Bachira asks. “You ran away and didn’t even try.” 

“I could ask you the same,” you snap. “Just tell me it’s over. Okay? Reject me for good.”

“I can’t.” 

“Why not? It was so easy for you before.”

“Because I love you,” Bachira says desperately.

It’s the world’s cruelest joke. Bachira reaches an uncertain hand towards you, and you jerk back, tears rolling down your face and blurring your vision. He can’t touch you. If he does, you’ll break apart. “Don’t lie,” you say. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t want to admit it before,” he says. “When you told me you liked me, I was scared by how I felt.” 

“Stop it.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says. “Things were changing so fast. You were my only friend, and if you liked me, then we couldn’t ever go back to being just friends.” 

“So you’re doing this to me now?” you say. The tears are still falling, and you hug yourself. You feel so weak and so young, all your surety stripped away. “You think you can do this to me?” 

I’m sorry,” he says. 

“You lost me either way,” you snap, “when you broke my heart like that.” 

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt, and I’m sorry I pushed you away.” 

You give a strangled laugh. “Really?”

“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want. If you gotta go to America, that’s fine. If you– wanna be with someone else, too, if you don’t love me, that’s okay. We don’t even have to be friends, if you hate me. Just– can I please– can I love you? Is that okay? I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re so mean, Meguru,” you whisper. You can’t go forward until you confront him. You can’t go back because it’s impossible. Your fate has always been twisted by the boy in front of you.

You grab the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands savagely, as you press your lips against his. It’s a short kiss, salty with the taste of your tears, and Bachira is too surprised to kiss you back. 

“Eh?” Bachira asks dazedly.

“You piss me off,” you say. 

“Uh?”

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Meguru. I’m sorry I left you alone and that I ran away from you and that I gave up so easily. I was scared, okay? But… I never hated you. Ever.”

“You called me Meguru,” Meguru breathes. And then he throws his arms around your neck. 

“You’re so clingy,” you complain, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his back. You’ve missed his warmth, familiar and pleasant and gentle. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” 

“Sort of!”

“Pay attention!” 

“Okay. Well, let’s start over from the beginning, then,” he says. “We can do it again this time, and do it better.” He pulls back from you, clearing his throat. “Hi, I’m Bachira Meguru! It’s nice to meet you,” he says goofily, sticking out his hand.

“Hi.” You take his hand, giving it one shake, introducing your name. “Let’s… let’s be friends.”

“We can’t date?” Meguru asks, pouting, and you frown at him. 

“No. Not now,” you acknowledge. “I have to talk to Thomas properly about how I feel. And I’m going back to America tomorrow. And there’s so much that I have to sort through—”

Meguru leans in and kisses you mid-sentence, a quick, butterfly of a kiss that steals all the words from you. “We’ll be friends for now. And if you want, then we can try dating. And even marriage.”

“Married?” you sputter. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“You did,” he says nonchalantly. 

“From when we were kids,” you point out. 

“Eh? Does that matter? We promised, so we have to follow through on it.”

“Don’t tell me you were going to propose to me.”

“In the future,” he says. “We can’t get married before we’re adults.”

“Meguru,” you say slowly. “Were you seriously planning on proposing to me? Before even asking my opinion?” 

“What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked romantic stuff. Isn’t that romantic?” 

You grit your teeth. You move to grab his shoulders, but Meguru dodges your grasp and slides backwards. You lunge at him again, but he dances out of your way.

“Come back here, Bachira Meguru,” you yell. “Do you have any common sense?”

“Who needs that?” he says cheerfully.

It feels like your first meeting as kids, so long ago. No one else in the world can quite make you feel this way, for better or for worse. Frustrated, you chase after Meguru as he weaves out of your grasp and hops down the length of the sidewalk. This goes on for a little bit, and just when you’ve run out of steam, Meguru spins around. Before you can move, he leaps at you and gathers you into a hug, his arms around your waist.

“Meguru, cut it out,” you say, annoyed, but you don’t move out of his grasp.

“Hmm…” he says. “I’ve decided! I’ll come visit you in America!”

“What?”

Meguru nods to himself, satisfied. “It’ll be fun! I’ve never been out of the country before! Hey, do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”

“Obviously not!”

You take a deep gulp of the spring air, sweet in your mouth, the flowering trees sending a blessing of pink petals over you. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. It’s just like when the two of you were little, only you’re starting over this time. Nothing would ever be the same again, but what new things could you build instead? What sort of people would you be now? 

You hold out your hand to Meguru. He takes it easily, interlacing your fingers like he’s always belonged there. With his touch, an endless world of possibilities unfolds before you. This time, the two of you will explore it together.

#liya writes #blue lock #bachira meguru #bachira meguru x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #bllk #blue lock bachira #bllk x reader #bllk bachira #bachira x reader #meguru bachira #meguru bachira x reader

[maximumsass]

Green Eyes of Envy Pt. 2

Story Synopsis: So part 2 is the aftermath of Melissa’s confession. I added some more characters into the mix of this story to round it out. Hopefully you like that. And then of course the angsty hot interactions between the reader and Mel. The real question is will they do the “right” thing or will they take the risk and choose each other?

Author’s note: Hey my lovely fanfic village! So I’m not going to lie this one was hard for me to write because I had several different scenarios that could be played out with this but in the end when I sat down to finish this, this is what came out of my author’s soul! So hopefully you enjoy it and it doesn’t disappoint! I do have a pretty wild part 3, let me know if you want it!! I’d love to hear your thoughts and of course any requests you have please ask me! Thank you again for all the likes and the kind words! Sending love to you beautiful humans!!

Word Count-4.3K

Warning: There is a puking part but I promise it’s not graphic or anything.

Part 1-For those of you who missed part 1 here you go!

————————

You hear the door open and close and then you unexpectedly start silently crying. Pull yourself together (Y/L/N), you think to yourself. You think back to the redhead asking why life is like this, that really is the question, why couldn’t you both just be single and start to date like normal people do. You wipe the tears away, there’s honestly nothing you can do at the moment, all you can do is exactly what you told Melissa to do and that’s to think on it and make a decision, wait for her decision and then act accordingly.

You work on the bulletin board until the final bell rings. You rush to grab your stuff and hall ass out to catch the bus to your place. You walk out into the empty hallway before the other teachers start leaving so that you can avoid any small talk, the whole situation with Mel has drained your social energy completely. Of course you have to pass the redhead’s classroom to leave the school, you can’t help but stop and look to see if she’s in there, you think about the kiss you two shared and feeling her gorgeous lips as well a her gorgeous body pressed up against yours. She’s sitting at her desk looking at her computer with those extremely cute cat eye glasses on, she’s biting her lip in concentration as she stares at the screen. And it takes everything in you to not go in there, close the door and give her a kiss she’ll never forget. Something makes her look up and she locks eyes with you, and there is a deep craving in those green eyes, and you know that she feels how badly you want her in that moment. You both just stare at each other for what feels like forever and then your snapped back into reality as the other teachers make their way into the hallway to depart for the day. You rip your eyes away from her emerald eyes, and physically wince as you walk away because you know that was just as painful for her as it was for you.

As you walk away, you feel an arm hook onto your arm, you look beside you to see Jacob looking at you with a huge grin.

“Heyyy!” he exclaims.

“How do you have energy after all of those sessions today?” You tease and playfully nudge him.

“Just call me the energizer bunny!” He says as he mimics pounding the drum like the bunny does in the commercial.

You, Jacob, Zach, and your girlfriend Carly all celebrated pride together this summer. And it had only brought you and Jacob closer as both work and social friends. He was your go-to when you needed a laugh, or just to surround yourself with some uplifting energy.

“On a serious note, I need to ask you a favor.” You say to him as you walk him to his car.

“You know I’d do anything for my home girl!” he exclaims. “Please step into my office.” He opens the passenger door for you and then runs to get in on his side.

You chuckle and roll your eyes. “Have you noticed that Melissa has treated me differently than the rest of y’all since I started?” You ask him as you look at the floor of the car scared of what his answer will be.

“Oh yeah, Janine and I have had many conversations about it. We came to the conclusion that it’s because you’re quiet and give off a chill vibe but at the same time work really hard and the passion you have to help students succeed shines through that.” He answers in a genuine tone.

“Aww Jacob, that’s nice of you to say.” You say with a smile. “So I ask that because obviously I’ve noticed it too. And to be honest before I noticed her behavior towards me, I noticed her from day one because she’s drop dead gorgeous and I developed a little harmless crush. And she was with Gary and I shortly after met Carly so I know that I’d never act on it. But then her and I became close work friends and there was this undeniable fizzle of chemistry I felt towards her whenever I was near her, long story, short your girl caught feelings.” You say as you feel yourself intensely blushing.

Jacob slaps your arm. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! But now that you say that you guys are extremely flirty with each other! So what are you going to do?!” He asks loudly.

You then proceed to tell him about everything that went down between you and Jessica Rabbit today as well as Barbara telling you about the proposal.

“Now everything that I just told you stays in this car! Not word to anyone, especially Janine!” You give him the stare downs of all stare downs.

He mimics zipping his lip and throwing away the key. “Girl you’ve gotten yourself into one hot mess! I love you to death (Y/N) but Carly’s my friend too, and you know that you don’t deserve to be with her, when you’re doing the things you’re doing. You at least need to be honest with her about what’s been going on regardless of what Melissa’s decision is. Okay that is the tough love portion of my ted talk. Imagining you kissing Melissa is so hawt!!! How did it feel?!” He asks excitedly.

“You’re right about Carly, I know I need to tell her. And I promise I will. As for the kiss, it was better than I ever imagined it could be! I know what were doing is wrong but the kiss just felt so right. Honestly all of it is a huge mind fuck and that’s the last thing I need right now. Anyways back to the favor, I need you to play interference so that when Melissa and I are in the same room there is no opportunity for her to talk to me. I could just stay away from the breakroom until she decides what to do but the other staff would notice my absence and that would draw more attention to me and that’s the last thing I need right now.” You say with a big sigh.

“Mission (Y/N) No Communicado with Red is a go!” He exclaims. You chuckle.

“You want a ride home?” He asks.

“Yes that would be very appreciated. Thank you!” You reply squeezing his arm showing your appreciation.

Tuesday goes smoothly without a hitch. Jacob does exactly as you asked of him and is by your side and talking your ear off whenever Melissa’s in the room and there becomes a possible opportunity to start a conversation with you.

Wednesday morning you can tell that the redhead is itching to talk to you, you can feel her eyes boring into you throughout the sessions. It’s literally taking all your will power to not be available for any conversion or physical close proximity and feed her neediness of your essence close to her.

“Is there a hole in my body that you can see? Cause she hasn’t taken her eyes of me this whole time.” You joke to Jacob with a quiet chuckle.

“(Y/N), I don’t know how you’re staying away from her. Her longing for you is so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Do you think that she’s made a decision and that’s why she’s being so intense?” Jacob asks you.

“Well it is Melissa we’re talking about here Jacob. If she wasn’t being intense I’d be worried. If she made a decision, she would just interrupt you to tell me about it. No offense.” You say with a smll smile.

“Oh none taken. She would definitely do that!” He says returning the smile.

You get through lunch and the rest of the sessions and then you have free time again to get ready for next week. You are the special education teacher at Abbott, you were born with a rare syndrome that in a nutshell paralyzed most of your muscles in your face and left you with multiple physical disabilities that are lifelong. You wanted to make sure that students with disabilities felt included in their classes and that just because they might need to learn differently, doesn’t mean they’re any less smart than the other kids and that they can be successful with anything they want to do, they just might do it a little differently and that’s okay. Thursday and Friday are your accessible tours of the school and the classrooms so it isn’t so scary for the kiddos on their first day. Already setting them up for success for the year ahead. You list your kids by grade and teacher, and then write down when they are scheduled to come for their tour.

You: Hey hun. We need to have a talk tonight. It’s pretty serious so if you just want to come to my place and skip dinner like we planned.

Carly: You’re scaring me. What did I do? Leave a towel on the floor again. Haha. XD

You: Not that this is comforting. But it’s not you, it’s me kinda thing.

Carly: Yeah super not comforting. I guess I’ll see you tonight.

You: I’m sorry. Okay I’ll see you tonight.

You shoot off that last text and then immediately have to run to the staff restroom in time to make it to the toliet. The cool hard tile on your knees is the thing that is keeping you grounded in the moment and not dissociating from the shit show that your life has become. You grab some toilet paper to wipe your mouth and cough a little. Great, now this situation is making you physically sick, at least you’ll come clean to Carly tonight.

“(Y/N)?” you hear the redhead’s voice call out to you.

Shit, Melissa would be the one to find you in this state.

“I’m good Mel. Don’t worry about me.” You respond.

“You are the most stubborn woman! You throwing up during the work day is not fine. I’m going to stay here until you come out. And then you’re gonna let me take care of you. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” She says to you in her I’m not fucking around tone.

You stay in the stall for a few minutes until you think you’re good. You hear her running the sink water. When you come out of the stall you see that she has ran and gotten the toothbrush and toothpaste you keep at school, as well as a plastic cup.

“G’ahead and brush your teeth.” She instructs softly. You take the tooth brush and toothpaste and brush your teeth. When you’re finished she hands you a paper towel to wipe your mouth.

“Come here hun.” She says to you. You go to her and she produces a warm wash cloth an starts to blot it on your forehead, all the time she’s looking at you with this extremely worried look on her face but her eyes show that she’s determined to fix whatever is going on with you.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” She teases you. You both chuckle at that. “But seriously what happened?” She asks in a serious tone.

“I just texted Carly that we need to talk tonight. I’m going to tell her everything that’s been going on with us. And apparently all of this has me fucked up enough that I can’t keep my bodily fluids down.” You say quietly.

