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j-graysonlibrary · 11 months

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The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four Chapter 26

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 118k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: In order to save the world from the continuous subjugation and potential annihilation at the hands of Tiandi, hard lines must be drawn. The Great Spirits that were imprisoned ages ago must be unsealed and awakened, no matter the consequences.

The players are divided—those who stand blindly with Tiandi, such as Xiang Merra and her disciples versus those who want to tear the system down and give the power back to the people. Even a few of the most religious Lords change their minds when they learn the truth of the world—that Tiandi is no more than a dictator with no love in his heart.

It is up to the last, real Xiang and the ill-fated Chaaya to put everything they have into tearing God from his throne and creating new possibilities for the future.

Full chapter 26 under the cut

Chapter XXVI:

A hole opened in the communal area—right in the middle of the air—and everyone stood on alert, wondering if Pangu and Kira were coming back early for some reason. It would not bode well for whatever they had found in Gnoma and everyone’s thoughts turned to worry for the village as images of Kubja burning the jungle down were amongst the first conjured.

Pangu, nor Kira (nor Viren or Oli, for that matter) stepped forth from the portal but, instead, Gong walked through. A collective sigh of relief was breathed but then Raine cocked his head in confusion.

He had not even seen the holy man leave.

Next from the portal came a wooden chair and a pair of pale hands that held the back of it. Parvati stepped out yet the hole still did not close.

“New furniture?” Devi asked as she approached.

Both Gong and Parvati nodded but kept at their work as they retrieved more furniture from some unknown location. Occasionally, the Mistress would step back through for larger items like an impressively long table or a small sofa that required lifting from both sides.

In a short amount of time, the space began to fill with the new items and the scene coming from the portal was bordering on absurd, making it rather funny to watch. Besides the multitude of chairs, lounges, and tables, there were some random pillows and decorative pieces that were thrown out, sporadically.

“Did Shakti ask this of you?” Kali waited until the hole was closed to ask her question.

Parvati gave a hardy sigh and then set her hands on her hips. “Yes, actually. She wishes for her guests to be more comfortable.”

They were halfway through their mission already, Raine thought to himself, but he supposed it was the thought that really mattered. And, perhaps, the furniture had been on order the entire time and only just now became available. Considering how many of the pieces actually matched, it was a possibility.

“Oooh!” Chandes bounded over, picked up a decorative pillow from the floor and fluffed it between her hands. “Mine,” she then declared before running off down one of the halls.

Devi watched her and then turned back to Parvati and Gong. “Do you need help placing these?”

Raine walked closer and readily offered, “I can move things as well.”

He, Fujin, and May took care of what would remain in the main area while Kaz, Baiya, Phay, and Loa carried some of the items back to the rooms, to distribute them however they pleased. With a side-eye, Raine watched them go, wondering if they would place anything in his and Kira’s room or not.

There was nothing in particular he had his sights set on and he also could not imagine that Kira would be deadest on claiming any of the pieces for himself but he did consider a new pillow or blanket being a nice surprise for when he returned.

Fujin took the opposite end of a long table from Raine while May “directed” them on where to place it. She had them walk around, almost the entire area, asking them to set it down and back away so she could decide whether or not she liked it there.

“Hmmm. Too close to the east halls.” May waved her hand. “Keep going.”

Raine and Fujin shot each other a look but neither said anything. Still, he could guess what was on her mind as they brought the table to it’s new location.

“It looks too long.”

“It is long,” Fujin groaned. “It is going to look strange no matter where we put it.”

“At least until we arrange the rest,” Raine somewhat agreed.

“But it should flow. The energy feels blocked there.” May attempted to validate her reasoning, even lifting a finger up to “feel” the air. “Yes, definitely blocked.”

Fujin grumbled as she and Raine lifted the table again, taking it to the opposite side. As they hauled it, Raine saw Baiya and Kaz return but not Phay and Loa. He hoped that the Agni lord was taking a rest in preparation for her upcoming venture out; however, knowing her, she was probably off training again.

“I think that’s good!” May shouted suddenly, causing Raine to lurch forward with the table, ramming into Fujin. Luckily, she had been paying more attention and used her element to push back and balance out the force.

“Really?!” Fujin cursed, not at Raine, but at May. “This is nearly where it started.”

May just shrugged.

Fujin glanced up at Raine, sweat beading on her reddened forehead. “I am going to kill her.”

He chuckled, knowing she was not serious. “Come on, we are not finished yet.”

For the chairs, May actually helped, chatting the entire time about the big family-style dinners they could now have. It was unlikely to transpire but Raine found himself smiling nonetheless. Her excitement, just at the idea alone, was quite sweet.

Finally, Kaz joined them, just as they were arranging some small sofas on the opposite end of the room. He cast a look over his shoulder, back toward Baiya, and then focused on them. “Will any of you be willing to let me sleep in your rooms tonight?”

A similar look of confusion settled across all of their faces but May was the first to ask, “Why?”

Kaz glanced back again. “I do not know how to speak to him. I also fear he has nefarious plans.”

Fujin rolled her eyes. “Are you not already having sex with him?”

May cackled at how quickly his face turned red—holding her belly and pointing—but she had nothing to add.

“I…have not,” Kaz managed to say once the princess quieted down.

“You have not?” Raine was surprised. He had not thought much on the particulars of what happened in that room but he had made some assumptions.

Somehow, his face got redder. “I am no pervert like him! I…we have been around one another but not…” Kaz shook his head. “Anyway, all of our conversations so far have been mediated by Viren or Pangu but now…”

Fujin slapped a hand to his shoulder and nodded sagely. “I will speak with him.”

She left without saying anything else and, more concerning, May skipped after her. Kaz looked as though he wanted to stop them but he was clearly glued to the spot. Raine did feel some degree of pity for him.

He knew what Baiya was like, in front of everyone, and there were certain commonalities between him and Kira that let Raine know what he might have been like behind closed doors too. Though he would never say so to his lover’s face, one of the things he shared with Baiya was also one of the things that was most difficult to combat as his partner.

Both enjoyed teasing—especially those they had romantic interest in. Kira did so to Raine, whenever the opportunity arose. Much of it had shifted to the more intimate areas of their lives but the spirit of messing with him had not, at all, died.

As for the four of them, Viren did not seem easy to fluster and Pangu would most likely go with the flow of whatever. Kaz, however…

He was a prime target.

“You know, I have known Baiya for a time,” Raine opened with, getting his attention right away.

“And?”

His curt response almost made Raine want to give up prematurely. Instead, he sighed and doubled down. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, especially if he finds a nerve he can poke and prod. He was not ever overbearing with me but he did tease me occasionally. I imagine it must be worse for you considering your…proximity.”

“…Was that supposed to be helpful?” Kaz leaned his head back, as if trying to look down at Raine despite being far shorter.

Raine sighed. “I was getting to it.” He resisted the urge to cross his arms in his presence. “Baiya is responsive to honesty. As long as you keep pretending not to like him, he will continue to relentlessly press on that nerve. But, if you are open, he will respect that.”

“What? You think I actually like him?” Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I only deal with him because Pangu loves him.”

“Would you say the same for Viren?”

“Viren is far more palatable, personality wise, and he is quite beautiful. But Baiya…he is the real compromise for remaining with Pangu.”

Raine did not believe him for a second and finally did cross his arms over his chest. “Then you and I have nothing more to talk about. Have fun being harassed. You deserve it.”

Kaz’s jaw hung when the Kyrie disciple walked away from him. He had not expected much from the exchange but he could not have guessed he would get a reaction like that. His eyes drifted over to Baiya who still had his sister and May around him.

It was unnerving to imagine what they were talking about. Fujin, at least, would not be digging into too-personal matters but May was a different story. As a few prevalent thoughts floated through Kaz’s mind of what the princess might have asked, he was propelled into motion.

“You know what? I will just take that offer for a talk, actually,” he said as he broke up whatever conversation they had been having. He grabbed Baiya’s wrist and walked them down the tunnel. A few complaints of his rudeness chased after him but he did not look back.