A horrified look creeps onto the redhead’s face. “I shouldn’t have told you about my feelings towards you. You’re getting physically sick because of my actions. This whole thing has been so selfish on my part. (Y/N) I’m so sorry, I didn’t think…” She says with a deep look of shame and tears tarting to glisten her eyes.

You put one hand on her waist while the other cups her cheek. “Mel stop, if you wouldn’t have said something the other day, I truly believe that it would’ve still come out somewhere down the line. And then who knows where we would be then, you might be married to Gary by then and then it would be a should’ve, would’ve, could’ve conversation or a lot more complicated to be together. It wasn’t a selfish move because I truly believe deep down we both knew that our feelings were reciprocated. So no matter what happens moving forward, never apologize for telling me about your feelings towards me, because just knowing that Melissa Schemmenti was falling in love with me is an honor all on it’s own.” You say softly.

You look down at her lips and then back to her eyes silently asking for her permission. She slowly nods with a pleading look in her eye. You gently push her against the bathroom wall and kiss her with the craving that has been plaguing you both since your last kiss. A moan reverberates from her mouth into yours and you moan a response back into hers. Her hands tangle in your hair and pull you closer until there is no space and your bodies collide like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

Sadly air is required to live so you break away, her hands still in your hair holding you to her.

“Fuck.” You say between pants trying to get a proper level of oxygen back. “This is exactly why I asked Jacob to play interference between us.” You say more to yourself than her.

“So I wasn’t just imagining him being your little body guard for the past few days.” She chuckles.

“No you weren’t but obviously it was needed. I mean this situation went from caring friend to eroctic fiction in 0 to 60 in 6 seconds.” You chuckle.

“You’re doing the right thing by talking to Carly tonight. What just happened is evidence that I know what my decison is. I’d just be lying to myself and denying myself of what I really want if I didn’t choose you. And I’ve denied myself of what I really wanted too much in my life in order to make others happy or to keep up appearances. I’ll talk to Gary tonight.” She says quietly looking at you with a determined look in her eyes.

You both fix each others clothes and get the smudged lipstick off of your faces and reapply so it looks like nothing happened. She pulls you into a hug, you hold her feeling her warmth engulf you, there’s a sense of peace that washes over you. You end the hug and walk into the hallway together.

“See you on the flip side Schemmenti.” You say to the redhead, giving her a big smile and grabbing her hand and giving it a tight squeeze before letting go and walking back to your classroom.

That night you tell Carly everything. She’s understandably upset and hurt by everything. But at the end of the night, she thanks you for being honest with her and not leaving her in the dark and making her the backup plan if Melissa didn’t pick you. She gathers her things she’s left at your place. You end the night with a hug, wishing each other the best.

Melissa knows that she needs to end things with Gary in public, not because she thinks he’ll do something but if she’s wrong she’d rather not be forced to use her trusty bat even though it is very tempting. She asks him to get drinks at a bar they regular often since they started dating. She tells him everything that she’s felt and that has occurred. Once she’s finished, she can see the red hot anger seething from him.

“How dare you cheat on me!” He hisses at her. “You really think that you’ll find anyone better than me? You are walking away from the best thing you’ll ever have.” He growls at her.

“I’m sorry Gare. But it isn’t fair to either of us for me to stay because I think it’s the “right” thing to do. You deserve a woman who actively and excitedly chooses you every day. And I’m just not that girl.” Melissa says in a somber tone, tears pricking her eyes.

She finishes off her Yuengling. Stands up from the table and walks to his side, and puts her hand on his arm. “I really do wish you all the best Gary.” She gives his arm a squeeze and then exits the bar and doesn’t look back.

You tossed and turned all night long, you know it was the right thing to end things with Carly but to say it didn’t hurt you would be a lie. You get up before your alarm because it was obvious you weren’t getting any more sleep. You have your breakfast and get distracted by watching tv. Then you look at the time and rush to the shower. You are drying your hair when you hear a loud knock at your door, you llok at you phone, it’s 6 in the morning, who the hell is at your door at 6 in the morning! You grab your aqua silk floral robe and throw it on and then go to the door. You look through the peep hole and low and behold stands Jessica Rabbit herself.

“Get your cute ass in here.” You say as you open the door and step aside for her to come in.

She steps inside and you realize she’s holding coffee in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. “So what do I owe the pleasure of being graced with your presence at 6 in the morning?” You tease her with a chuckle.

“I talked to Gary last night and ended things. And I couldn’t sleep last night because all I wanted to do was tell you and be with you without feeling the guilt that has been surrounding us since my confession. I choose you (Y/N) and I’ll keep choosing you as long as you let me. I also needed to bring you an iced caramel latte because that’s your favorite and since this is the first day of me giving you the world and making you feel like the most wanted and cherished woman in the world bcause that’s exactly what you are to me.” She says in a soft voice, vulnerability as well as adoration filling her eyes.

“Mel I feel the exact same way about you. Thank you gorgeous.” You kiss her forehead and then you take your drinks and set them on the counter. And then you are pushing her up against the door and showing your appreciation from the moment your lips are pressed against hers. This kiss feels different, the neediness isn’t there it’s been replaced with a sense of freedom, with the knowledge that you have all the time in the world to savor these kisses because you chose each other and have gifted yourself the time to take this slow and sensual and explore and worship every crevice of each other.

She somehow turns you around so she’s pressing you against the door. Her hand goes to the tie of your robe and looks at you for permission. You nod and she unties it and pushes it until it falls to the floor. You stand there in all your naked glory for her to admire. She steps back and her jaw hits the floor.

“Fuck (Y/N), you’re perfect.” She says in her deep husky voice dripping with seduction.

She steps as close to you as she can, your noses are touching. She starts slowly and softly kissing your neck, making you moan quietly. She takes her hands and cups both of your breasts and then taking her thumbs and slowly rubbing circles on your hardening nipples. She turns her attention back to your lips as she kisses you hard with passion, tongues colliding, sharing moans through hot breath.

She pulls away with an evil smirk on her face. “As much as I want to make you cum for me and witness you in the bliss of an orgasm I give you. We are going to do this properly. And just so I am clear I will make you cum and give you an orgasm you’ll never forget. Will you (Y/N) (Y/L/N) join me for dinner at my house at 7 tonight to enjoy a delicious meal I cook for us as our official first date?” She asks you as she looks at you a little nervously as she caresses your cheek.

“You are a cruel woman!” You say in sexual frustration. “But yes I would love to join for you for dinner as our official first date. You say giving her a big smile and then leaning in and giving her a soft kiss.

When you break the kiss, you playfully and gently push her off of you as you grab your robe and put it back on. She of course gives you her sad puppy dog eyes and pouts.

“You do not get to pout Schemmenti! You are the one who teased me to the point where I have to go take care of myself after you leave.” You tease her.

“You loved it, besides it only makes tonight hotter!” She says with a smirk.

You go to your iced caramel latte and take a sip. “Thanks again for the coffee hun.” You say. “Now unlike you I still have to get ready. I’ll see you at school, okay?” You say with a smile as you kiss her forehead.

“Okay I guess I’ll let you get ready.” She teases. “Stop by my room to say hi if you have time.” She says as she gives you a slow soft kiss and when you break away you both say bye and give a cute wave to each other before she walks out the door and closes the door behind her.

You are meeting with one of your students and his parents for his accessibility tour of the school. His name is Jamal Williams, and Jamal has autism and ADHD, you’ve worked with him for two years now and have seen immense growth. You talk with his parents about how you and Jamal will discuss what his goals are for the year next week. And then it’s time to go see his new classroom, Jamal is starting the 2nd grade and is fortunate enough to have the infamous Ms. Schemmenti.

You walk hand in hand with Jamal down the hall with his parents close behind to the redhead’s classroom. You knock on Melissa’s open door, she’s at her desk when she looks up at you she gives you a big smile.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I would like you to meet Jamal Williams, he’s going to be in your class this year. And he’s just here to get a feel for the classroom and to meet you before the first day so that he isn’t so nervous on his first day. Isn’t that right buddy?” You look at Jamal with an encouraging smile. He silently nods with a small smile.

Melissa bends down to his eye level. “It’s very nice to meet you Jamal. I am so excited to have you in my class. Are you excited to be a little eagle?” She asks him in a warmingly calm voice.

Jamal looks directly at her and holds out his little hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you Ms. Schemmenti. I’m excited for the second grade!” He says with excitement. You look at the interaction shocked. You’ve been working with him on his being introduced to new people skills but this was not how you were expecting that to go.

“Oh my gosh, look who has been working on his introduction skills this summer!” You exclaim. “That deserves a high five and I think I have a gold star sticker for you when we go back to my classroom. That was awesome Jamal.” You say giving him a high five.

You step away from the door to let Mr. and Mrs. Williams in. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Williams and this is Melissa Schemmenti, Jamal’s teacher this year.” You say as you make introductions.

“Jamal let’s go find your desk and let them talk for a bit.” You say to the little boy and then he’s off searching for his name tag. He finds it and looks at you with a big smile.

“Oh my gosh look at you being a big 2nd grader and finding your name tag so fast!” You exclaim. “What did you think about Ms. Schemmenti?” You ask him.

“She’s nice. I like her.” He answers.

“I like her too. Ms. Schemmenti and I are friends so if you ever need to come to my classroom or need me to come here, you just let her know and she will help you, okay?”

“Okay.” he says.

You got him new fidget spinners for the new school year. You pull them out of the pocket of your blazer. “I got you new fidget spinners for the new school year so when you feel yourself start stemming you just pull these out and play with them just like you did last year. Okay bud?” You say to him.

He gasps loudly, making the redhead and his parents turn to us.

“It’s all good y’all, I just surprised him with new fidget spinners for the year.” You quickly explain.

You turn back to Jamal. “Thank you Ms. (Y/L/N)!” He exclaims.

You chuckle. “You’re very welcome. Now where’s a good place to put the new fidget spinners?’ You ask him.

“Ummmmm….” He pauses to think. “In my desk?” He asks.

“That’s right bud! Fidget spinners always go back in your desk when you’re done using them.” You say to him, holding up your hand for a high five.

You sit with Jamal as his parents finish up talking with Melissa. You stare at the gorgeous woman with a big stupid grin on your face, still in disbelief that she chose you and that you were having your first date with her tonight.

#abbott elementary #fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #lesbian #queer #wlw #pansexual #biseuxal #Spotify

[somedaylazysomeday]

Noisy - Part Four

Despite your agreements, Viktor is being very loud... Again. You go to confront him about it.

Viktor x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: Frustration, concern, hints of growing intimacy, unprotected sex, creampie, feelings

Previous | Masterlist

---

You couldn’t sleep.

You turned to your side, away from the window. Maybe the faint glow from behind the curtains was what had kept you awake. Or maybe all the thoughts crowding your mind were on that side of the pillow, sneaking in through your ear until they could snarl and snap inside of your brain.

Another sleepless night was not what you needed. 

A moment later, you amended the thought. If there was going to be one night you couldn’t really rest, this wasn’t the worst night for it to happen. You didn’t have anywhere to be the next day and no real plans. You could sleep as late as you needed to recover what you were losing to your racing thoughts. 

With that realization, you gave in and let your mind whir rapidly as it performed a variety of calculations it apparently thought were necessary. 

The first - and accordingly most concerning - thought was about your impending departure from the Piltover Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation. 

You had been a student at the Academy for almost a decade. Your undergraduate work had been completed on time. Graduate work had slowed you down slightly as you started taking more advanced courses that required more field work. And your doctoral program seemed to have stretched on for an eternity. That was mostly because the Academy’s work-study program had left you attending courses only half of your time. 

Even then, your main focus for the last semester had been on writing your dissertation. 

From everything you had learned about other schools, Piltover’s Academy was unique in the way dissertations were presented, especially in practical fields. Instead of a simple essay, Academy dissertations were written as a proposal. You were to identify a problem, hypothesize about causes and solutions, and create a plan to help alleviate the problem or treat those suffering from it.

When you were finished with your dissertation, you would submit it to your mentor, Professor Ukkud. Once she went through it with you and you completed any final changes, she would present it to the Council of Piltover. They would read it, discuss your proposed solutions, then give you a chance to answer their questions and defend your intended methodology. 

If you successfully defended your dissertation, you would gain a doctorate. You would also be approved a specified amount of Piltover’s money to put your proposal into action, backed by the Council. Doctors whose experiments and solutions helped people were often offered jobs in the government itself, working to improve the lives of Piltover citizens. 

Your identified problem - the pollution in the Undercity, particularly the fumes found in the Sump sector - was easily proven. The causes were of concern to Piltover. The solutions were simple and relatively cheap. It was, by all accounts, tailor-made for a successful dissertation defense.

Except that you had been advised to start over. 

Your meeting with Professor Ukkud that afternoon had been profoundly disappointing. It had been your first meeting with her since you had discussed concepts. The professor had left the Academy for several months as she delivered a beautiful boy. She and her wife had spent much of the following time bonding with their newborn son and, by the time she returned, your dissertation was almost complete. 

Which was why it was particularly heartbreaking that you had presented your lovingly-crafted work to Professor Ukkud only for her to sit in uncomfortable silence. She listened to your explanation, but pushed the dissertation back to you unread. When she finally spoke, it was with an expression of sympathy and a delicate sort of tone. 

“I understand your passion for this project and I think it would have a positive impact on the Undercity. However, I feel that there is a strong chance the Council will deny you the funds you’ve requested.” 

You had been aghast. The Council rarely refused funds, and when they did, it was often because the attached proposal had been subpar. In a few cases, they had denied funds and awarded the defender their degree anyway, but it had happened only twice that you could remember. 

It was considered slightly shameful to receive your degree with no accompanying funds. It was a sign that the Council thought there was no situation in which your special knowledge could play an role in improving Piltover.

“But… But this is important research…” you had protested, knowing it wouldn’t matter. “My solution is simple and cost-effective, and no one can argue the impact it would have on the lives of those living in the Undercity. Especially the ones who live in the Sump sector, but it could make a difference for people who live much further away.”

Professor Ukkud shook her head sadly. “I agree, and I believe there is a strong possibility that your proposal would improve lives across the Undercity and even along the border of Upper Piltover where the river is narrow.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem,” you’d said, openly frustrated. 

“Simply put: the Council will not divert funds toward a project that will mostly impact the Undercity.”

You had suspected as much as soon as Professor Ukkud suggested you change the topic of your dissertation, but it was startling to hear her say it so directly. Worse, you knew she was right. 

You wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all, but the prejudices of Upper Piltover ran deep. There was no other explanation for the poor conditions half the city lived in - and perhaps more, since censuses tended not to go well in the Undercity. 

And, even worse, you partially understood. The Undercity rebelled against Upper Piltover on a regular basis, and most of those rebellions were violent. Yes, they were rebelling against a lack of representation and the fact that the Council didn’t put any effort toward improving the Undercity, but you could imagine that the proud Piltover people would see helping them as rewarding the very violence they were hoping to stop. 

None of those thoughts had left you. Instead, you slumped and stared down at the stack of pages resting on the table. They represented literal months of your life. When you weren’t helping Ukkud in her classroom, you were researching or writing or editing or experimenting, all in the process of crafting the perfect dissertation. 

“What am I supposed to do, then?” The question had sounded more defeated than challenging. “I can’t rewrite it. The semester is ending soon.”

“I think your best option is to stay an extra semester,” Professor Ukkud opinioned, looking visibly relieved that you weren’t planning to argue with her about it. “You could try to create a different dissertation, but in the limited time… You would either end up with an inferior proposal or be too exhausted to defend it.”

You hadn’t had anything else to say, by then. What was the point? Instead, you thanked the professor for her guidance and left the classroom. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon sulking and mulling over your options. 

The way you saw it, you had two: spend an extra semester at the Academy to create another dissertation and proposal about an issue you weren’t as passionate about, or… 

Or present the dissertation you had already prepared. 

Professor Ukkud was right, you probably wouldn’t be funded. But you could leave here and go somewhere where you could make a difference. You had taken several grant-writing courses during your time at the Academy. It would be far more difficult to do things on your own. But wouldn’t it be worth it? 

You turned onto your back once more, eyeing the ceiling with disgust. Now that you had rehashed everything about the disappointing meeting and rethought about the difficult choice that faced you, you had hoped sleep would come. But you were just as awake as you had been before and you clearly weren’t going to make any important decisions that night. 

Sliiiiiide. Scrape. Scrape! BOOM.

Your initial jolt turned into you sitting bolt upright in bed as a tremendous noise came from the apartment above yours. You looked up at the ceiling, like you could see through it if you stared hard enough. 

When that didn't work, you started to lay back down, but paused. Viktor knew you didn't need to be awake early the next day and had no specific reason to stay quiet, but this was excessive even for him. 

Immediately, your mind started jumping to negative conclusions. What if Viktor had tripped? What if his cane had caught on something, leaving him tumbling to the floor? If had fallen badly enough to hurt himself, how would he call for help? Would anyone notice until the weekend ended? 

The last thing you wanted was to imply that he couldn't take care of himself, but it would be good to check on Viktor, right? He couldn't be offended if you were making sure he wasn't hurt. And if he was, you could always pretend you were upset with him for making so much noise. He didn't know you had already been awake…

You pulled on a sweatshirt over your pajamas and started the trek upstairs. You had been casually sleeping with Viktor for months by that point, but you didn't go up to his apartment as often as you had expected. 

And who could blame you? Not only did Viktor prefer to keep people away from the experiments that filled his apartment, but he also didn't have a bed. You liked to think you were fairly low-maintenance, but you did prefer not to have sex on the floor. Unless it you were in a particular mood. Or a hurry. Or- 

You pulled your thoughts back to your current mission. Viktor could be hurt, and you needed to make sure he wasn’t in pain and waiting to be found. 

The first obstacle was that you didn’t have a key to his apartment. It had never been necessary before and you were struck by the strangeness of that for the first time. Your relationship was strictly casual, but it would have made sense for you proximity to lead to more opportunities for hooking up. Including swapping apartment keys. 

And so you knocked, your taps on his door were firm with an edge of urgency. Even as you waited for a response, you planned: if you knocked again and there was no answer, you would break down the door. How you would accomplish that, you weren’t really sure. As you eyed the solid wood of the door, you wondered if you might be overestimating your own abilities. 

Fortunately, you and your poor shoulder were spared from seeing how you fared against the door when it opened and Viktor’s brown eyes peered out. “Yes?” 

“Are you okay?” you asked, a little nonplussed. 

“Of course,” he told you.

“What are you doing up here?” 

Viktor looked overly innocent, which was a good as a red flag in the current situation. “Nothing in particular. Why?” 

You squinted at him. “Well, I heard a really loud noise a few minutes ago. I thought you might have fallen and knocked yourself out.”

“Do you really think so little of my balance?” 

The dry question was met with a hard stare of your own. You had seen him trip over nothing, and if something impacted how his cane landed, he was virtually guaranteed to end up on the ground. 

Graciously, you decided not to bring up any of that. Instead, you said, “You’re out of breath. A little odd for someone claiming not to be doing anything in particular. And it’s really dark in there…” 

You tried to see around him and into the apartment, but Viktor leaned into your line of sight. “Seriously, did you knock over a lamp or something? It totally dark in there. Wait, not totally… Are those candles? I don’t think you’re allowed to have candles in the dorms.” 

Viktor sighed heavily, letting the door swing out from his grip. You took a moment to process his bare feet and rumpled hair before accepting his silent invitation and stepping past him into the apartment. As always, you almost struggled to believe that his apartment shared a layout with yours, since his was decorated so dramatically differently. 

His furniture was almost entirely missing, with the exception of a very old and well-worn recliner that he slept in. The rest of the space was taken up with various experiments. They had changed since the last time you had been there, but precise layouts of chemical, biological, and mysterious experiments still spread across every available surface. Each one was accompanied by a notebook containing neatly written notes. 

It took a moment for you to check, but you couldn’t see anything around the room that would have caused the amount of noise that had brought you upstairs in the first place. That was good, since it meant that Viktor probably wasn’t hurt and trying to hide it from you.

There was a bare circle on one of Viktor’s countertops, all the experiments carefully swept clear. In the middle of the circle was a cluster of candles, throwing warm light dancing around the room. 

“Well, at least you made sure nothing would catch on fire from your illegal candles,” you conceded.

Viktor came to stand beside you. “Well, nothing that I don’t want to be caught.” 

Your eyebrows raised without your permission as you gave him a sidelong look. “Are you lighting things on fire in your apartment? Need I remind you that I live downstairs and that the building is ancient? And flammable?”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring you. “I think they set a mood quite nicely. Don’t you agree?” 

“What mood are you trying to set? Angsty serial killer, or are you going for-”

Viktor leaned close, the motion so sudden that you pulled backward. You would have thought it was just a rushed attempt at a kiss, but the way he was looking at you was anything but romantic. His amber eyes were studying your face like you were one of his experiments. You didn’t care for the feeling.

“Is something wrong?” he asked abruptly. 

The bluntness of the question threw you off, made you less able to create a believable story. “Not- Not really? Bad day. Then my upstairs neighbor keeps being noisy.” 

“Today was your meeting with Professor Ukkud, was it not?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question; Viktor had proven to have a near-eidetic memory when it came to the things you told him. “Did she have many critiques for your dissertation?” 

“Something like that,” you admitted. 

“Strange,” Viktor mused. “I thought it was rather brilliant.” 

Your eyes snapped to his. Viktor was smiling slightly, but he seemed sincere. He had read your dissertation. 

When you had asked him to the first time - claiming that you needed another set of eyes on it - he had refused. His explanation was that his ties to the Undercity were too strong, that he wouldn’t be able to look at your proposal with any objectivity. That had seemed like a lie to you, but you hadn’t pushed. A boundary was a boundary, even if he wasn’t giving you the real reason behind it. 

“You… you read my dissertation?” you stammered. 

“Of course,” he told you. “It’s you. How could I no-? Unh!”

You felt a little guilty about the way that his throat had collided with the top of your shoulder as you pulled him into a hug, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping him with your full strength. 

It was only when he stroked a hand down your back, hushing you gently, that you realized you were crying. The entire story spilled from you then. Every detail about Professor Ukkud’s recommendation for rewriting, your crushing disappointment, and the nagging fear that she was right and that to present before the Council would be to set yourself up for failure.

Viktor held you close, making appropriate noises as the stream of words pouring from you finally slowed, then stopped. “Do you want to talk it over? Consider your options?” 

“No,” you refused, smiling tearfully at him. “I feel better just telling you about it. But I could really use a distraction. That is, if you don’t mind? I know I’m all gross…”

Viktor’s soft lips halted your apologies and explanations. You still felt as gross as you had claimed to be, but you sank eagerly into the kiss. It wasn’t often that you let Viktor lead - normally, you were too excited for that - but you gladly followed the soothing motions of his mouth against yours.

“We do not have to-” he started when you pulled back to breathe. 

“No, but I really, really want to,” you admitted openly. 

“In that case…” Viktor stepped away. You immediately felt the loss of his warm body against his, but he was holding a hand out to you. When you took it, he started leading the way to his bedroom. 

It took until you were at the doorway to remember why this was a bad idea. You tugged slightly against his grip. “I know I said I want a distraction, but I’d rather not get eaten by one of your plants, Viktor. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for right now.” 

“Do not worry,” he assured you, pushing the door open. “I removed them last week.”

“...Why?” 

He laughed openly at you. “You’re too young to be so skeptical.” 

And then he stepped through the door, pulling you in behind him before you could continue protesting. 

To your surprise, Viktor had been telling the truth. The plants that had dominated most of the bedroom the last time you’d been inside were gone, as were the colorful lights that had illuminated them. He had even removed the protective tape from the light switch. 

Even without turning on the notoriously harsh overhead lights, you could see Viktor’s bedroom clearly enough for your mouth to fall open. “Is that..?”

“Yes, it is,” Viktor confirmed, smiling more broadly than you had ever seen. 

You started forward, but paused. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Is this a trick? A mirage? An optical illusion?” 

Viktor only chuckled at you, gently shaking his head. You moved closer despite yourself, extending a hand until your fingers rested against the soft, sheet-covered surface of a real, tangible bed.

“It’s real,” you reported, awe heavy in your tone. 

Viktor rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I know, I moved it in here today.” 

You rounded on him. “Is that what was making all of the noise? You shouldn’t have put it together yourself, Viktor. I would have been happy to help you.” 

“I didn’t build the frame myself,” he said dryly. “I know my limits. I had some members of the housing administration bring the pieces and assemble everything for me this afternoon.” 

“Then what were you doing that made so much noise?” you asked. “And how did the housing administration not freak out when they saw your collection of experiments? You have to be doing irreparable damage to the interior of this place.”

Viktor looked offended. “I know how to perform an experiment with minimal risk to the environment, myself, and others. And did it not occur to you that I could be trying to surprise you?” 

“Honestly, the idea of you moving the plants was surprising enough,” you admitted. “But where are they? Are they okay?” 

“They are fine.” You relaxed at the answer. Viktor’s plants may have tried to eat you, but that didn’t mean you wanted to think about them rotting somewhere. “The experiments were a success, so I had the plants moved into the lab for further testing and eventual propagation.” 

You nodded, impressed despite yourself. Viktor’s efforts to grow plants using various colors of light had seemed ridiculous and frivolous when you’d first learned about them, but he had eventually told you that there were implications for growing them in the Undercity. 

“Now,” Viktor said lowly, taking a step closer to you, “Are discussions about my botanical experiments distraction enough for you?” 

You thought about it for a moment, but decided that, no, it wasn’t. “I think I need a distraction that’s a little more… hands-on.”

As you said the last, you grabbed Viktor’s spare hand, placing it on the curve of your hip. The warm weight of it made you tense with anticipation even as Viktor rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.” 

“Flatterer,” you accused, leaning in for another kiss. Viktor dropped his feigned grumpiness immediately to seize the offer of your lips. Eagerly, you lost yourself in his embrace.

By the time you remembered that you were a physical being in a physical environment, you had changed positions entirely. You were sitting now, making good use of Viktor’s new bed. He was in front of you, cupping your cheek with a careful reverence that made you feel distinctly melty. 

His graceful fingers traced up and down the stretched-out collar of your sweatshirt. “Tell me you are not wearing anything complicated under this.” 

You shook your head, grinning. “No, you’re still the king of complicated clothing.” 

Viktor gave you surprisingly wicked smile. “I planned ahead.” 

And then you watched, fascinated, as he unbuttoned the few buttons on his vest. With it gone, you found that his shirt was held together only by the buttons that would show above and below the vest itself. With three more buttons undone, Viktor was bare from the waist up, and looking very proud of himself for it. 

The laugh that burst from you was loud and joyful. That moment of silliness from Viktor had done more to lift your mood than hours of ruminating had. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Flatterer,” he returned. “You are also falling behind in this particular race.”

Your eyebrows shot upward. That was a challenge you had no intention of letting stand. You stripped off your sweatshirt in a single motion and - luckily enough - static friction pulled your sleep shirt off at the same time.

You gave Viktor a triumphant look, then both of you were fumbling to remove your own pants. Viktor had buttons to deal with while you did not, but you were stymied by the shoes you had put on to climb the stairs. He beat you, but only by a margin of seconds. You cut off any intended boasting with a deep kiss. And since you were already there, you straddled his thighs at the same time. 

Viktor’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back slightly. “No, I’m going to be on top this time.” 

For the first time in a while, you felt a little uncertain. “Is that a good idea? Your leg-”

“-Will be fine,” he told you firmly. “It has improved with all the exercise it has gotten lately. Nothing long-term, but I can do this. Let me do this?”