Baiya, also, did not say anything until they were alone in their room. “What changed your mind? Worried I was giving your sister and May personal details?”

“More that May was wringing them out of you.”

“I would not tell them anything you did not want them to know.” Baiya folded his arms over his chest, still seeming relaxed despite the defensive pose. “And, as of this moment, the amount you are willing to share is nothing so I told them nothing.”

Kaz bit down on the inside of his mouth and thought about Raine’s words. He felt strange taking any of his advice, even if it was sound. He took a deep breath and blurted out, “Let’s talk. You were right; Pangu wants us to get to know each other better so we should at least try.”

Baiya’s brows lifted, clearly taken aback. “You think?” When he nodded in response, the Agni disciple took a step closer. “Let us start with something simple then: Do you even like me?”

“W-what? We have already…spent plenty of time around one another…” Though Kaz had been truthful in that he and Baiya, specifically, had not had sex, there had been other things. They had kissed, only when caught up in the moment, and it had not been horrible, per say, so he felt his feelings in that regard were rather clear.

But Baiya chuckled. “I know you are attracted to me. That is not what I’m asking. Do you like me?” He elaborated when all he received was a blank stare for an extended few seconds. “Would you want to spend time with just me, Pangu aside?”

Kaz’s mind whirred. He would have never expected the words “Pangu aside,” to come from Baiya but, on top of that, it was hard to imagine. Everything since leaving Mythos had been tied up in Pangu and what he wanted. To divorce him from his current situation was nigh impossible.

“I…do you like me?” he turned it on him when he had nothing to grasp onto.

Baiya took another step forward. “I could see myself liking you, yes.” He dropped his arms. “If we met on our own, I most likely would have flirted with you. For fun if for no other reason. And, if you were receptive, I might have followed up with something more suggestive.”

As if to prove his point, he reached out a hand to play with a stray lock of Kaz’s hair. His fingers traced the side of his face and he stared at him as if trying to solve some complex philosophical question.

“W-well I cannot say I would have been receptive. I probably would have threatened to skewer you with my spear.” Kaz cursed himself once he felt the heat in his face as he had a pretty solid idea of what he looked like. He could not deny what he felt so easily when his body gave him away like this.

“And I would have held you to that. Perhaps even suggested that we having a sparring match wherein the winner got to ask of the loser whatever they wanted.”

The line made Kaz wonder what, actually, might have happened if Baiya had, somehow, been a new guard in the castle back home. If he approached him in such a way, despite the certain warnings he would receive from the other guards to stay away, Kaz might have been intrigued after the initial shock wore off.

He might have leaned into that interest too.

Though it was impossible to say, he did have a better idea of what he felt in the present—in reality. He took Baiya’s hand away from his face and said, “Pangu would not want us sparring in his absence.” And, before Baiya could reply that it was just a hypothetical, Kaz pushed up onto his toes and kissed him.

It did not last long but he hoped it got his point across. Meeting his deep, red eyes afterward brought forth some uncertainty—a feeling Kaz was still struggling to get used to.

Baiya’s hand returned to the side of his face, snaking around to the back of his neck, while his other hand settled on his lower back, holding him completely still as he led the next kiss. While they had shared a few kisses, there had usually been much else to focus on and, more importantly, other people around. With just Baiya in the room, his intensity could only be directed at Kaz and that put him in a vulnerable spot—the likes of which he had only experienced with Pangu.

Though it was nearly overwhelming, Kaz did not stop or even slow the kiss. He allowed Baiya to move him, however he wanted, only pushing back occasionally just to keep him on his toes. As far as what he wanted, it seemed they were on the same page and he did not feel the need to say it so explicitly. There was some sliver of dignity he preferred to keep.

***

“Do you think they are—” May’s words were cut off by a sharp stomp on her foot. “Ow! What the fuck?!”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Fujin said, well past requesting.

“Your obsession with other people’s sex lives is concerning,” Raine agreed with Fujin.

“I will have you know, I am plenty obsessed with my own sex life as well,” May argued and hopped away from her lover to keep from being stepped on again or smacked. “I am just a curious person. Do you never look at a married couple and imagine what their sex is like?”

Raine arched an eyebrow as the corner of his lips tugged downward. “No?”

“Really?” May looked surprised. “Huh.”

“Unfortunately, I have on occasion,” Fujin actually admitted to it but before May could take the victory, she clarified, “Against my will.”

Their conversation was, thankfully, cut short by Chandes skipping into the room with a big pillow in her hand. It was not the same one she left with earlier and she whipped her head about with interest. “Wow, this almost looks like a house or something now.”

“My design,” May took credit immediately.

“I see the royal touch,” Chandes snickered. “Now, have any of you seen that old bastard, Ziyi?”

Fujin and May looked at each other while Raine felt like a man possessed. Before he could stop himself, he joked, “Who is that?” as if the spirit of Kira had invaded his very soul.

“Oh, come on,” the necromancer complained as he walked in from the opposite hall, just in time to hear the exchange. “I really thought that bit had died.”

Both May and Chandes laughed at him and, although Kira was not there to appreciate it, Raine was still left with a proud feeling in his chest. Even once the women stopped cackling at his expense and Chandes handed him the pillow (to act as a dog bed for Browly) Raine continued to smirk to himself, eager to share the story with Kira.

#the xiang chronicles #my novel #my writing

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miekasa · 4 years

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homecoming (levi ackerman)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: college au, how many ways can i fit levi’s captain status into the modern world, fluff

↯ notes: i love levi :// and i’m out of gifs to put at the top of these, so when i learn how to make headers i’ll let you guys know. also this isn’t proofread rip in peace

↯ summary: there’s a pretty well known homecoming tradition, and levi’s hoping you’re willing to partake in it.

“So,” you hum, wiping away any crumbs from your mouth, “Are you going to tell me exactly why you wanted to have a picnic at 2:30 in the afternoon on a random Thursday, or am I supposed to wait for a grand reveal?”

Levi rolls his eyes, and sips on his wine, ignoring your incoming giggles. “Can’t I want to take you on a date?” he clicks his tongue, setting his, now empty, plastic wine cup onto the picnic blanket, “Ungrateful brat.”

You smack him on the arm, mouth open in offense; but Levi’s chuckling, shoulder’s shaking at your reaction. “I am a very grateful brat,” you correct him, “But I am also very suspicious one.”

Levi hums, not bothering to reply. Instead, he separates the two halves of his sandwich, wraps one half around a napkin, and hands it to you. You accept it, albeit a little hesitantly, and watch as Levi pays you no mind, biting into his half neatly.

If it were any normal situation, you’d probably try to snap a picture of him—you have somewhat of an ongoing collection of sneaky pictures of Levi on your dates, particularly when he looks cute munching on his food, much to his disdain—but this was not a normal situation.

Levi is acting strange. It’s not just the nature of this date itself—it may be out of character for Levi to want to go on a picnic of all things, but could be quite the romantic at heart, and often planned very quaint dates for the both of you. It was everything that happened since you set up your picnic that was truly out of the ordinary.

Like the way he seemed distracted, getting lost in thought in a way you hadn’t seen before; and how he kept sweeping his hair out of his eyes, and readjusting his small silver earring. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s nervous about something.

“Seriously,” you say lightly, carefully setting your half-eaten portion of the sandwich back onto the blanket, “What’s this all about?”

Levi looks at you for a beat, once again using his free hand to brush his dark hair behind his ear, then with suspecting eyes, “You don’t like it?”

Your eyebrows draw together at his questioning, confused by the lack of sarcasm, or even hurt in his tone; like he was genuinely surprised.

“What? No, Levi, that’s not what I meant,” you assure him, “I just mean that this isn’t really us. You hate eating outside—you always make us wait for indoor seating—and, if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen a couple go on a picnic in real life.”

Levi reaches to pour more cheap wine into your faux glasses, “I guess romance really is dead.”

You squint your eyes, carefully tracking his movements as he hands you a plastic cup before refilling his own. Levi isn’t one to dodge questions, or any kind of confrontation. Now you know for sure that something’s up.

“Levi,” you call gently, feeling like you finally have his full focus when his eyes meet yours, “What’s going on?”

His gaze softens at your question this time, and you finally see a hint of the Levi you know behind his expression. He sighs, carefully closing the boxed wine, and taking his cup into his hand. With a slight head nod, he motions for you to come closer, and you obiiently shuffle closer to him, until you’re sitting side by side.

You take the liberty of resting your head on his shoulder, cheek soft against his coat. You can hear him take a deep breath, feel his exhale deflate his shoulders, before he speaks.

“Homecoming is next weekend,” he starts, “You’re going, yeah?”

You hum in affirmation, watching as he takes a careful sip from his cup before continuing.

“There’s this tradition. It’s stupid as shit, if you ask me, so you don’t have to say yes,” he mumbles, lips barely off of the plastic, before he takes another sip. “But, if you’re dating someone, they’re supposed to show up to the game in your jersey.”

You snap your head up from his shoulder, blinking at Levi and the implications of his words, as you begin to piece together the mystery of his actions from this afternoon. Levi—your Levi—took you on a picnic, complete with homemade sandwiches and cheap wine, to ask you to be his date to his homecoming game.

Your stunned silence is filled with light breeze that brushes past your hair, and makes Levi return to brushing his away again. He drinks in your expression, grey eyes growing cloudy as he assumes the worst of your silence.

“Like I said, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he explains cooly, bringing his cup to his mouth again for a bitter sip, “I didn’t know if you were going to stick around for the whole day anyways, you’ve probably got other shit to—”

You kiss him quiet. Levi is surprised at first, jolts a little bit when your actions cause him to spill some of his drink, but he kisses you back, a small wave of relief washing over him. At least he didn’t make a complete fool of himself just now.

“Of course I’ll wear your jersey, Levi.”

Most parents and alumni stuck around for the traditional football game, but the boys’ soccer team was always popular amongst students, and for good reason.

Not only did the university’s team have an exceptional record, but they had no shortage of eye-candy playing for them, either. Even the team’s managers were pretty cute. You were certain players like Armin Arlert and Eren Jaeger were not plastered all over the university website solely for their soccer skills.

Though, good looks aside, they were undeniably good, and made a damn impressive pair on the field. However, most of the crowd would agree that Jaeger, Arlert, and the entire team, could thank their captain for their win today.

You step onto the field with a wide grin as you watch Levi’s team wrangle him into the middle of their circle and toss him up in the air unceremoniously. You almost want to capture the moment for yourself, but to your left, Hange is already recording a video you’re certain Levi would threaten to have deleted.

Most of the mob had fizzled away after the exciting win, leaving behind the team themselves, and a couple of students—likely friends or family of the athletes. After their final huddle, the boys begin to dissipate, greet the remaining crowd. Hange leaves you to badger Erwin, who had been sitting out due to an injury.

You spot Levi carefully picking up his duffel bag, and take the opportunity to run up to him, encase in a sudden and warm hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Levi has but a moment’s notice to secure his hands around your back and steady your bodies, lest you both fall to the ground from your uncoordinated momentum.

“You played so well!” you exclaim, pulling back from your hug, but keeping your palms on his shoulders, bouncing excitedly, “I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good! You’ve never played like that before!”

Levi admits to tuning out your praise in favor of drinking in your appearance. The green of his away jersey looks good against your skin, the fabric somewhat loose on your frame. His eyes trail down to the sleeve, a minuscule smirk growing on his lips as he reads his last name in all capital letters underneath his number.

“Come on, Hange and I are taking you guys out for lunch!” your words snap him back to reality, “Anything you want, it’s on me, Captain.”

Levi rolls his tongue against his inner cheek. That’s a promise he’d have to take you up on later. For now, he plays along with your childlike enthusiasm, agreeing to your plans.

He motions for the two of you to get going, but his stride is blocked when you refuse to move from in front of him. Instead, you let your hands crawl from his shoulder to his neck, fingers tickling the hairs at his nape, before you pull him forward into a gentle kiss.

“You really were great, Levi,” you tell him again, pressing another kiss to his lips sweetly.

Levi hums, indulging you one more time, before he hears gasps and not-so-subtle exclamations of “Captain has a girlfriend?!” coming from his annoying teammates. He scoffs when he pulls back to see Jaeger looking at him with his mouth open so wide he could catch flies.

“You’re kind of ruining my reputation,” Levi tells you, but there’s no real bark to his tone.

It’s your turn to scoff, slowly trailing your hands down his arms, and eventually back to your side. You turn and the both of you begin to walk, not before you note, “You ruined your own reputation when you invited me and Hange here.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Hey!” you whine, frown deepening as Levi chuckles at you, “You’re not supposed to agree, asshole.”

Levi doesn’t stop laughing, but gently wraps his arms around your shoulder as the both of you follow behind Hange and Erwin, and back to your car.

“Don’t think your unusual displays of affection are going to make me forgive you,” you pout, but reach your hand to wrap your fingers around his anyways; Levi doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk, “I don’t care if you scored the winning goal or not, just for that, I’m only buying you one appetizer.”

Levi hums noncommittally. That’s fine, he could think of at least three other things he would rather you do for him instead when you both got home. With and without that jersey on.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader

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7wanderingpaws · 4 years

Text

Captain Bucheon 03

Warnings: strong language

Word count: 5.9K

story masterlist masterlist

tags: @wooya1224 @to-all-the-stories-i-love @jennxx3 @realllllrica

<-- Previous - Next -->

Third: Saving is Caring

“Lee Nari!”

Someone was shouting your name but you couldn't tell who exactly because the entire corridor you were residing on - the forsaken fifth floor, also the top floor of the building without an elevator - was flooded with girls. They were rushing to the opposite direction you were heading to, and you frowned deeply at anyone who made even the slightest brush against you - or your chest.

“Come to room number 501!” they shouted again.

“As if,” you scoffed to yourself and dodged one hand that was about to land on your breast.

“Aish, I was gonna try if they were actually real,” you heard the girl whine but her voice got quickly blocked out by exciting squeals.

Finally managing to land in your room, you basically kicked the door open, pissed, to find Yuyeon preparing in front of her make-up mirror. Her eyes were shining and she seemed way too happy.

“What the hell is happening out there?” you grumbled, slamming the door shut with your foot to isolate yourself from the annoying squeals. “It looks like a sect or something.” You dropped your bag in the corner and threw yourself on the bed, needing the relief in your tired muscles.

Running had been taking its toll on you the past weeks, let alone your job was tiring mentally, as well. There hadn't been any slip-ups or issues anymore like last time for which you were eternally thankful. That one time - yeah, you weren't sure you could deal with that again.

“You are coming toooo!” squealed Yuyeon as well and was fast to drop the blusher on her messy table before standing and jumping over to your bed, making you fly up on the mattress too.

You whined again and tried to kick her off your bed but she climbed over you and wiggled her eyebrows at you, a cheeky glint leaving an unease in your tummy.

“We-” she leaned into your ear, “are going to watch porn.”

You gasped and pushed her off of you, pink rising up to your cheeks. “What? Are you nuts? Why would you watch-”

“C'mon, Nari,” giggled Yuyeon, sitting up properly to let you sit up as well. Her shirt slid off her shoulder and her bra strap was showing which made you reach up to bring the shirt back to its original place. “I know you've already experienced it all but-”

This time, a horrified gasp left your mouth and you were fast to shut her up with a: “I haven't experienced those things at all!”

She frowned, pouting. “But you made out with Baekhyun and you said he touched you-”

Your head was starting to spin as you shook it so violently. “No, no, no, don't bring that up. He stopped when he found out I'm a virgin and it doesn't even matter!!”

“But Nari, he is a grown up male that knows eeeeeverything there is to know about, you know, sex, and he was hot and -”

“Yuyeon, please,” you begged, hiding your face behind your palms. You felt attacked at the memories of you and Baekhyun being all touchy. “It isn't that exciting,” you tried but you knew it was a terrible, terrible lie.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don't have to come if you don't want to but it will be fun with all the girls. We can talk about boys and men and, I dunno, just enjoy.”