The soft entreaty, more than anything else he could have said, convinced you. You gave a shallow nod and Viktor set to work. He guided you down to the mattress - and you were privately disappointed that the sheets didn’t have time to smell like him yet - and settled on top of you. 

The weight of him was solid between your thighs, even with him bracing a hand against the bed’s surface. You were always mildly surprised at Viktor’s size - his height and narrow build often made him appear far more slender than he truly was. 

You did have admit that you liked the position for how close everything was. When you were on top, you often felt further away from him than you wanted to be. But with Viktor taking the lead, his free hand roamed your body as both of your hands did the same to him. He alternated between kissing you and nosing along your skin while you did your best to suck tiny bruises into every stretch of his neck and jaw that you could reach. 

After a span that seemed both endless and impossibly short, Viktor pulled away with a groan. “I am uncertain how much longer I can wait to be inside of you.” 

Everything between your legs gave an eager pulse, your muscles helpfully lifting the cradle of your hips to press yourself more firmly against him. The length of him slipped easily between your folds, pressing against you. 

You gave a stuttered breath at the contact - he wasn’t entering you, but the angle of him left his head brushing firmly against your clit and the sensations were dazzling. Viktor must have been in a similar frame of mind, because he gave another groan. This one was hoarse, verging on desperate, and you throbbed. 

“Please,” you asked, lifting your hips once more. 

It took a fumbling moment for Viktor to reposition the head of himself against your entrance, but he made up for lost time by sliding home the instant he was in place.

The noise you made was inarticulate and loud, and you were grateful that the only apartment connected to Viktor’s was your own empty one. Viktor was silent, but when you remembered to open your eyes, you found that his had fluttered shut. There was a wrinkle of concentration between his dark brows, but something about their upward tilt gave him a hint of beatific supplication. He looked like he was praying. 

He drew in a breath - a long, shaking inhale - and opened those gorgeous eyes. 

“You are never anything less than incredible.” His fervent, matter-of-fact delivery was sincere enough that you believed him. It wasn’t enough to remove the soreness of the day from your heart, but it certainly didn’t hurt. 

But you were neighbors with benefits, not a couple. This level of emotion seemed taboo, somehow forbidden for two people in a casual relationship. You pushed your response aside, teasing, “Are you talking about me or my pussy?”

“You.”

The only way to hide your response to the affirmation would be to close your eyes, and that was a sacrifice you weren’t willing to make. So instead, you leaned up to give him a kiss, hoping to convey some sense of what he meant to you. You couldn’t be sure what came through, but at least he began moving inside of you. 

Viktor felt exquisite inside of you and it was hard to concentration on anything other than the pressure he put on your g-spot every time he moved into or out of you. But in the quiet spaces in his rhythm, you gathered yourself enough to watch him. Not only was watching Viktor one of your great joys in life, you were also searching for any signs that this position was hurting or straining him.

True to his claims, it didn’t seem to be. Viktor’s pace was eager, nothing but intense focus on his face. The noises he made didn’t sound pained, either, and you let yourself relax into enjoying the entire experience. 

Your finger traced along the lean muscle of Viktor’s chest, danced across his ticklish ribs, and met briefly behind his back. The feeling of his muscles tightening and releasing as he drove into you and pulled back out was intoxicating. It also made you aware of the way your hips were surging up to meet his thrusts, turning every stroke into a earth-shattering collision. 

When your timing matched up with Viktor’s, it felt like he was pushing his way up into your stomach. The depth of it was a little strange, but it didn’t hurt. Far from it, actually. You jerked so hard that Viktor paused. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

“No,” you told him, adding, “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”

He laughed, and the desperate need pulled away long enough for you to see the humor in it. “It feels wonderful, Viktor. Please keep going.” 

Viktor took you at your word and started thrusting into you even harder than before, but much faster. The pleasure came roaring back with a vengeance. 

In moments, you were clutching at Viktor’s shoulders both to keep yourself from being pushed up the bed and in an effort to keep yourself grounded. This was overwhelming, but in a way that left you ready for more even while you were still experiencing it. This was something addictive, you realized, but you couldn’t even begin to worry about that. 

Especially when your body started to tighten around Viktor’s.

“Close.” 

Your panted warning made Viktor nod. He dropped his pelvis a fraction of an inch, making his occasional brushes against your clit far more often and intense. Seemingly instantly, that contact pushed you unceremoniously over the edge. 

Viktor managed to keep his pace even with your body locking down around him. You shook and panted and gasped - and made some sounds that were far more dramatic - as he worked his way closer to his own orgasm. 

When you drifted back down to earth, you were content to watch Viktor work above you. He was close, you could see it in the way his arms trembled, the drop of sweat from his temple tracing down over jutting cheekbones.

“Close,” he hissed, pushing into you so hard that it sent a shockwave through your body. 

You smiled at that. You had asked him once why he warned you when you had already come. He had simply shrugged and told you, “It seems the polite thing to do.” It was so perfectly Viktor that you had laughed then. It still made you smile. 

Viktor plunged deep inside of you, giving a low and hastily-stifled groan as he came. He was particularly beautiful in the throes of pleasure, you noted. His pale skin was slightly flushed with exertion, lips swollen and red from kissing you. When his head tipped back, you could admire the marks you had scattered across his neck. His eyes were closed, but you could picture the stunning shade of amber they would be when they glowed with pleasure.

When he was finished, Viktor’s arms were shaking badly enough that you were worried, but he managed to lower himself beside you rather than collapsing. You wouldn’t have minded that so much, but Viktor’s limbs were so long and angular that collisions tended to leave you with large, unfun bruises the next day. 

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked. 

You pulled your attention back to the moment. “Yes, of course. Why?” 

“You are usually talking by now,” he told you. His eyes were still closed, but a tiny smile played around the fullness of his lips. 

With a hum, you said, “Good point. Maybe we should talk about all of this.”

Viktor’s eyes opened at that. He looked wary. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean…” You sat up slightly, wincing at the way his cum started trickling out of you. But you pressed your legs together, ignoring the sensation in favor of counting on your fingers. “The candles, the bed, the mysterious noise with no apparent cause…”

“That is what would make a noise mysterious,” Viktor agreed, an edge of sarcasm in his accented voice. 

“Shush. Anyway, I’m working on a theory…” You paused to recheck your work, but arrived at exactly the same conclusion you had come to the first time. “Were you trying to lure me up here for some reason?” 

“‘Lure’ is an ugly word.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” you informed him. “Were you planning something? Something I derailed by bursting into tears before you could get to it?” 

“It wasn’t important,” he told you. “Not by comparison.” 

His closer hand was resting against the mattress, between his face and yours. You laced your fingers with his, and he returned your smile. How could you be sad when there was magic like this in the world?

“Will you tell me what it was?” you requested softly. “Please?”

Viktor’s smile turned a little sickly and he swallowed, but nodded. “I wanted to- Well, I still want to… Ask- If you might want something more serious.”

“With you?” you checked. 

Now looking distinctly queasy, Viktor nodded again. “With me.” 

You beamed, feeling inexplicably close to tears once more. “I would like that a lot, Viktor.”

“You-?” Viktor’s eyes were wide, even as he feigned a casual attitude. “You would. Very well. Then I believe we should enter into a romantic relationship together.” 

“I believe the same,” you said, giving him your best grave expression. It wasn’t particularly solemn, not with the way you had been grinning a moment before, but it was enough to make Viktor roll his eyes as he tried not to smile. “When should we begin?”

“In my opinion,” Viktor said carefully, “we already have.” 

“Fair point,” you conceded, squeezing his hand as you leaned in for another kiss.

---

Author's Note - As I've said on a few different fics I've posted this year, this is my last Fanfic February! The tolls of writing over 100,000 words to post all in one month is pretty high, especially when I have so many other ongoing projects.

I have some additional ideas for this story and I might continue it when I've caught up on the other works I've been ignoring. For now, I think this is a good pause point.

Thank you for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #arcane #arcane 2021 #arcane netflix #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #spicy #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

[dilfsonic]

Okay so, unpopular take that applies specifically to my Service Animal AU: Shadow and Maria are not siblings/“sibling coded.”

If you’ve read the notes on the original lore post describing them, you probably already know what I mean. While they can and will have moments of inspired ‘sibling’ like love for each other, that’s simply too disingenuous a way to describe them. They’re so much more. They’re each other’s only friend, they’re charge and ward, they can mimic the attitudes of siblings but never fully understand them, they have no romantic interests (until sonic shows up) and so mimic certain attitudes in that way with each other as well. But all of these are mere approximations and mimicry without fully encompassing any of those relationships. Shadow’s “affections” can be easily misconstrued for holding more weight than they actually are intended, as gestures such as hand holding/cuddling/purring are all utilitarian expressions meant to ease Maria’s physical discomfort or anxiety in accordance to his job as her service animal. Nothing more, nothing less. Maria knows this, but others can and do easily make their own assumptions.

I’ve been a little nervous to express this interpretation as I feel it can be really easily misunderstood, and I don’t want to give people the idea that even the immensely “”romantic”” or affectionate gestures or affiliations applied to them are actually meant to be shippy. Their love is an all encompassing one, and to call it sibling-like or romantic are both incorrect, as they’re neither. Ultimately applying any real world label to this au will be incorrect and a little too extreme in either direction; the closest possible relationship that may most accurately describe them is that between a service dog and their owner, if such a service dog was as intellectually capable of their human.

They’re what you get when you’re the only two people in your whole world. They’re what you get when you pair together someone who’s indebted to the other for their existence, which goes both ways. And by normal relationship standards, I would disagree to consider it a ‘healthy’ dynamic, but it also cannot be judged by the milestones of what a normal and healthy dynamic even looks like.

Shadow is nothing without her (in his own mind), and this lends itself to an inability to conceptualize a ‘self’ to even express. Maria hates how Shadow views himself — a tool, a trained dog, a guard, a companion of necessity — but she also can’t avoid using him accordingly. That means having no choice but to treat him not as a person, but as her crutch. Shadow is little aware of her internal struggle with the dehumanization of him because they communicate this almost never. Nor does he mind being dehumanized, he has never been a ‘person’ since the day he was created anyway.

Maria would love nothing more than to call Shadow a little brother, her best friend, someone who she could’ve had take her to prom because nobody at her school wanted to indulge the sickly child, nor did anyone even know her well enough considering she spent most of her time out of school than in it. She’d love to call Shadow these normal things, but she can’t. Not yet at least. Sonic will slowly change them and the way they can view friendship and the world and what it means to belong to each other, but it’s hard work on Shadow and Maria’s part.

They are something that can’t be easily defined, because it’s complex, and messy, and while there are bright moments of wonder and joy, is also overwhelmingly dark in its implications, and they can feel utterly alone even when standing right next to each other. Shadow owes Maria everything, and Maria owes Shadow everything, but each underestimates the full gravity of how their own existence touches and expands the other. They consider themselves worthless compared to the other, and that’s what gets in the way of them truly being able to open their hearts to each other. The way Sonic later teaches them HOW to open their hearts.

So yeah. I hope this concept of blurring the lines doesn’t scare too many folks, but this is based on my personal interpretation of how I feel a continued existence between them in canon or a canon adjacent world might have been like. I know it’s easy and delightful to see em like wholesome siblings — which is also an interpretation I wholeheartedly endorse and adore, particularly the way my bud @ratrrriot draws them (please go follow them if you don’t already, their shadow and maria artwork is to die for!) — but this is just a slightly different and admittedly darker take on them that I hope won’t ruffle too many feathers. Sibling coded relationships between characters are so wonderful, but in this case doesn’t feel satisfying or like it can possibly cover the scope of them for this particular au. I dislike labeling them or comparing them to another dynamic, like Sonic and Tails who are very explicitly brotherly with one another.

I may make a separate post on Sonic’s impact in this world and how he touches the lives of Shadow and Maria, Helen (when she comes along), and this world’s version of Robotnik (Julian) if people are interested in that. I take a lot of inspiration from his characterization in the Adventure games and Sonic X for this AU, as he’s most closely canon-aligned compared to Shadow and Maria who are a little different; though I’m gonna try my best to fit their “canon” personalities into a completely different scenario. Such as, Shadow lacks the innate hatred he has for mankind as he never loses Maria, but he will retain the “my body is a tool” mentality and the general uncaring of others opinions of him, etc.