You pursed your lips, not so sure. A good rest was what you needed, NOT temptation. Let alone, you wouldn't be able to get Baekhyun out of your mind were you to watch stuff like that. When you were about to speak up, Yuyeon added:

“You know, ever since stuff happened, we didn't really go out like that anymore… I kind of miss fooling around with you and just going against the rules - although now we can't do it since we are old enough to be naughty, but despite that I just miss doing cheeky stuff with my bestie.”

It was heart-warming to see Yuyeon be honest with you. Even the fact that she mentioned Baekhyun was a step forward for neither of you mentioned him unless necessary. Yuyeon was tiptoeing around you for one year in order to give you time to get over the mess that the mentioned male did to you and then she grew accustomed to your indifference towards your surroundings. You didn't talk about it and she didn't want to pry too much, always listening to bits of your thoughts here and there.

Yuyeon didn't feel guilty for mentioning Baekhyun's name; if anything, she hoped that you got over it and wouldn't react to him too much. For her, of course, Baekhyun was still on the “hated people” side like Chul. But he was also your ex and you were talking about girl stuff. Exciting stuff. Mature stuff. Baekhyun's name had to be mentioned for he was the whole package in the past.

“I know, and I'm sorry about that,” you murmured, averting your gaze. Her knees were bent, her skin showing as her shorts had ridden up. “We should start getting back on the track, right?”

The corners of Yuyeon's lip lifted in a small, encouraging smile. “Yes. So how about starting with the porn?”

You laughed out loud, smacking her thigh loudly, making her wince. “Okay, okay, just because it's you!”

“No, it's 'cause you are super curious as well!” she said, sticking her tongue out at you. “How it's all done and stuff.” She was growing red in her face, but her blush looked pretty and made her even more youthful. It made you grin wider and you shook your head at her and also stuck your tongue out, playing the silly one.

“You talk too much! Go finish your make-up, you're friggin ugly,” you rolled your eyes in mock and climbed off your bed, ready to change into more comfortable clothes.

When her slap landed on your butt, you abruptly turned around, glaring at her but both of you eventually giggled. Yes, this will be the best way to get your mind off stuff and hopefully have a good girls' night.

The room 501 was crammed with girls and pink and magazines and make-up and perfumes and smartphones with instagrams open. They were all chatting excitedly while one of the girls, you presumed the person living in this room, was behind her laptop, searching the websites that already screamed porn.

Both you and Yuyeon plopped down on the bed, shimmying yourselves between two girls who immediately took you in, wanting to socialize. That part was a little painful on your side as you weren't looking for new friends; especially not the ones who kept commenting on your chest and choice of clothing.

“Isn't it hard to run for you?”

“Don't people stare a lot?”

“Has anyone touched without asking?”

“How do you buy your bras? Korea is full of A cups and B cups are already considered huge anyway!”

You sighed and ensured the very concerned girl that you were able to get the cup of your size just fine - though, only in a few shops that were designed for ladies that were more blessed. You definitely couldn't just walk into any shop of your liking.

“Okay, girls, it's about to start!” shouted one and smashed the space on her keyboard, starting the forsaken video.

Everyone went silent right away, almost waiting with bated breaths for what was about to go down.

With a small frown, you were focusing on the small story they were trying to fool you with, immediately presenting a beautiful woman with blue eyes, of course. The man, though, wasn't a catch at all - not for you, at least. Some girls' eyes sparkled at the sight of the main male character and the way he was tanned and incredibly muscly.

“He looks like he could crash her bones,” whispered eagerly Yuyeon into your ear while not tearing her eyes away from the screen.

You hummed; the more it went on the more distrubed you started to feel. It was all incredibly bizarre and their love story was faced paced.

Founding yourself zoning out and blocking out the scenes that quickly grew heated and, well, disturbing to you, you spotted a calendar of models on the desk. It wasn't too far and you grabbed it quickly, not wanting to be in the line of vision of other girls who were literally drooling while hiding their faces behind their hands at the rated scenes.

Taking the calendar, you listed through what seemed like an endless amount of sexy pictures of firefighters in Bucheon. Just as expected, they were either shirtless or pants-less or both. Thank God they had underwear. You didn’t deny it; they were so handsome it almost seemed questionable. What were they like in real life? Were they really as passionate about their work as it said on the calendar? And, more importantly, were they really as handsome as the pictures were portraying them to be?

You kept listing through the pages, sometimes stopping to read. When you spotted a familiar face though, you almost fainted. On it, the month of May, was none other than Baekhyun. A black leather jacket was on him, underneath he was shirtless with his dark blue ripped jeans low on his hips, red supreme underwear poking out to tease the eager eye. The way they were hugging his thighs had a strong effect on you. As he had his thumb (the one with the mole on it) causally hooked in the belt loop hole, it brought your attention to the thin, and what looked like very veiny, skin that disappeared in the underwear. He had lean muscle that wouldn’t intimidate a girl. In fact, it would affect her heavily. You noticed a few more moles on his abdomen, the ripped muscles making the skin on it exceptionally tight. Saliva collected in your mouth and you quickly swallowed, averting your gaze to the upper part of his face. His hair was styled like a rock star’s with a comma hanging over his forehead, his dark eyes glaring at the camera, charcoal black eyeliner making them seem deadly. His lips were parted ever so slightly, scarcely revealing his front teeth, and your gaze hooked on them just a little while longer than they should have. You remembered the moments he would bite them. When he would lick them. When he would smile with them; or kiss you with them. He looked stunningly hot and dangerous. You couldn’t believe you once had this man to yourself.

You had heart palpitations.

Slapping Yuyeon’s arm, you tried to get her attention. You needed to vent, otherwise you’d suffocate. Yuyeon was too preoccupied with the disturbing video playing which was why the girl sitting on your other side spoke up excitedly into your ear:

“Oh my god, that’s the captain of the police, Byun Baekhyun! My oldest brother went to the same school with him.” She stared at the picture. “He is so fucking hot.” She was basically salivating over the picture. With her words, you felt something move within you. What it was you weren’t sure, but you didn’t like it. It made your chest tighten up and your mood dampen. “There are many hot guys in that calendar but Baekhyun has his own charm. I’d go for him any minute.”

Not sparing any more time with the picture, you harshly turned over the page, revealing a mediocre looking police officer. He was very handsome, thanks to plastic surgery, but after seeing Baekhyun, all the males seemed dull and boring. Despite your wild thoughts, you muttered: “He’s okay, I guess.”

She nudged you with her elbow. “C‘mon, I can see the redness in your cheeks,” she giggled and just in that moment there was a loud moan coming from the laptop. You felt yourself burning up even more and you squirmed on the bed, warmth pooling in your belly. These feelings were so foreign to you.

“You’re friends with Oh Sehun, right?” She was adamant about talking to you. So you nodded in response. “Well, he is good friends with Baekhyun. Yeonhee, the one who lives in this room, got the calendar from him. She likes Sehun but I feel like she has secondary intentions. If she could get Baekhyun she would not hesitate to go after him,” she giggled into your ear just when another moan resembled the room.

You sighed. “Sehun is a good guy, you know?” you muttered to her and looked at her huge eyes, the way they seemed dilated. “I hope you can tell her not to toy with him.” You looked back down, now a doctor on the cover. A doctor?! “Or else she will deal with me and that won’t be nice.”

The girl went silent. Maybe you came off as rude but you didn’t have many friends; nor were you looking for more. So if someone played with someone that belonged to you, they could rest assured you wouldn’t let it slip. “Do you perhaps know Baekhyun?”

And there it went again. Silently, you cursed your luck. This man seemed to be everywhere you went and mentioned by anyone you talked to recently. You never realized just what power Baekhyun had over this city. Realizing you probably took more time to answer, you quickly shrugged your shoulders. “Just a little bit. He is quite older than us so I doubt he has interest in us, kids.” It hurt to say, but you knew it was the closest to the truth. Baekhyun made the age difference between him and you crystal clear and even used it as a barrier between the two of you. Even though he wanted you, it was a crucial reason for him to stop moving forward with you. Or more like, he wanted to take things slow. You scoffed out loud.