#I would love to hear thoughts so long as they’re civil #I have a playlist for them but I’ve been waffling on whether to share it or not #ultimately this is a Sonadow au as much as it’s an exploration of shadow and Maria’s peculiar relationship here #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #Maria Robotnik #service animal au #my post

[ro-rogue]

the tragic thing about john doe is that he was doomed from the start.

he was likely born in a low- or mid-tier district: new bostin high's old king, zirian, was the only one john had trouble beating, before he figured out how to amplify abilities, and at the time he beat zirian, zirian was a 3.7. zirian, pre-john, was considered incredibly powerful, nigh unbeatable. in new bostin, someone who was barely an elite was considered incredibly powerful.

god-tiers are already incredibly rare. they're even more rare than high-tiers, and whenever remi, blyke, and isen visit a low-tier district as vigilantes, everyone regards them almost as royalty - unbelievably powerful, unreachable, divinity on earth. they are with dozens, and they’re terrified of a single, non-hostile girl. also, some of the background characters say: “what’s a high-tier doing in branish?” “yeah, they would never come to a place like this.” most low-tiers likely have never even seen a high-tier in the flesh, let alone a god-tier.

add to that that wellston is supposed to be the most powerful school in the province, at least, and before john, there were only two god-tiers in attendance: an 8.0 and a 6.3. and before arlo became king, rei was, and rei was a 5.8. the king of the strongest school in the province was a 5.8.

jane doe was raised in a god-tier family. she knows, presumably, what it means to be a god-tier, when everyone around you is weaker than you, and not by a little bit. but jane has been gone since john was a toddler - and the only person left to raise him was his father. his cripple father, who has lived his whole life being spat on, disregarded, considered less than.

and then you have john. john first discovered his ability in his last year of middle school. unordinary doesn't give us an exact timeframe, but it is mentioned that he first uses his ability towards the end of the school year. if we assume that the education system in unordinary is comparable to the us education system, then that makes john about fourteen years old. it is never mentioned when most kids discover their abilities, but sera mentioned that she got martial arts lessons for a few years when she was a young child, but stopped when her ability came in. assuming sera's development is normal and abilities usually come in at the same age regardless of level, that would place the average age well before ten. another thing: everyone around john seemed to assume he would never get an ability. they considered him a cripple. which either means that late-bloomers are so incredibly rare that it isn't even considered a possibility, or john was so far past the age of ability manifestation that no one thought it was possible.

of course, his dad was also a cripple, and since genetics are a thing in uno, it would make sense for people to assume john would be a cripple even before he passed the manifestation age. (and treat him accordingly)

john got expelled in his second year in high school. when, exactly, doesn't really matter. once again assuming that the uno education system works like the us education system, that would place john at 15-16 years old.

so you have this kid, sixteen years old, who's had his ability for about two years. he spent most of his life being considered the lowest of the low - spat on, disregarded, less than. his dad, his only parental figure, has had those exact same experiences, and the only thing he can tell his child is that that is just the way the world works. it's unfair, but that's life.

but then he gets an ability. and within two years, he is almost twice as strong as the second strongest kid around. none of the adults have ever met someone as strong as him. him, the former cripple, with the cripple father. former lowest of the low, now a god amongst men. the kids, though, his classmates, his peers, they don't really understand his power. how much stronger he is than them. to tell the truth, he doesn't either, not fully. he's never met someone as strong as he is, at sixteen. but his classmates, they just remember when they used to walk all over him. when they would beat him bloody and then complain about getting his disgusting cripple blood on their shoes. and now he dares to stand above them?

they don't like him. of course they don't. cripples aren't able to become gods. they can't comprehend that john did.

and john, obviously, lashes out at his former bullies. he finally has a chance to pay them back, for all the cuts, bruises, broken bones he'd received from them over the years. he's stronger than them, and it's his turn to make them hurt. he goes farther than they did - their abilities are useless against the might of his power - but he doesn't really care. (they never held back, so he doesn't either, and the damage he does is much, much worse. the adults are mad, and he doesn't get why. he's only doing what everyone else does.)

the adults have no idea how to handle him. he's out of control. but they've never seen an ability this powerful before, except on tv, or in stories. high-rankers are supposed to keep order. (but no one listens to john. why would they? he's just a cripple, the lowest of the low, who managed to cheat the system.) his dad, kind-hearted william doe the cripple, has no idea how to help him. he can't relate to his problems at all. (is there even a problem? who wouldn't want to be powerful? for william, for adrian, for claire, it'd be a dream come true. it used to be, for john.) there is no one around who even vaguely knows what it's like to be a god-tier, or even a high-tier, or even just a high-ranker in general, except for zirian, who's barely a high-ranker at all, and who hates john for dethroning him. there is no one who understands him.

so then you have john. sixteen years old. god-tier. angry at the world, and the world is angry at him. how was he ever supposed to win?

#thanks for reading my incredibly long rant #i just. have so much to say abt john's character #unordinary #uno #john doe #unordinary webtoon

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Home Pt.3 || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 2.2K~ Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: none? Tags: you/your pronouns, jealousy, a bit smutty (if you squint), ANGST (at the end), teen romance, underage drinking, British slang (attempted). a/n: not proofread.

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You remember the first time Simon got jealous. It was sudden and unexpected. It was just a couple weeks after your first kiss (and dry-humping session), when you were still somewhat uncertain of where you stood, of what you were.

All six members of your friend group were hanging out at a pub you knew. A little hole-in-the-wall spot, whose owner/bartender was an old fart not quite fussed about the idea of having underage kids inside, nor about serving them alcohol.

Simon, your cousin Oliver, Archie, Jack, Harry, aka the same boys you met that night a few years before, and Emily, Olly’s girlfriend. Simon and you had been somewhat avoiding each other. You still hung out, but less so in private, too embarrassed and awkward to properly face each other after what you did.

Most of the lads were playing pool in the corner leaving you and Emily to your own devices, parked in a booth in the corner, chatting about all sorts of random things, gossiping, drinking cheap beer, and eating roasted peanuts. The seats all around the two of you were strewn with coats and keys and wallets, belonging to the blokes, which you were unofficially tasked with watching over.

Emily was in the middle of telling you a story about some girls over in her school, the same one Simon went to. Her voice was dramatic and boisterous as she chewed her peanuts a bit too loud and waved her hands and head around, her hoop earrings catching the light a little bit.

You had no clue who the girls she was talking about were, but the way Emily was so determined to tell you about all their transgressions made you hate them by proxy, so you reacted accordingly, shocked and angry, which made Emily giddy, happy that you agreed and saw it as she did.

Emily was your portal for figuring out what exactly the blokes were like when they were in school, something you couldn’t see because you went to a different high school. She told you all about the shenanigans the boys got up to, the fights and arguments and their grades, especially because they were all the same age, a year older than you, and therefore shared many classes.

It was thanks to her that you found out that Simon was good at English Lit, History, and Geography. Simon himself would never admit to liking literature (and you made sure to ask!). You also found out that he loved P.E. class, often being the first out of the locker room to do warm-ups, even if, most of the time, their P.E. class is just the blokes playing football.

You liked Emily and she liked you. She was a bit of a chav, sure, wearing bold make-up, hair greasy more often than not, and chewing gum loudly, but she was nice and chill. She was a recent addition to the group but she treated you super well, always saying that she was a “girls’ girl” and you both made sure to put the boys in their place when they got too rowdy. Not like some of the other girls the lads dated before, who got jealous over your mere existence/friendship.

It was while you were lost in thought, enjoying Emily’s vibrant personality and wild gossip about some girl at their school who got knocked up, that it happened. A couple of tall figures came to the edge of your table.

“Oi babes! What's the craic? Fancy some company?” asked a voice above the two of you. You looked up to find a couple of blokes, about the same age as you, smirking as they leaned into the booth next to you.

“Oh, thanks, but we're okay.” You said politely, your face showing disinterest.

“Just the two of you?” His friend said. You gave Emily a look and then tried to look between the two lads, just barely catching sight of the five blokes that composed your friend group standing around the pool table… completely clueless.

“No, our mates are around. We’re just having a little quiet time for ourselves.” Emily added as she glanced at the blokes, chewing her peanuts quite loudly.

“Quiet? Boring, more like. We know how to liven things up!” One of the blokes said and smirked, nudging his buddy with his elbow.

“Yeah, come on, don't be like that. We're just here to have a laugh!” The second one said, his voice playful and seductive (or his best attempt at it).

“We're good lads, promise.” The first bloke added, to which his buddy nodded in agreement. “I’m Josh, and this is Liam.” He introduced the both of them.

“Yeah, we can see that. But we're really just here to catch up with each other.” You replied bluntly, your voice losing some of the politeness it held until now.

“Catching up, eh? Well, we're good at that too!” Josh said while sliding down onto the booth next to Emily, forcing her to scoot away.

“Got some stories that'd make you laugh for days,” Liam added, scooting into the booth next to you, an arm coming to wrap over the back of the booth, dangerously close to setting around your shoulders.

“I'm sure you do. But really, we're fine. Cheers.” Emily replied as she tried to shoo off Josh with a dismissive wave. But neither of the blokes was taking a hint.

“How about a dance then? I reckon we'd be the best dance partners you've ever had.” Liam suggested as he began leaning close to you.

His hand began sliding across your shoulder, which was exposed in a spaghetti-strapped top. You smacked his hand off you and scooted away as well. “What's the rush, darlin'? We're just trying to be friendly!” Liam said defensively.

As Josh and Liam exchanged confident glances, thinking they'd make another attempt to charm the two of you, the atmosphere shifted. Simon had suddenly joined the scene, Olly was already jogging up behind him, as the blond lad stood ever imposing in front of the booth.

“Everything okay here, ladies?” Olly asked as he glanced down at Liam and Josh. He didn’t look pleased by the scene, just like Simon. He was double as protective, with you being his cousin, and Emily being his bird.

The two other lads damn near paled at the sight of Simon’s sheer height standing inches from them, hands in the pockets of his hoodie and a serious face framed by the black hood on his head.

“Yeah, we're good, Ols. They've just been trying to chat us up.” Emily replied, her lips morphing into a playful smirk. She was probably trying to make Oliver a bit jealous.

“Yeah! They even offered us a dance.” You piped up, joining her. You could see the veins nearly pop in Simon’s neck, his left eye twitching ever so slightly as he heard you.

You knew then that he was pissed, feeling jealous of the fact a lad was chatting you up. It was the first real sign you got that his avoidance of you wasn’t due to malice, but awkwardness for the feelings you both had for one another.

“Is that so?” Simon finally asked, his brown eyes sliding across all the people in the booth, but growing especially hard at the sight of Liam’s hand on your shoulder.

Slowly, you felt Liam’s hand slip away from you while he forced some distance between the two of you by scooting away. “Yeah, just offering some company. No harm done.” Liam said defensively.

Josh seemed to pick up on the fact Liam was scooting off, and he did the same, standing up and showing his hands while muttering a “Yeah, just bein’ friendly.”

“That's good to hear. We're a friendly bunch too, you know. Just wanted to make sure you're aware these lovely ladies are taken.” Olly said while he looked at the two other lads who were attempting to chat up his girlfriend and his cousin. “So, how about you two lads move along?” He suggested.

Simon, meanwhile, kept glaring at the other lads, his height posing an advantage as he stood a few inches taller than them. “Yeah, before things get more complicated than they need be.” He added.

Josh and Liam exchanged a somewhat concerned glance, not exactly panicked or scared, since they were also cocky teenage boys high on nothing if not hubris… But they muttered something else apologetically and made themselves scarce.

Olly took Josh’s seat next to Emily and wrapped his arm around her, checking on her with a “You alright, love?” before dropping a kiss onto her mouth, making the girl giggle.

Simon, meanwhile, looked at you while still standing by the booth. You fixed the thin straps of your top and bra while looking up at him as well. He reached a hand toward you and beckoned you to take it. You did.

He reached into the booth and grabbed his parka and yours while muttering some type of warning to Olly that you couldn’t quite make out, and your cousin probably couldn’t either because he was busy shoving his tongue down Emily’s throat.

Simon tossed your coat at you, which you pulled on, and grabbed his belongings (keys, wallet, phone). Then, he dragged you by the bicep out of the pub. You knew what was about to happen. You could feel it, warming up in your tummy… He made sure that Josh and Liam could see the way he took you, glaring right at them, as you desperately sped up the pace to keep up with his large strides, your cheeks a bit flushed and warm as he walked you both out. 

Next thing you knew, he had your front pressed against the passenger side door of his dad’s car, your chest rubbing against the window. Simon was behind you, his left hand holding your jaw to keep your face turned back, his lips pressed onto yours, his tongue taking over your mouth. 

You didn’t remember much about your first kiss with him. It had been only a couple weeks prior, but you were both high. Sure, you remembered it happening but all the sensations had been heightened in the moment and had nullified after you had sobered up.

But if this kiss was anything to go off of, it was a great kiss. Simon’s lips on yours were making you see stars, his taller body pressing you so hard against the side of the car that you couldn’t help but shiver. The car’s surface was ice cold against the skin of your lower tummy and collarbone, which your top didn’t quite cover.

Then, Simon’s right hand pulled up the back of your parka holding it out of the way as his fingers gripped onto your hip, so he could rut his cock against the curve of your ass.

He refused to break the kiss, his lips greedily sucking onto yours, his tongue claiming your mouth as his. He would mumble things here and there, little whispers showing his enjoyment. “Blimey, can’t get enough of you…”, “Killed me seein’ those blokes chattin’ you up...”, “Almost knocked their teeth out…”, “Fuckin’ hell…”, “Your kisses… so fuckin’ good…”, “All I can think now about is kissin’ you…”.

Truth be told, you had been going wild for him, the distance painful not just because of how awkward it felt to see him around your mutual mates and not be able to be ‘close’, but because of how much you liked him and missed him.

But now you got to have him again. Awkwardness be damned, you were finally kissing again, finally dry-humping again. And it felt glorious. You’d never regret this, you knew it deep down. 

You think of that as you stand in the train station. It’s 4:59 A.M. and your tired, sleepless eyes are locked onto Simon as he sits inside, backpack sitting on his lap, his hair recently buzzcut.

You didn’t sleep at all tonight, neither did he. You spent the last few hours you had together in each other’s arms, kissing and holding each other close, and even having sex in the back of his father’s car, as usual.

And now, here you are, holding the keys to his dad’s car in your hands. A gift he’s leaving behind, a way to keep yourself safe and way from your own dad, so you can sleep somewhere else.

The announcement system warns of the departure of the train he sits in, with a destination to Harrogate. In a couple of hours, he’ll be at the Army Foundation College to start his military career…

Your lips are swollen and red, and so are his. you kissed too much. Too hard. You take a hand up to feel them up with your fingers, almost like you're trying to hold on to the feel of him.

The doors to the train close and a mechanical hiss is heard. Simon’s eyes are set on you and squint through the glare of the lights inside the train versus the darkness of the station outside. You hope he can’t see the way your eyes are welling up with tears.

Simon was your first in all the ways you could think of. Your first crush, your first boy best friend, your first kiss, your first time… 

And as his train pulls away from the station, you think to yourself…

He’s your first heartbreak too.

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#ikea writes 💚 #home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cbf #childhood best friends to lovers #teenage love #cod au #masterlist #fluff #angst

[mellowsadistic]

Mindy wailed and thrashed as her Nanny spanked her forcefully, aiming for the top of her thighs, what little of her bottom that wasn’t protected by her thick, crinkly, heavily loaded naptime nappy.

“Bad girl, Mindy!” Nanny scolded, “Very bad girl! You do not yell at Nanny, and you especially do not complain about your treatment!”

“Ow! Ow! Ow! STOP IT!” Mindy cried.

“You need to learn your lesson, little girl, “ Nanny continued sternly. “Your loss of night-time bladder and bowel control is a good thing. Waking up with a soaked and stinky diaper sagging from your bottom shows that our regression training methods are working.”

“But I don’t want them to work!” Mindy shrieked. “I don’t wanna be some big baby freak!”

Nanny’s arm began swinging down with all her might, smacking against the skin of Mindy’s rapidly reddening bottom with so much force that the girl’s squealing doubled in volume. “BAD GIRL!” she shouted. “VERY BAD GIRL! You’re here to be punished, young lady! The court sentenced you to four years as a two-year-old, but since you were too proud to allow your boyfriend to treat you accordingly, he had no choice but to enrol you here! State-run discipline nurseries have a 100% success rate at putting regressed girls in their place, and you’re not going to be any exception, missy! A big baby is exactly what you’re going to be!”

“OW! OWIE! PLEASE!” Mindy begged, tears streaming down her face. Her bottom hurt so badly. She didn’t even know what she was begging for. For the spanking to stop? For her adulthood back? To be let out of the discipline nursery and get sent back to her loving boyfriend? How could she have pushed him to enrol her here? If she could turn back time, she would. Who cared if she had to live like a two-year-old, to have her boyfriend change her wet and messy nappies, to have him feed her and bathe her and burp her like a baby, if this was the alternative? Spending her time playing with baby toys and dancing along to toddler songs, and spending hours a day gazing into those screens, swirling colours and faint music that infiltrated your head and whispered to you.

Mindy could never remember the exact words, but the results were clear. After a few days she noticed her bladder and bowel control beginning to weaken, her hands becoming slightly uncoordinated, her walk turning into more of a toddle – and when she’d asked the nursery staff if it could be reversed, they’d only smirked at her.

And now she’d woken up from her nap to find her nappy absolutely drenched, and worse, packed with a yucky mess that she certainly didn’t remember making. The evil bitches at the discipline nursery had turned her into some kind of oversized two-year-old who filled her diapers in her sleep!

“Once we drop you off with your boyfriend at the end of your training, you’ll be a completely different girl!” Nanny said happily, not letting up with her furious swats. “Just like your little friends that are almost done with their conditioning!”

Mindy sobbed and screamed and kicked her legs over her Nanny’s lap. She couldn’t become one of them. She couldn’t! Not those dim-witted baby-women she shared the nursery school with, the diaper-dependent losers with their adult minds still more or less present, but so heavily conditioned with spankings and hypnosis and all the other foul training methods the nursery employed, that they may as well have had their personalities reverted back to toddlerhood – nothing but babbling, screeching, pants-wetting babies in the bodies of beautiful young women.

Mindy wanted to fight it. She couldn’t think of anything worse than ending up like one of them. But it was hard to think straight when her bottom was blazing like it was on fire. She couldn’t help herself. It was just too horrible! She wanted it to stop! She needed Nanny to stop!

“I’m sowwy, Nanny!” she wailed, hating how easily the baby talk came to her. Another gift of the hypnosis programs. “Baby was just cwanky ‘cause she did a poo-poo!” She cringed with shame as she said it, but she knew it was what Nanny wanted to hear. She wasn’t complaining because she was being turned into an oversized toddler who waddled around in full Pampers all day. She was just being cranky. “Pwease, Nanny!” she sobbed.

And then, mercifully, Nanny did.

“That’s a good girl,” she cooed, her voice soft and sweet, but with a definite note of condescending satisfaction. “What a good baby. Well done for taking your punishment, little Mindy. I’m sure you’re right. You were just being a little cranky because of your yucky, stinky nappy! But I’m afraid I’m not going to change you anytime soon, sweetheart. Babies need to get used to being in full diapers. You need to learn that you’ll be changed at an adult’s convenience, not when it’s convenient for you. Is that clear?”

“Yes Nanny,” Mindy whimpered.

“Good girl! Now let’s get you over to the playroom. We’ve got some lovely programs for you to watch this afternoon. Isn’t that nice?”

Mindy sobbed and sniffled, but didn’t resist as she was led off to sit in front of the television in the nursery’s main room alongside all the other infantilised women, to stare into the screen and allow herself to slip further and further into her new life.

#mellowsadistic

[sweetcloverheart]

You know, thinking about it some more, by "Derision"'s own premise - Marinette should have absolutely hated (or at least distrusted) Adrien day one regardless of the Umbrella apology, because him being friends with Chloe would have been the major issue/deal breaker. The moment she hears he's Chloe's childhood friend, she would have been doing utmost to avoid him at every turn despite him being so nice to her (After all, Kim was nice to her too, and look what happened there) because all the apparent deepseated trauma Chloe's prank left her.

Also, by extension, the class would have distrusted him too (and Kim maybe)? This is a dude that's apparently besties with the girl who's been harassing them for years and made their beloved favorite classmate go through a super traumatizing event the year before. A good majority of Adrien's first few months at Francois Dupount should have been the miraclass all avoiding him and playing interference whenever he tried to interact with Marinette, with the only minor exceptions being Nino (Who is the goodest of boys and also wasn't in the same class as Mari and Co when it happened but really should know regardless considering Chloe videotaped it and put it online?), Alya (Who just transferred in and likely wouldn't know what's happening either), and Chloe+Sabrina (The former of whom is more than happy that the losers are keeping away from her precious Adrichou! More of him for her then!). (And maybe also Kim? He probably sees it as Adrien going through what he did after the prank and deciding to buddy up/help him out since "nobody here knows how to take a joke")

Meanwhile, Adrien would feel so confused and isolated because his class all just hates him for some reason and he has no clue what he might of did to make them all mad at him? And it just makes school feel like home except 100 times worst because at least he (thinks he) knows why his dad often ignores and avoids him. And speaking of, he can't go to him about the problem because he'll just use the class's actions as an excuse to lock him back up in the manor for homeschool because it just "proves" he was completely right about Adrien not being safe at public school, and Chloe's no good either because her "help" (i.e Calling daddy or the principal to take away a class privilege or get a trip/activity cancelled those mean losers made her precious Adrien sad - so fix it or else!) ends up just worsening the divide, so he's basically on his own except for Plagg (who sadly can't really intervene in a way that would actually solve the issue). It also ends up funneling into making his crush on Ladybug 220% more codependent because it's literally one of the very few relationships he has where he isn't being treated like a leaper, idol, or a nuisance...except it turns out she also hates Adrien - but that's fine, because Chat Noir hates Adrien too! Dude's just the worst, don't you think my lady? So everything fine because they can hate Adrien together and bond through that (self hatred and poor coping mechanisms go brrr~)!

Basically the first 2 and a half seasons should have played out like an "Enemies!AU" where Marinette and most of the Miraclass is convinced Adrien is Chloe's new vice chief bully and act accordingly as Adrien desperately tries (and fails) to make friends and figure out why everyone dislikes him so much, while the Ladynoir side has the two bonding over how much they hate that lame blonde modeling twink from the magazines.

...Ah crap, now I want to make an AU.

#Clover Rants Miraculously #ML Salt

[halfway-happyyy]

into gold I {rooster bradshaw}

synopsis: rooster bradshaw’s emotional baggage could fill a cargo container ten times over. he is the single father of a precocious and bubbly six-year-old, and despite his best efforts, has fallen head over heels for someone arguably more damaged than him- his daughter’s first grade teacher. 

i originally wrote this part in july of last year, but re-wrote it recently to breathe new life into it. this will be a multi-part piece. no warnings as of yet, but there will be some in the future. i don’t normally write multi-part pieces, so please be gentle. 

characters- bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, frankie bradshaw, female ooc scout wallis (she/her pronouns)

Rooster Bradshaw is of the general opinion that the universe does not fight for souls to be together.

He tells himself this every time he starts to feel close to someone; that despite their beauty, their money, their career, the way they flirt, the way they fuck- the universe has never sided with him, and it certainly isn't about to start now, so why bother?

But then Friday morning rolls around and he's fifteen minutes late to meet with his daughter's teacher and when he finally gets to her classroom, he has an entire speech prepared. But then she glances up at him from the test that she’s grading and every single word he memorized on the way there evaporates into thin air. Suddenly the idea of the universe intervening on his behalf doesn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.

“Hi Miss Wallis.” He murmurs, breathlessly.

The red pen in her grasp stills, her gaze sharp as a knife. “You’re late, Mr. Bradshaw.”

He swallows hard; tries to focus on anything other than her being genuinely one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.

“I got caught up in traffic.”

She rises from her chair to stand in front of her desk and Rooster notices the sundress she has on is covered in hand-drawn safari animals- giraffes, cheetahs, flamingos- and it somehow endears him to her a little bit more. “I wanted to have a quick talk with you about Frankie.” Despite her initial disappointment with him, her face lights up, and her tone softens when she mentions his daughter’s name. “And let me start off by saying that she is a joy to have in the classroom.”

Rooster smiles at that.

“She is inquisitive and intelligent and kind, but she’s also extremely quiet. Getting her to participate with her classmates has been a challenge, to say the least.” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth in thought, and Rooster finds that he must try twice as hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand. “Has she ever mentioned anything to you about the way the other students treat her?”

Rooster blanches. “No, in fact she constantly tells me how much she loves going to school.”

Frankie's teacher smiles briefly. “I’ve caught a few of the other students bullying her- making fun of the jokes she tells, the way she dresses, and they’ve been spoken too and dealt with accordingly, but I just wanted to have an open and frank conversation with you about it to let you know what’s been going on. We take this kind of stuff quite seriously here, and there is a plan in place for if it continues.”

Shifting from foot to foot, he says, “Well, I do appreciate the communication. It hasn't always been easy with just the two of us, but we make do...” It bothers him that at six years old, and with everything she’s gone through in her short life, she hasn’t felt like she could tell him about what’s really been going on with her. “I will make sure to speak with her this weekend, and I really do appreciate you setting this up.” He glances around the room and at the myriads of artwork that decorate every square inch of wall space. It’s obvious to him how much her students adore her, and it causes Rooster’s heart to swell, knowing his pride and joy is in good hands when she’s here. He feels her gaze on him, and it makes his cheeks flame under the florescent lighting.

“Would you like to see some of her work before you leave?”

Rooster nods emphatically; would love nothing more. She guides him over to a spot at the front of the room where a bunch of drawings hang beneath a sign titled, 'What Makes You Happy?' She points to a drawing in the centre of the wall. It depicts six roughly drawn stick figures; five adults and a child. Two of the adults- a man and a woman - are in the sky next to a smiling sun, with what look to be angel wings protruding from their backs. Rooster’s breath hitches in his throat, and his eyes immediately begin to prickle with looming tears. He thinks of his parents often and wonders where they are and if they would be proud of the way he’s raising their granddaughter. His gaze moves to the three adults on the ground who stand around the child, and a fat orange cat lounges at the child’s feet.

“I want a cat more than anything in the world, daddy.”

“We’re not ready yet, Frankie. But someday soon, perhaps.”

“She cares very deeply for her family.” She murmurs, thoughtfully. “She is constantly talking of them. Especially her grandparent’s.”

Emotion swells in the hollow of his throat, and he swallows hard to rid himself of it. “I try to talk about them with her as much as I can, but it isn’t always easy.”

“No. It isn't, is it?” Her wistful tone tells him that she knows a thing or two about loss as well.

Silence settles like dust between them, and he glances at the watch on the underside of his wrist. Twenty to eight. “I want to apologize for my lateness this morning.”

They wander over to her door, and she shrugs. “It’s nice that you showed up at all, honestly. You can’t imagine how many parents don’t.”

“I’d like to make it up to you.”

Her smile is wry as she cocks her head to the side, playing coy with him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like to make it up to you for wasting your time. Take you out for drink or food, or anything really.”

She shakes her head, and her eyes twinkle mischievously. “That isn’t necessary, Mr. Bradshaw. Regardless, I don’t date my students’ parents.”

Rooster laughs easily. “But you could make an exception?”

It’s her turn to laugh now. “Even if I did, another rule that I have is that I don’t date men in the military.”

Rooster reckons she’s got him there, so he concedes on the point for now. “Alright, if you say so. But if you find yourself having a sudden change of heart- you know how to get a hold of me.”

She ushers him out into the hallway, with a wide grin pulling the edges of her lips skyward. “Good day, Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Good day, Miss Wallis.”

Frankie’s first grade teacher lingers in his mind long after she’s gone from his presence. He wonders how it came to be that they’d never crossed paths before and has a sudden, sneaking suspicion that she may be one of the only reasons Frankie enjoys going to school as much as she does. He thinks about his daughter then; how he had dropped her off at Penny’s last night for the weekend, but still misses her with every fiber of his being and makes a mental note to call her as soon as he’s done work for the day. Arriving on base, he allows himself a moment in the Bronco to watch a super hornet prepare for flight. Something aches somewhere deep in his heart; makes him irrevocably nostalgic for the good ol’ days. And it isn’t that he minds instructing for TOPGUN- on the contrary, it’s been a fantastic job to have that still ensures he gets some time in his beloved planes, but he would be lying to anyone if he said he didn’t miss the thrill of being called to missions.

“You coming out tonight, Bradshaw?” Jake slaps the doorframe twice and pokes his head into Rooster’s room an hour later.

He’s about to protest- could think of a million other things he’d rather do than hit the Hard Deck with Jake and the others- except that he can’t come up with a single reason, so he shrugs sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“No Frankie this weekend?”