“Well, I guess he just hasn't met the right one. The young ones are always better than the older ones. The older guys are just too afraid to admit it,” she told you and leaned further away, most probably wanting to end the conversation. She must have noticed your defensive, indifferent position and figured she wouldn't get a juicy talk with you.

That was fine by you. Because right now your head was so full of him; you couldn’t produce a single comprehensive sentence without giving yourself away. You so wished to meet him again and talk to him. You so wished things would have gone differently between the two of you.

There were now harsh pantings in the background and you groaned inwardly. You slapped Yuyeon’s thigh to finally get her attention. At the impact, she jumped up and glared at you. “I’m leaving,” you mouthed, not wanting to wait for her reply, but she stopped you abruptly.

“Are you okay?” she whispered in your ear, but the disturbing noises were blocking out each of her words.

You only managed to nod quickly before scooting off the bed and, while ignoring the curious stares of the other girls, you quickly made your way out, desperately searching for fresh air that would hopefully help you clear your foggy mind.

Once out in the corridor, you inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the feelings in your body. How could you become so easily affected by a simple picture? It was the stupid background noise, added your brain and you rolled your eyes. You needed to let out your frustration and even though it was hard to believe, you decided you would make good use of it.

You would go running. For the first time. By yourself.

When you reached the running track, the main headlights of the field were already turned off, throwing the space into a darkness lit up by surrounding street lamps. That was good enough, as you seeked some kind of hiding. Deciding to pour your frustrations into your challenge in jogging, you padded over to the running field, feeling the ground softer under your running shoes. There was a group of boys wrapping up a football game while a lone man, a student, was making laps, unbothered by the minimal lighting.Without paying anymore attention to your surroundings, you slowly increased your walking into a light jog, not wanting to strain yourself too much.

Your hair was flowing behind you in a high ponytail while the remnants of winter were biting into your skin, making your cheeks and nose red. You tried to focus on your breathing, wanting to make sure you wouldn't mess it up and therefore increase your stamina but it was fruitless as your mind immediately wandered off to the picture of Baekhyun in that calendar. It effectively quickened your heartbeat and you grew warm all over your body.

After two laps though, you became quickly tired and out of breath, your lungs on fire. There was an uncomfortable, sharp feeling in your side, the pain dull but making moving difficult nonetheless. The man who had been running the whole time without stopping didn't seem to break a single sweat the whole time.

“Oh, isn't that Lee?” you heard the boys talking to each other as they finally managed to clear up the field.

“The one with the boobs?”

You were fast to roll your eyes, angry tears burning up in your eyes at their careless words. Screw them all. Instead of staying on the field, you went inside the gym next to the field to get some water and try to calm down. Even though it was cold outside, a cold drink would hopefully help quieten the small rage inside of you. People like those were the ones you despised. They didn’t know anything about you and, naturally, you didn’t know anything about them. Yet, you were constantly under their scrutiny and sexualized in more than one way.

“Idiots,” you murmured to yourself, your skin heating up at the change of temperature once you entered the small building.

As you were filling up your bottle with the cold water, you heard the jerks entering the gym as well. They were laughing and joking amongst each other, their throaty laughs reaching your sensitive ears.

Cursing under your breath, you finished filling the bottle and turned to leave, just to stand face to face with all of them. They were grouped up on you, smirking.

Without sparing them another glance, you moved to walk around them but someone grabbed your arm, yanking you backwards, your back hitting the wall next to the water filter. It took you off guard and you managed to hit your head, too, and you scrunched up your face, hissing. “You piece of shit,” you spat angrily, your rage growing more when you noticed the dude’s hungry eyes on your chest.

“You surely are feisty! We heard so much from the seniors about you,” one of them spoke up, his eyes barely visible as they were shaped like slits, thin like pupils of a cat in broad daylight. “We all know you like to go against the rules.” A round of snickers resonated the otherwise empty space and you felt your heartbeat pick up in fear.

“Okay,” was your blunt answer and you once again wanted to step aside but the same jerk grabbed your arm, bringing you back. You gritted your teeth.

“You ain’t leaving just yet, little kitten,” he murmured darkly and this time, you felt like you wouldn’t be able to escape. “We won’t do anything bad. Just give us a little show of what you’re hiding underneath that hoodie of yours.”

If someone was living in your body right now, they’d know in an instant something terrible was happening, for your legs were shaking like a jelly, becoming one with the asphalt and therefore making you unable to move. Despite that, you scoffed, stubbornly insisting on showing your confident side. Those idiots wanted a reaction from you, but you wouldn’t give in. “Then turn on some porn. Though I’m not sure you’re ready to see that either with your tiny, premature, out-of-control dicks,” you said in a levelled voice, cutting each word off to emphasize the meaning so that their small brains would understand. “You ain’t shit,” you added when you saw some dudes growing red.

“You little bitch-“

There was an unexpected shadow that swooshed past and just in that second, too many things happened at the same time; a familiar scent hitting your nose; a sound of skin slapping skin reverberated the empty space followed by a groan. “She said to leave her, so respect a lady’s wish,” a low growl reached your ears and you almost fainted when you spotted short blonde hair and a handsome profile. Even from the side you could detect he was glaring, a stern gaze bringing out his authority and dominance that would make anyone quiver and render into submission. “Just a tip for the future if you want to get your dick wet,” added mockingly Baekhyun. He was staring down the group of young students for a little longer, surprisingly none of them making a fuss, before Baekhyun looked down at you, your shocked expression making your eyes much bigger than they usually were. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t wait as he started to walk ahead, only a couple of steps later looking behind his shoulder to double check whether you were following him or not.

Your legs had a mind on their own when they moved after Baekhyun, but your heart was beating crazily fast, the unexpected presence of the only male who was able to make you speechless and make you go crazy at the same time still stunning you. Why was he there? How did he know where you were? Oh, was it because you wished to meet him again? If so, then you wished all your wishes would become true this fast.

He led you outside of the gym, the annoyed voices of the boys barely reaching you now that they were out of ear shot. Cold air hit the dried sweat on your skin, making you shiver. Baekhyun stopped abruptly when he reached the track again and turned to look at you with an unreadable gaze. His heavy breathing was condensing into small puffs, his nose a little red. The chilly air biting his cheeks made his eyes water. You couldn’t stop staring at him and at the way he looked in that moment.

“You should-“

“Thank you,” you muttered at the same time as he spoke up.

Both of you went quiet right away and awkwardness creeped into the space between the two of you. Growing red, you averted your gaze, looking at the ground and hoping your wild heart beat would calm down.

“You should have been more careful,” he finally told you quietly, ignoring your word of gratefulness. There was a slight scolding undertone in his voice. “Those jerks are little kids who think with their dicks.”

You grew even more red at his words. Baekhyun must have heard their stupid request. Your throat restricted and your heart once again started to beat loudly. “I would have been okay,” you insisted. “But thank you anyway.” You meant it. You really did.

Baekhyun saw you averting your gaze again and he took the time to observe you. You were still too young, but he definitely noted the way your facial features matured, with each passing year turning you into more of a grown woman while leaving the teen girl behind. Your hair was long and it seemed you lost some weight in your cheeks. He couldn’t imagine how much of a hard time you were having the whole time he wasn't by your side. And then you had perverts following you around.

He cursed mentally, hating the simplest idea of anyone imaging you in a more mature way than you let on to a plain eye. Those bastards should have been thankful he didn’t actually use fists as he so wished. Because when they asked you to undress, he swore white spots of anger were blinding him, his emotions a wild hurricane of rage and hatred. The only thing moving him forward was to protect you even though you would have hated it.

“Just be careful next time,” he added gently, his features softening.

You looked up at him upon detecting the tone of his voice. “What are you even doing here?” Just then you took notice of his outfit and you recognized it. He was the person running when you arrived. He had been here the entire time, but you were swimming in sweet obliviousness. And just like that, the picture of him in the calendar popped up in your mind, making you avert your eyes right away. Heat pinked your cheeks which Baekhyun mistook for the coldness biting your cheeks.

“I come here to run,” he told you in a somber voice. “And we also work out here with Sehun so if you think I followed you here, you’re wrong.”

“I didn’t think you followed me here,” you retorted, wanting to roll your eyes.

“Well, on the contrary, I didn’t know you run too,” he said, a hint of tease present in his voice, though he didn’t smile. Showing his relief of you communicating with him could be a strategic bad step on his side.

You sighed at the mention of running and the reason behind it. “I’m doing a race at the festival so I have to practice. I’m not enjoying it and I’m not doing it out of my own will.”

“Then why would you do it if you don’t want to do it?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Because I’m in the student council,” you replied almost in a whine. “They asked me and I couldn’t say no!” You threw your arms around, making it sound like a big deal. And for you, it was a big deal. You didn’t like how you were easily pushed around.

Baekhyun nodded, a small smile stretching his lips when he saw your comprehension. Sweet university life. “You must be very liked by everyone.”

You froze at that. That wasn’t true. How would you tell your ex the reason everyone was all over you was because you had huge tits and you were friends with Chul? “It’s not like that…”

Baekhyun nodded, noting your discomfort but deciding against questioning it. He didn’t think he was anywhere near the position to stick his nose into your business. For all he knew, he’d scare you away like that time in the bar but, frankly, he didn’t even utter a single word that night to give you a reason for your abrupt fleeing.

“So you run here often, huh,” he heard you say and then saw you shuffling your feet, the small stones of the track field rustling under them.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied almost breathily. There was an upcoming question hanging in the air but he already forbade himself to hope.

You bit your lip harshly, bringing Baekhyun’s attention to the action. You were gnawing on it and you felt your body and mind betraying you. You were supposed to be mad at him. You despised this man standing in front of you so why was your heart beating frantically and, at his gentle tone, butterflies fluttering in your tummy? You felt warm just by his presence. He saved you. Yes, he didn’t even touch you, didn’t even take your hand like they do it in the movie. However, you witnessed the rage, the anger, the hatred, the need to fight but going against it so as not to cause problems. He cared about you, and he was still mature about it.

“Okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll see you around,” you muttered eventually, causing Baekhyun to deflate invisibly. An eager question cut through his mind: and when do you come to run here? I don’t like that you run here alone.

“Where do you stay? I’ll take you home,” he spoke up casually.

“I live in the dorms, it’s no biggie,” you shrugged just when the group of boys flooded out of the gym, spotting you and Baekhyun. They were noisy once again and immediately took advantage of the situation when they shouted:

“If it isn’t the love birds! We thought you’d be home and fucking her by now but guess who didn’t get their dick wet now?” They laughed in unison, finding their words funny and mocking.

You pulled a disgusted face, though you reddened in embarrassment at their words, and looked up at Baekhyun who was glaring at them again. “Come, I’ll walk you to your dorms,” he muttered so that only you could hear and this time, he took a hold of your hand, his skin soft and a little dry in your sweaty palm. You were shocked at how quickly your hand clasped around his.

Cat calls reached the both of you as the boys approached you. “Woohoo, they are about to do it-“

Baekhyun was fast. Before you realized the warmth of his hand leaving yours, you heard a loud snap, his fist landing with the dude’s face. You squealed, covering your mouth in shock and just like that, Baekhyun had professionally put the lad down, having both his arms locked behind his back. It vastly made you remember when he did a similar move with your brother in his office at the police station, and chills ran down your spine.

Right. Baekhyun first arrested you, and then your brother who was still in jail until now. Baekhyun lied to you to get closer to you. Right. Right, right, right.

“Don’t ever even imagine her in your filthy mind,” Baekhyun’s voice thundered through the space. It kept growing more distant as you realized the hasty steps you were making backwards before you turned around and started speed walking out of the field and towards the dorms. Angry tears blocked out your vision and you quickly tried to rub your eyes, annoyed that you always let your tough stance sway whenever he was around. He dared to be kind to you. He dared to be soft to you. He dared to-

“Nari! Wait!”

Baekhyun was jogging towards you and your breath hitched in your throat, hearing his fast approaching steps. “Nari!”

Sooner than later he caught your wrist and wanted to stop you but you surprised him. You were now far off the field, not a single soul around. Your palm landed on his cheek and Baekhyun’s face snapped to his right side. “I hate you!” You shouted shakily, more tears spilling down your cheeks, the snot out of your nose. You were a mess. “I hate everything you put me through, Byun Baekhyun! You lied to me! Why did you lie to me?! I loved you!” You shouted again, and squeezed your eyes shut.

Baekhyun slowly turned his head back, your slap still stinging on his cheek. His eyes were wide but he knew exactly what was happening. “C’mon. Don’t hold back. Let it out. Hit me again,” he encouraged in a low tone that made you frustrated even more.

You were breathing raggedly and pushed him in the chest, making him stumble backwards. He could have easily fought you, he could easily stand still, not budging under you, but he let you. He knew you needed this to finally let go of your suppressed feelings and, hopefully, of the heavy past he made you go through. “You fucking liar! You fooled me, played with me, made me dream of something beautiful just for you to crash it! You ruined my family! I hate you! I hate you so much! You make me go crazy with hatred!!!”

Another strong push. He was surprised at how strong you actually were; when emotions spoke, people could be either extremely vulnerable or extremely strong. You seemed to be the opposite, for speaking up about your emotions made you scarily strong. “I hate that you made an idiot out of me! You fooled me and I trusted you the whole time! You locked up my brother! You did it in front of my eyes!! As if I didn’t matter shit to you! You were so fast to let me go when you thought I’m the criminal! That was all my worth to you!” you hiccuped, more cries taking over you as the painful memories kept swimming in front of your eyes, making you relive the emotions, the scenes. Those memories were blinding you and Baekhyun just let you open the Pandora box. You were breaking down.

It hit you too, that you never talked about your feelings. You couldn’t talk for a long while after being in shock at the events, and then you became one with ignorance towards your own emotions.

You took a deep breath and pushed him again just for you to lose your strength that was fueled by deep anger. Baekhyun couldn’t even pretend to step back. Your palms were still, pressing against his sturdy chest but you couldn’t make him move anymore. You were crying now, your voice shaking and your eyes still squeezed shut. “What did I do to deserve this… when all I did was love you honestly, purely,” you wailed, your voice sounding almost like a wolf’s howl in the empty streets of the campus. “I was just seventeen…”

Baekhyun was quiet the whole time, emotions of guilt eating him away just like they had been for the past year. His own heart was in pain and he knew how hurt you were but seeing you like this made his heart split into two. You were a complete, utter mess.

You didn’t know how much time passed without any of you speaking. The only thing you grew to realize was that you were in a tight embrace, the arms of your ex-lover protectively around you as his palm was drawing soothing circles into your back. His breathing seemed much more steady compared to yours, his scent filling your senses with comfort and familiarity you had been looking for ever since you met him a year ago. Your nose was on fire from crying, skin harshly clashing with the cold night air, but Baekhyun's presence made everything seem bearable. Even if it was just for a few minutes that you could pretend all was okay.

Squirming a bit, you moved away from him and he was fast to drop his arms, not wanting to upset you more. Your hand came up to wipe the tears and snot away, not caring you probably looked very un-ladylike in front of your eternal crush. “Leave.” You told him and turned around, heading towards the direction of your dorms. Your head was pounding, making you groan gently at the discomfort.

“Nari, wait,” he tried, making a step after you with a reached out hand but you turned your head as you walked, dismissing him with a single glance.

“I don’t want to listen right now.”