Rooster shakes his head. “Mav and Penny wanted to take her out on a little trip on the water.”

“Excellent. See you then, buddy.”

~

“It’s easily one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.” Bob must yell above the din of the bar to be heard. Taking a long slug off the beer in his hand, he takes his phone out of his pocket and is entirely too careful not to let it touch the wooden bar. “Do you want to see a picture of him?”

Rooster nods enthusiastically. “I would love to see a picture of your cat, Bob.”

He holds up his phone, and Rooster’s suddenly struck by the uncanny resemblance of the cat on the screen to the cat in Frankie’s drawing from this morning. “Have you by any chance shown Frankie a picture of…” He trails off because he cannot remember what Bob’s cat is called, for the life of him.

“His name is Ulysses. And yes, Frankie and I have had many conversations about him.”

Rooster laughs and finishes the last of the hoppy amber liquid in his pint glass. “So, I guess I have you to thank for her newest obsession with felines.”

Bob’s smile is sheepish.

“Now, how did that happen?” Phoenix's laugh is incredulous as she gestures to the front entrance of the Hard Deck.

Rooster cranes around in his seat at the bar and nearly drops the empty glass in his hand when he catches sight of Jake Seresin arm in arm with none other than Frankie's first grade teacher.

“Did you know he was dating anyone?” Fanboy peers over at Coyote expectantly, who looks just as perplexed as everyone else.

“Nope.”

Rooster considers making a run for it; reckons his odds are pretty good if he can get Phoenix and Bob to distract the two of them for long enough. He’s about to slide his credit card over the bar to Jimmy when the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter causes the hair to prickle at the nape of his neck.

“Not trying to run away on us, are ya Bradshaw? There's someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

She’s sporting a different dress than this morning; some sort of black silk number that Rooster thinks would look perfect pooled on his hardwood floor, and he clears his throat before his thoughts run away on him. “A pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand for her to shake, which she accepts hesitantly. Her cheeks are flushed, and Rooster can only guess at why.

Hangman gazes at the elder naval pilot, his expression smug. “I actually have you to thank, Rooster.”

Rooster eyes him wearily- can’t imagine what game he's playing at. “Is that so?”

“Yep. I met Scout here, two months ago when I did Frankie’s school run for you.”

He glances over at the woman he had first met only mere hours earlier and who is hell-bent on looking everywhere but at him and all he can think is… so much for not dating a military man.

Jake presses a chaste kiss to her cheek and passes by the bar to join Coyote at the well-worn dart board in the corner of the room.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation, huh?” She murmurs, dropping into the seat next to Rooster.

He’s about to flag Jimmy down for another beer, but the seasoned barkeeper beats him to it by sliding a frothy glass over with a knowing smile. Rooster takes a deep sip and levels his gaze with Scout’s.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

And he means it. He’s simply content just to be in her presence again.

After a few quiet moments, she tilts her head to the side, and flashes a smile that makes Rooster feel like he’s known her since the beginning of everything. “Jake told me on the way here that you’re the guy to go to if I want to hear a song on the piano.”

Rooster’s not exactly sure where this is coming from, but if it means getting her to smile like that again for him, he reckons there isn’t much in the world he wouldn’t do.

“He did, did he?”

“He sure did. I’m Scout, by the way.”

Scout. He rolls her name around in his mind, liking the notion of it making a permanent home there.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you again, Scout. I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

“But you go by Rooster?” She asks.

He shifts in his seat, nodding his head in silent confirmation.

“Which do you prefer to be called?”

And what Rooster really wants to say is, you can call me anything your pretty little heart desires. But what he says is, “Rooster. It makes me feel closer to my old man.”

There’s a story there. She’s seconds away from asking about it and he’s seconds away from telling it to her, but then a shadow falls over the glossy wooden countertop and Jake appears behind her, placing an impossibly tan hand over the rounded curve of her shoulder.

“Well, did you ask him?”

“Pool table’s ours, Hangman!” Someone calls out over the din around them.

Jake doesn’t wait for her to reply before he bends down to whisper something in her ear which Rooster doesn’t quite hear, but still causes a wave of something unpleasant to bloom in the pit of his stomach.

“He’ll take good care of you, Scout.” Jake simpers by way of goodbye, throwing a wink at Rooster before backing away into the crowd.

“About that song…” Scout murmurs.

Rooster takes another deep slug from his pint glass and levels his gaze with hers again. “I’ll play you anything you want to hear.”

Scout taps a finger against her chin in contemplation. “Anything?”

Rooster nods.

“Alright. I’ve got it. But I want you to tell me something about yourself first.”

A puff of air exits his mouth in a low whistle; he wasn't expecting that one. “Anything?”

She nods.

Where to begin? Don’t scare her off now, Bradshaw.

“Well, you already know about Frankie. I could write novels about my love for her. But I suppose something I don’t talk about very often is the fact that I wasn’t always sure I would fly planes for the Navy for a living.” If Scout seems surprised by this revelation, she doesn’t show it. “In fact, I had big dreams of playing for the MLB. I’m sure my mom would have preferred that; God rest her soul.” Rooster smiles around the rim of his glass at the memory of his mother.

“What happened?” Scout asks, earnestly.

Rooster swallows hard, and wonders just how much of himself he should share with her. “Car crash, first year of university. Broke a lot of shit, crushed a lot of MLB-imperative body parts.” He doesn’t let his thoughts stray as far this time before he poses the question to her.

“I’m relatively new to teaching; I’ve only been doing it for the last couple of years, but it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself. My kids mean everything to me.” She talks about it all with such conviction that Rooster has no choice but to believe her every word.

A comfortable silence befalls them before Rooster sighs and says, “Alright, Scout Wallis. What’ll it be?”

Scout grins and rises from her seat, holding her hand out to Rooster like a beacon. “I’d like to hear Great Balls of Fire.”

Genuine laughter bubbles up from the base his throat, and as the gold-dust woman before him leads him to the well-loved piano in the center of the bar, he wonders two things. The first being, how Jake Seresin ended up getting to her first, and how on Earth it's possible to be in love with someone after a day.

#rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #tgm #miles teller #rooster bradshaw fanfic #writing #masterlist

[stromuprisahat]

Some more one-sided dick-measuring

Siege and Storm- Chapter 14

Awwww! SOMEONE's grumpy about being reminded of their place!

And Alina forgot it once again...

Oh my fucking god! Can Malware stop thinking with his territorial dick for five seconds?!

Nikolai does work FOR him and Alina- getting HER representative into society, while promoting Malware from stupid guard, and the first reaction he gets is I BeT YoU jUsT WaNnA FuCk My GiRL!

Even his body language screams "casually hostile".

"I thought I'm getting paid for stalking my gf, not actually DOING SOMETHING FOR her career I hate!"

I really, really hate how Malware's allowed to treat Royal as some low-born, mud-stained buddy. Even if they're in private, he's in no position to question him thus. Even if Nikolai allows him such luxury, why is he sharing his own schedule?

Nikolai isn't answerable to Malyen, the other way around actually! If it weren't for Nikolai's intervention, Malware would be executed just as he should've been, but instead of some gratitude, he's acting as if their postions were reversed and the Prince lets and encourages him by playing along?!

Also hate how Maaal occasionally ~talks~ about war, but acts like he's the star jock in middle of high school drama (and his whore might be getting wet for someone else) in general.

I'll THINK about it?! You SERVE another! You'll do what you are told. or there's no reason for you to stick around!

I hate how Nikolai's doing ALL the work, serving Alina connections on a golden platter only to have to deal with a meaningless, jealous dick!

*singing*

Why is he so pathetic?!

And why is Alina constantly defending him, as if he were entitled to treatment in kid gloves?!

I love Nikolai's subtle barb. I'd love to see him at court in action. Not just charming, but bitching.

YES! FINALLY SOMEONE!

Although I'd argue he already IS a liability.

Nikolai's still gentle with the buffoon, but gets scolded for it, because Malina keeps forgetting Alina ~might~ be important, but her manly appendage is less than nothing. And should behave accordingly.

#Grishaverse #S&S Chapter 14 #Malyen Oretsev #Alina Starkov #Nikolai Lantsov #grishanalyticritical #self centred and paranoid #Siege and Storm #Grisha trilogy #V #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #anti Mal #anti Malina #anti Leigh Bardugo

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not wanting to move back in with my family?

The lead up to this is a bit long, but I feel like the context is necessary. After my first year of college, my (then20, FTM) father (40s, M) was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and could not work anymore. He also could not be left to his own devices, so I had to take time off school and come home to watch him and my younger sibling (then 11NB) while my mother (40s F) would work. That sucked for multiple reasons, including being responsible for all the asshole bullshit he’s pulled (when I say asshole, I mean it. He used to fake - by his own admission - epileptic seizures to get out of doing the most minor chores or exercises recommended by his doctors), my mothers violent transphobia (to the point of driving me to a mental breakdown when I asked about starting HRT) and emotional abuse towards myself and my sib. She never believed my complaints about my father and was convinced I was being lazy and irresponsible with his care. In addition to that, they moved to this area after I started college, so I was in a completely unfamiliar (and not particularly queer friendly) place, socially isolated, and so on and so forth. This shit sucked. I was promised I’d be able to go back after one semester, but after a few months it has been made painfully clear to me that this is not an option. Then COVID happened, and next year my college was fully remote. This way I was able to complete my sophomore year online. I was finally released for junior year and have not come back home since with the exception of one short-term visit, when my mother went abroad to visit our extended family. (We’re immigrants.)

I graduated this year. When I started my job search, I was planning to stay in the area and applied to jobs accordingly, with the exception of one position advertised by my college. This one would be in a major city very close to my family, so I’d be able to live with them. I was idiot enough to mention that to my mother. The gig didn’t pan out, so I settled on staying where I am and continued to search for a job, a place to live, and so on. I secured a place to live recently and was again dumb enough to share that with my mother. (Yes, I have a pattern. I’m working on it. ) The next day, my sib contacts me and asks if I could come live with them. Sib got into a really good high school with a focus on a field of study they want to go into for a career and have a real knack for. It’s kinda far from where they live right now, but they found an apartment much closer to it. Rent is a lot higher than they can afford, though. My mother lost her job when she refused to get vaccinated nearly a year ago (she used to work in healthcare), and since then she hasn’t been officially employed. She’s been getting by with instacart and my father’s disability payments.

If I lived with them and found a job there, they’d definitely be able to afford rent. Moving there, while undesirable, is not out of the realm of possibility, and my mother has been a lot better about treating me like a person and not being transphobic. Not perfect, but better. They also would not be living with dad because mom is at the end of her rope with him and is looking into a nursing home his insurance would cover. I would also be saving up money by living with them, I’d definitely have reliable health insurance, a roof over my head and so on and so forth. My personal autonomy, personal space, and most likely mental health would be absolutely out the window. I’m still traumatized by these 2 years I spent with them. Not to mention nearly complete social isolation. I wouldn’t even be able to see my boyfriend properly, there would be about 8 hrs’ worth of a drive between us.

So. Will I be the asshole if I leave my family to struggle on their own? I already sacrificed a lot for their sake. I don’t know that I can keep doing that to myself.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[thecuriousquest]

Playing with Fire

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Platonic Yandere themes, Dabi is intimidating, being held somewhere against will, runaway teen

Request: Mabye C1 for yandere older brother dabi? (Love ur writing btw 🫶🏽)

Prompt: “Don’t play with fire if you don’t want to burn.”

Master List here.

Yandere Alphabet Prompt here.

Note: I don’t really like how this turned out. I’m sorry if it’s shitty. 😭

—————————————————————————

You’re sick of it. You’re so tired of being treated like a baby day in and day out. Even Shoto, who is only a year older than you, treats you like a little girl. The worst one, even worse than your father, is Dabi. He treats you like you still sleep with a nightlight in your room.

Coming home from school, you walk in and find Dabi and Shoto in an argument. Good, they’re distracted. You sneak your way up to your room and really contemplate if this is what you want to do. You’ve been thinking about running for over a year now. You’ve saved up some money. You could get a job if you’re fast enough.

Deciding it’s what’s best for you, you sneak out of your room with your backpack that’s been ready to go since you first came up with a plan.

Sadly for you, nothing ever goes accordingly.

———

Sitting on a curb in the poorer districts of town, you take out a protein bar as you wait for the bus. Your best bet was getting as far away from your house as you could, and but the further you walked, you found yourself in unfamiliar territory.

There are all types of people walking around out here, and one in particular belongs to the same organization as Dabi, an organization you have no idea about.

A large lizard man, Spinner, recognizes you as Dabi’s “baby sister”. Not exactly sure of what to do, he walks up to you and grabs you by the arm, pulling you up off of the curb.

You drop your snack in the process and glare up at him.

“Hey, what gives, jerk?! Let go of me!”

“What’s a young thing like you doing out on these streets? Your big brother isn’t gonna be happy when he finds out about this.”

Those words immediately cause your blood to curl and freeze.

“How do you know him?” you whisper, timidly.

He shows his sharp teeth upon answering you. “Doesn’t matter. If he finds out I spotted you out here and I didn’t tell him, my ass is ash. We’re going back to Shig’s place. Come on.”

He pulls you along, backpack strapped.

“No, no, I’m not going back!” You ball your fist up and try to punch him, anything to make him let go. None of it works as he pulls you along to some run down bar.

Spinner pushes you towards a barstool.

“Who’s this brat? She looks like such a lovely young lady!” Twice questions and declares all at once.

Shigaraki looks at you and Spinner with a quirked eyebrow behind his mask. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a kid now.”

“Gross, as if,” is your haughty reply.

“Not my kid. She’s Dabi’s little sister, and apparently a runaway too. I don’t have my phone on me. Thought I could use someone’s to call Fireball.”

Everyone suddenly goes quiet, knowing how important you are to Dabi.