><><><><><><

A/N: sorry it took me a while to update. I hope some people were waiting and looking forward to this chapter even though it took me time ❤️ let me know your thoughts please? ^^

#exowritersnet #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun scenario #exo fanfiction #baekhyun angst #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfic #exo #CB #mywritings

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Note

I have seen soooo many variations of headcanons where the MC is really good with kids. Could you guys maybe write the inverse of that?? Where MC is just a floundering mess with kids. Even in the game she's semi decent and I just 🤨

<(￣︶￣)> Hope you’ll like this~

[ GAVIN ]

MC knows that she’s never been the best with children

But Minor is far worse than she is, so he entrusts his toddler cousin with them for a few hours

While MC vehemently objects because she’d rather not risk being the cause of an innocent child’s demise, Gavin instantly agrees

Which leaves MC a little startled because she’s seen him make a kid bawl in an amusement park (aka the Happiest Place on Earth)

Because of the rough calluses on Gavin’s hands, carrying the toddler around is a task for MC

She struggles with it.

The poor child ends up with his head squished awkwardly against her shoulder, drool dribbling down her arm

Gavin does his best, adjusting her posture based on a random Google image he searched up on his phone

“Your hand should be... no, the other hand.”

“This isn’t a photoshoot!”

A second after MC feels as though the child is mildly comfortable, he starts crying

And the diaper feels a tad heavier.

“Unfasten the diaper tabs...” MC reads off a website, watching as Gavin looks incredibly stressed trying to keep the toddler from squirming while following the instructions

By the time Minor finally collects his cousin, the two of them are fatigued

MC chuckles in relief once the two of them are gone, leaning her head against Gavin’s shoulder

“I’m surprised you were so willing to do this.”

Gavin averts his gaze.

“Cough. It’s good practice for the future.”

[ KIRO ]

MC thought that her experience of babying Kiro would serve as sufficient practice for taking care of the little girl dressed in a sweet, frilly dress

She thought wrong.

When she takes her eyes off Anna’s niece for one (1) second, the girl falls flat on her face and starts crying uncontrollably

“How do I make it stop?!”

MC tries everything - offering her favourite bag of chips, blowing gently on the “wound”, singing an off-tune lullaby, etc.

Nothing works.

The door clicks open.

“Miss Chips! Your superhero is here to rescue you!”

Kiro tosses aside the gigantic bag of plush toys and picture books he just purchased from the mall, then swoops the little girl up and nuzzles her chin with his fluffy hair

The girl starts gurgling happily from the ticklish sensation, grabbing fistfuls of golden hair, causing him to wince

“Hehe, Dog!”

“Miss Chips... I think she mistook me for Apple Box...”

After Anna’s niece finally calms down, Kiro builds a blanket fort while MC prepares some snacks

By the time she returns to the room, she sees Kiro lying atop a bean bag, hand over the little girl sprawled on his chest, rising and falling slowly with each breath

Toys are strewn all over the floor

“What are we going to do with all these toys later?” MC sighs

“We'll just keep them in the storeroom...” he mumbles, half-asleep. “Little Chips will need them eventually...”

[ LUCIEN ] - I’m really bad at writing Lucien

MC doesn’t even have a chance to showcase how awful she is with kids when Lucien is around

No matter how naughty a child is, Lucien simply reads a page of his thesis aloud and the child will be lulled into a long and peaceful slumber

[ SHAW ]

What MC thought would happen when Shaw agreed to babysit Adam’s younger brother:

What actually happened:

“How are you so good at this? Do you have an illegitimate child or something?”

She watches in open-mouthed amazement as the child slides into Shaw’s arms effortlessly, in a perfect position like those in parenting magazines

For some reason, the little boy refuses to look at MC for the entire day, and barely responds to her

“Why does he hate me... T^T”

When MC is in the kitchen preparing some snacks, Shaw can’t hold back his curiosity:

“Why are you scared of that old auntie?”

A faint red hue blooms on the boy’s cheeks as he reaches for the cup of mixed Cola with a small hand

“Sister MC... is really pretty... I want to marry her when I grow up!”

For the first time that day, Shaw frowns.

“Tch. Find your own MC. This one’s mine.”

[ VICTOR ]

MC never expected that Anna’s nephew would be such a troublemaker

So she spends the day treating him like how she treats the other troublemaker in her life - Pudding

“Come out.”

Victor’s stern and authoritative voice makes the little boy stick his head out from behind a cabinet, putting an end to this unwanted game of hide-and-seek

MC swivels towards to the voice, hiding the laser pointer behind her back

His brows twitch at the absurdity of what he just caught her doing seconds earlier

“Dummy, he’s not a cat.”

“I couldn’t find him...”

#cheri tries to write

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unmaskedagain · 5 years

Text

A wolf’s job

Okay so I got this request from @ dark-chocolate-fudge-sweetracer . They more or less wanted me to write a OC/Kagami dating Au. They didn’t give me too much a prompt so I had a lot room to move. Normally, I would NEVER do an OC protagonist for a fanfic. But the requester was really sweet about it so I thought WHY NOT. Lol. However, it did turned out that the one thing I dislike doing more than writing a sequel is writing an main protagonist OC. In fact I really struggled with it. So this will be the first and last time I do.

Fair warning Adrien salt ahead

He arrived on a Tuesday. It was an even bet at who was more surprised to see him. The class when they got to school and saw yet another new student in their class. Kagami, the last transfer student and his childhood friend, who he never told he was coming. Or perhaps even Reizo himself. He never expected to see his crush in his new class. He never expected her to be friends with the very people he had been sent to judge.

His face turned bright red, “Hey!” Reizo smiled brightly. “What a surprise.”

Kagami gave him an unimpressed stare that sent shivers through him. For a fifteen-year-old girl, she was really scary. “Quite so. Like you coming to Paris without informing me.”

Ouch. Yeah, she was going to kill him. It wouldn’t be a nice death either. Before he could try to come up with a good excuse, one that was him admitting only being there to check the worthiness of the current Miraculous users, Kagami marched right passed him.

Kagami and Reizo had been introduced through their parents who were work colleagues. Neither could remember when they actually met as they had been toddlers at the time but they had pretty much been a constant in each other’s life. And somewhere along the line, feelings developed. However, before anything could happened, Kagami moved to Paris.

She was the main reason he had taken the mission from the council. The chance to see her in person instead of video chat. He missed her.

She sat sit in the back with a bluenette he knew to be the hero Ladybug. The two were quickly joined by a pretty blond who sneered at the rest of the class.

As class began, the black hair, black eyed boy quickly realize something was… off. Wrong. The entire class seemed to be in a cold war; frequently glares were sent to the three girls in back. Said girls returned them with icy looks of their own.

Reizo would try his best not to get involved but he would make it clear where he stood; with Kagami. She was his oldest friend, his confidante, and (if he played his cards right) perhaps his future wife.

Throughout the day, the other students in class tried to pull him away from Kagami; swearing she and the other two girls (Marinette and Chloe were bullies.) Then it was Reizo’s turn to give out unimpressed looks.

After school, the young Yamato heir found himself fighting for his life. He had gone over to Kagami’s to apologize; though it was hard trying to explain that it never even crossed his mind to tell her he was coming to Paris. She knew he was a bit of airhead sometimes. Forgetful. Even more so when he had a task to do.

Though again, it wasn’t like he could tell her that the council of Guardians sent him to judge Ladybug and Chat Noir, both in and out of their masks, to determine if they were worthy to wield the two most powerful miraculous in existence. And to take them back, if he found that they were not.

The council had heard… rumors, and found they could no longer trust Master Fu’s word alone that he had chosen correctly.

Kagami seemed to accept his apology. He thought she forgave him, only to for Kagami to drag him to her training room, throw him a sword, and proceed to beat the crap out of him.

Normally, Reizo stood a much better chance. He had been training with a sword almost as long as Kagami had. It was a family tradition; one he came to adore as he grew older. One that resulted in him collected replica swords from movies; a lot of swords. Like a lot.

However, Kagami seemed to have rage fueling her every step. He never stood a chance. Mostly because she had always been a better swordsman than him. Partly because he was a little in awe at how battle just seemed to enhance her beauty.

After the fight, Reizo finally got ask the question that had been burning in the back of his mind all day, “What the hell is wrong with your class?”