Magna, knowing better than to do nothing, is the one who takes out her phone and dials your big brother’s number.

“No!” In a fit of anger and panic, you shoot an icicle at his phone. The sharp dagger goes through it, pinning the electronic device to the wall right in between two bottles of liquor.

Shigaraki stands back watching everything happen. He’s slightly impressed with your accuracy, but Himiko is less than impressed with you almost stabbing her big sister.

Himiko takes out her blades, taking a threatening step towards you. Tomura sticks his hand out, keeping the blonde girl from doing anything rash.

“Lock her up in one of the back rooms. Twice, guard it. Don’t hurt her either. You know he’ll burn this place down if even a hair is out of place on the brat.”

———

Crying and pounding on the door of the windowless room to be let out, you quiet down upon hearing a very familiar voice lighting up the bar.

Oh no…Touya-nii is already here.

You try your hardest to create an icicle barrage, casting them towards a wall. It does nothing but shred wood at an irritatingly slow pace. What’s worse is that there’s a wall of concrete behind the wooden panels, and you sink down in a corner as your fate is sealed.

The door bursts open, and in walks your pissed off big bro.

“The fuck is wrong with you, bitch?! You fucking left? Left?! Like it was no big deal?! Answer me!”

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything to say.

Dabi picks you up and roughly shoves you up against the wall, crouching down so that he’s eye level with you. He keeps a hand on the collar of your jacket, pinning you against the wall so that you’re barely standing on your toes. All of the rage swirling in those electric cobalt eyes are clear as the bright blue sky, and you find your own eyes welling with tears.

“I’m…tired of you treating me like a little girl.”

“You ARE a little girl. What? You got mad and thought you could just run away from me like a stupid little shit? Fucking can’t believe this right now. First Shoto, now you.”

“Let go of me! You’re scaring me!”

“No, you can shut up! You are my baby sister, and you always will be. After this, you’re never leaving my fucking sight again. If you try anything like this in the future, I will hunt you down. I’ll kill anyone who gets in the way. Do you understand me?!”

As he rants, his hand on you grows warmer and then hotter. The heat uncomfortably pricks at your skin until it builds up to a burn.

You bring your feet up, placing them on your big brother’s hips, pushing him away with the strength only pure adrenaline can offer. It causes him to take a few steps back and drop you at the same time. You run towards the door, only to see a line of fire shoot past you, narrowly missing your head.

Dabi blocks off your exit.

Hands shaking, brows knit with worry, eyes wide with fear, you turn around and look up at him.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t play with fire if you don’t want to burn?”

#submission #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #my hero acedamia #dabi boku no hero academia #dabi todoroki #yandere dabi x reader #yandere dabi #dabi my hero academia #platonic yandere big brother #platonic yandere dabi

[rustyarcade]

None of you will ever understand Wednesday, Enid, and Bianca friend group like I do NONE OF YOU GRAHHHHH!!! (A reuploaded 🧵 from my twt)

They lay on the roof of Ophelia Hall and stare at the stars above them like once a week to talk about literally everything and nothing at the same time

They have the constellations memorized at this point and talk about them like they’re old friends

They talk about their moms a lot. And the night when Crackstone was revived. Or whatever other internal issue. It usually ends up with one of them crying. Almost always Enid. But there were times where Bianca cried. And Wednesday did once too. But no one likes mentioning it

It’s the one time a week where Bianca doesn’t have to keep her bossy, queen bee demeanor, Enid doesn’t have to keep her peppy, always happy attitude, and Wednesday doesn’t have to completely shut out the world around her

Sometimes when it’s a rainy night, they run into the forest and just chase each other for hours. When they get tired, the sit up against a tree and talk. But as soon as that energy returns, they go back to running and giggling

They consider each other closer than Yoko is with Enid, Divina is with Bianca, and Eugene is with Wednesday

They are each others biggest supporters no matter what and are willing to sacrifice themselves to make sure the others are happy

Their friendship isn’t loud to the world it’s more of a winky thing. Not that they’re hiding it, but there’s no need to announce it either. But at the same time it’s so obvious that they’re friends

They tease each other so much. It’s their love language. They’ll make comments to each other. They’ll pretend to throw each others’ stuff to make each other laugh

When fencing club is over they’ll talk for HOURS in the club room afterwards and even do some more spars if they’re up for it

Bianca was the third ever person Wednesday hugged (first being Enid, then Eugene) but it was after such a vulnerable moment that as much as she’d love to brag about it to everyone, Bianca will take it to the grave just for Wednesday

Enid loves buying them all subtle matching gifts. From plushes to bracelets to anything really, Enid will find one for each of them and theme them accordingly

She especially loves getting them powerpuff girl themed stuff. Bianca is Blossom, Enid is Bubbles, and Wednesday is Buttercup easy

If Yoko is wenclair nation president, Bianca is vice president. She loves their relationship and is honestly so happy for them. Both reached out to her for advice. She felt like a proud mother watching them realize their feelings right in front of her eyes.

Wednesday and Enid’s relationship isn’t overbearing in their friendship. Bianca is never treated like a third wheel and Wednesday and Enid have the absolute respect and comfortability being themselves around Bianca

They were the first people Bianca told about her being Poly and Pan. She was terrified and so nervous but they accepted her immediately and let her know that she could tell them anything

They’re the biggest biayokovina Stans as well

Everyone at school knows they’re the most powerful trio in the universe and they love each other so much UGH-

Ok thanks for reading goodnight feel free to add ur own ideas/headcanons abt them cuz I love them so much

#wenclair #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wednesday 2022 #bianca barclay #headcanon #I remember crying while writing this #and now I’m crying while reading this #BiaYokovina #I NEED to write fics based on these headcanons soon istg #can u tell I think about them alot #cuz I do #late night arcade posting #I love them sm #it’s not even funny

[klutzyroses]

Hii! I would like to request how would the ikevamp boys feel about a mc with daddy issues (with Comte,Vlad,Faust,Vincent and Arthur) Thank you in advance

*coughs awkwardly*...Well if this doesn't hit home a bit.

IkeVamp HCs: SO with Daddy Issues

How do they react to an so with daddy issues?

Suitors: Arthur, Vincent, Comte, Vlad, Faust

Warnings: Toxic parent-child relationships, implied abuse

Arthur

Oh luv...

Suddenly her past behaviour towards him makes so much sense.

She had been so off with him at first, to the point where he was almost under the impression that she hated him, that he had to wonder if there was a reason behind it.

Only when they have become closer did she open up to him about her complicated relationship with her father who, much like Arthur, was quite the playboy, but to a more extreme, reprehensible extent.

She speaks to him of the many times her father had missed an important event in her life, birthdays, school activities, because he had a mistress that he found far more important.

It saddens him to know that she felt so irrelevant in the eyes of the man who should have loved her the most.

But then...he isn't complaining about taking that position.

He is determined to make sure she never spends one moment question her worth.

He will certainly let her know that there will be no woman who will take her place in his life, she is his priority and she will be second to no one.

Vincent

He himself had a...contentious relationship with his own parents, thus, he is fully understanding of Y/N's ache.

Though, from the sound of it, her father seemed to be the predominant issue between her parents and his behavior was to a worse extent.

From being overly controlling to being downright militant, hearing how treated her hurts him in ways he couldn't imagine.

How could anyone be that way to his scatje? It's painful to think about.

He will do everything he can to let her know how special she is, how perfect, to him she didn't to worry about being a certain way. She could just be herself.

To prove it, he will paint her the way he sees her; As the perfect, beautiful sunflower she is. The way everyone else sees her. The way she deserves to see herself.

Just because her father was too blind see it, doesn't mean Vincent will allow her to be blind to her own shine.

Comte

His heart aches for his poor cherie.

When he learns of her childhood growing up with a selfish, narcissistic father, he feels slight anger and upset grow inside him for the man himself.

It may not be reasonable to hold any hostility for a man who isn't present, but he can't help it. Anyone who thoughtlessly hurts his cherie is no good in his eyes.

He, as something of a father figure to the rest of the mansion's residents, knowing how it feels to care for someone he is essentially responsible for, can't understand why someone would mistreat a loved one that way.

Especially a person as endearing and lovable as Y/N.

He knows as her partner, he can't actually fill the void of a father in his beloved's life, but he will more than make up for it by fulfilling her every desire. Physically and emotionally.

Y/N will never want for anything, whether that be a shiny pair of heels or just a long warm hug.

Is money a substitute for love? No, but spoiling her is as much a pleasure for him as it is for her, because he loves her.

Vlad

Knowing a thing or two about...less than present parents, Vlad sympathizes when he learns that Y/N's father was very much a non fixture in his daughter's life.

It makes him hurt for her when she tells him of how distant and neglectful her father was when she was a child, and had passed away when she had barely reached adolescence, leaving a larger hole in her life with his absence.

He listens carefully and comforts her accordingly before making a very...unexpected offer.

With his power, he is capable of allowing her just a little bit of escape. Just a brief moment of tenderness with her father.

The tenderness that he never gave her in life...

Whether or not she accepts the offer, Vlad means well. He himself is not her father, but he will do his best to close the gap he left in the heart of his beloved flower.

Faust

It may seem like he is somewhat indifferent to the fact that his guinea pig's father was an excuse of a human, but in truth, Faust is disturbed by what she has to say about it.

To hear her father was a verbally violent, hot tempered man that treated his daughter in such a unforgivable manner sickened him.

How appalling. He may not show it in any other way than to frown, his eyes glinting coldly.

He will plainly tell her that if the man was like that, there was no use in even saying she had a father to begin with.

Harsh way of putting it, but not completely untrue. Y/N was and is better off without him.

The memories hurt, the lost possibilities of reconciliation hurt, yes, but in the end he will make sure she understands that it was for the best that she will not see him again.

Now she can move on with people who actually care. Like him. And she should brace herself, because he has little to no intention of letting her go either.

🌸

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp comte #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp hcs

[raayllum]

it’s high key really annoying the attention toh gets on this website while no one acknowledges tdp exists

Yeah, sometimes I wish TDP got more recognition and appreciation in a fandom space for its storytelling (the parallels, the worldbuilding, the mature theme explorations) simply because we haven't had a western kids' show go this hard since TLOK (even if I think Korra stumbles in a lot of ways) and arguably ATLA in its explorations of war and morality, two things that TDP is obsessed with, as well as a sometimes overwhelming discussion of Grief.

However, to be frank, while many teen and adult fans of kids cartoons say that they want darker themes and storylines, what that usually means, I think, is more akin to something like TOH or She Ra, in which you know 1) your favourite characters will always typically survive with maybe one or two minor parental or villainous exceptions, and 2) one or two characters in an otherwise fairly cookie cutter 'good guy' cast will have a redemption arc or be quirky morally dubious in a way that's played for comedy, and there will be a handful of significantly "Oh Shit!" darker or creepier moments. The characters are mostly teenagers, the heavier plot stuff is regulated to a few standout episodes, with most of the other conflicts being things like figuring out how to make friends or struggling with not fitting in or deciding what you want to do with your life. And those are all good explorations, and it's not as though TDP doesn't touch on some of that (Callum is finding his place in the world, Rayla is 'changing careers', Ez struggles with his new responsibilities and not fitting in, Soren - like Hunter - leaves an emotionally abusive relationship with a parental figure).

But I think it's TDP's attachment of all of those things to morality that makes the emotional stakes higher and less comforting and/or comfortable for people who are, likely, going to fiction for escapism rather than exploration. (To be clear: one is not better than the other, I just know what my personal preferences are.) Rayla's 'career/schooling' change is whether she's going to kill people for a living; Callum deciding what sort of mage he's going to be is rooted in deciding how much he's willing to either slowly destroy himself or take on the impossible, both with some dire consequences; Ezran not fitting is is also tied to having mysterious, unknown magical powers the story still hasn't fully explained the root cause of. Yes, the three main kids are typically good people who want to do the right thing, but that's much easier said than done (Ezran burning the monster soldiers, Callum's ruthlessness, Rayla's self sacrificial tendencies manifesting in destructive ways). TDP is never going to have an episode of "I lied to my friends because I wanted them to think I was cool or not a nerd" or "I'm scared of them preferring someone else over me" or "I need to learn how to be a good friend" (hi TOH with like 5 episodes and She Ra).

Like Rayla lies to the boys, but that's because she isn't sure how to tell them that her father murdered theirs and made them orphans, and she's worried it will accordingly be a wedge between them.

Like, there's hardly any episodes of TDP that don't talk about grief or death or both in some manner. The show consistently explores unreliable narrators across all sides of its ethical spectrum(s). S4 has a subplot regarding religious traditions and the ethics of the death penalty. Most of Arc 1 and now into Arc 2 sees good people with good intentions or understandable motivations doing pretty terrible things to either themselves, the people around them, or both. The death and body horror imagery aren't one offs, but consistent series defining elements that are always treated seriously. Villains aren't people who don't love their families (or anyone) and good guys aren't good because they're good friends to one another. It's more complicated than that, from the body swap and discussions of the soul in S1, to the cycle of violence laid out explicitly in S2, to explorations of punishment and exile in S3.

Overall, I'm fine with the success and appreciation that TDP gets; some of my students watch it, actually, which makes it useful in some of our lesson discussions. Because TDP is a good show for kids, yes, but it certainly never pulls its punches in forcing all of its ensemble cast through the wringer.

TLDR; due to age demographics and tonal differences, particularly in character conflicts, themes, and amount of Lore, I'm not surprised at all that TDP is pretty underrated on tumblr. Again, doesn't mean these elements of 'maturity' make it Better (although I do think it's written more cohesively than She Ra and more consistently than TOH in its set up and payoff), I just know where my (and many other's) preferences lay accordingly, and am not surprised at the split.

#tdp #thanks for asking #tdp fandom #will also say that besides httyd i think tdp might be the most adult heavy fandom i've been in #like there are very few teenagers here lmao #s5 spoilers