Kagami sighed, “They’re morons,” She said. “They have fallen under the thrall of a liar named Lila. She has made out to be villains because we refuse to be fooled like the rest. The other students, as a result, have exiled us.”

“Why don’t you tell everyone she’s lying?”

She shook her head, “We have tried. They care not for the truth; only for the glitz, glamor, and promises Lila’s makes,” The Asian girl explained. “Marinette tried for the longest out of us all. However, eventually, even she conceded defeat. I’ve known her for almost three years, and it was the first time Marinette ever gave up on something. Or anyone.”

Kagami went on to tell everything that she had witnessed since coming to Bustier’s class. The lies, the insults, the lack of having a proper teacher. She even revealed that she used have a crush on a kid in her Adrien.

However, she was quick to add that the crush had faded quite some time ago.

The class ending their friendships with Marinette happened around the same time that Marinette and Kagami’s crush on Adrien Agreste died. The blond had been upset that both girls kept saying Lila was lying and advised them on taking the high road. Kagami could see the situation for exactly what it was… Adrien didn’t want to risk ending up the same as Marinette; near friendless, ostracized, and all but public enemy number 1 to the rest of the class. He was a coward.

The former rival in love, turned best friends, lost interest in the handsome blond boy quickly after that. As far as they were concerned Lila could have him.

Nevertheless, Kagami still considered Marinette giving up as a dark day for Paris. Though she and Chloe both knew it was for the best. Marinette had been a bit naïve to the realities of the world. The cold realization that the betrayal from her friends had awoken something in the Bluenette. A fire that refused to be extinguished.

No longer was Dupain-Cheng’s anyone doormat. Kagami had watched her best friend run herself ragged trying to help everyone with every little thing; always putting herself and her needs last. Marinette resigned as class president at the beginning of the year; saying she wanted to focus on the website she had launched for her designs. Free commissions were over. Marinette advised that they review her website for prices. She was sure to remind the new class president, Alya, that it was now the reporter’s duty to remember birthdays, organize trips, and fundraise. The free ride was over.

The class had shrugged it off; not caring or realizing exactly what Marinette was saying. Until Rose needed a new dress and Marinette referred the blonde girl to her website. When she received glares, Marinette was quick to remind everyone she was now technically running her own business. She couldn’t give away anything for free.

As days and weeks went on, he steered clear of the drama of the class which was hard to do as he chose to align himself with Kagami, Marinette, and Chloe. Still, Reizo was happy with his choice. He got to spend time with the girl of dreams. And he was pretty sure he ended up on something that might’ve been a triple date. Marinette with a handsome blond from another class named Felix Culpa. Chloe with a green haired boy named Luka. Kagami and Reizo. They went to the movies, got ice cream, and the pairing seemed to drift away from each other as the “group outing” went on.

However, it wasn’t until the day after the maybe date, when Reizo arrived to class, smiled at Kagami, who was in the process of being teased by Marinette and Chloe over something, and she blushed… That he thought maybe, just maybe, she liked him back.

Reizo paid close attention the actions of Adrien and Marinette. He used his own Miraculous a pair of cuff links that held a chubby grey Wolf Kwami named Pawz to watch the actions of Ladybug and Chat Noir from the shadow every time they fought. He recorded every fight and submitted it to the council. The videos left the elders with a lot of concerns. Mostly about Master Fu’s competency as guardian.

Ladybug was great. She was strong. She was capable. She was smart. However, most importantly she took her role as protector of Paris seriously.

Chat Noir, on the other hand, did not. He was rash and prone to jumping into situation (sometimes while Ladybug was trying to come up with a plan.) He clearly needed a class on sexual harassment in the work place. Most of the time he acted like a spoiled brat when Ladybug didn’t return his advances.

Reizo’s job was to only observe, provide evidence to the council, and cast judgement.

However, there was only so far he could be pushed.

He had been watching Ladybug fight a particularly nasty and powerful akuma. He had waited for Chat Noir to appear; and waited, and waited. When he finally showed, both Reizo and Ladybug breathed a sigh of relief.

…Until Chat Noir literally laid down on a roof instead of joining the fight. Ladybug begged for help. Chat Noir mentioned something about her missing their date, and that he wouldn’t help until she apologized.

“I never agreed to the date,” Ladybug said. “I don’t like you like that, Chat. I told you.”

Chat glared, “You refusing to admit your feelings has gone too far,” He said. “Until you do, you can save Paris by yourself!” Then he was gone.

That was the last straw.

Reizo charged at the Akuma with all his might; knocking it off balance and allowing Ladybug a chance to swing away from danger. The two hero fought side by side with ease. When they finally defeated the monster, Ladybug looked at the wolf-themed hero curiously.

“Who are you?” She asked the new masked hero.

“Shadow,” He answered. “The council of Guardian sent me to review the chosen wielders of the miraculous to determine their worthiness.”

Ladybug nodded. Fu had warned her that the council had taken an interest in the Parisian heroes. Eventually, he said, they would send someone to test them.

“The Council has made their decision,” He said. “You have proven yourself worthy, and will be given guardian training this summer.”

A happy looked appeared on the heroine’s face.

Shadow gave her a hard look, “Tell Master Fu that Chat Noir will be stripped of his miraculous. Please advise the guardian to ready himself to explain exactly why he thought Adrien Agreste was a good choice.”

#ml salt #adrien salt #marinette dupain cheng

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everything-withered · 4 years

Note

Despite what other people might think, literature major Kurosaki Ichigo and law student Kuchiki Rukia were not dating . . . or were they? -- prompt: ichiruki through the eyes of nosy college classmates.

Okay. So. I tried to write them as students. But. They ended up being professors (in Ichigo's case) instead? Yikes. Outsider POV is really not my wheelhouse and I found it really hard to make college students care about each other's drama so I hope this is alright.

When classes have to be shifted online, students around the country who've witnessed their professors struggle with power point on a daily basis, collectively shudder.

But those under the tutelage of Professor Kurosaki are spared the dismay for his classes.

Professor Kurosaki Ichigo is not like other lecturers. He's young, he's good looking, and thank every god above, Professor Kurosaki is also good with technology.

With him, classes aren't all that different to real life lectures which is a relief, but some students bemoan the lack of his physical presence. Though that has less to do with the quality of education as much as it does the purveyor himself.

Professor Kurosaki has a bit of a reputation.

He's one of the youngest educators on campus, and practically inhuman given his meteoric rise to academic stardom especially since, as the rumors go, Professor Kurosaki isn't some prodigy, he's simply a workhorse who's too stubborn to quit.

It's a work ethic he pushes onto his students, and they shoulder it admirably.

Though, not for nothing.

Besides being the youngest professor, he also happens to be the most good looking, a feat that isn't just attributed to youth but also to pure magnetism. There's something very. Attractive. About Professor Kurosaki.

It's obvious even through a pixelated screen.

He's confident, but quiet about it. Serious, and sharp. He's always direct and doesn't dance around a topic, and he has a way of making you feel important when his attention is on you -- which is perhaps one of the best things about having lectures through a screen, it feels like you are.

Until, of course, you realize you aren't.

That day is today: pausing for a moment to take a sip of water, Professor Kurosaki glances just above the camera and smiles.

And the private group chat collectively loses its mind, and it spills out into the group chat accompanying the stream for the lecture itself.

Pausing to glance down at the screen again, Professor Kurosaki's eyes narrow, his expression shifting to his more familiar scowl as he dismissed the deluge of question marks (and some braver "What are you smiling at??") with "That's enough, you know better by now than to ask about my personal life."

Which is perhaps, the only caveat to Professor Kurosaki: him being intensely private that the only thing anyone in the student body knows about him that isn't shrouded in rumor is what's on his profile on the university website. The bare bones. The minimum. It's agonizing.

Not even the most advanced of internet stalkers among them can get anything more than that, and if not for an incredibly locked down Instagram account, they'd think their beloved professor simply appeared one day fully formed from the ether.

As it stands Professor Kurosaki is standing before the camera looking unimpressed, and the class' curiousity is punished with another load of essays due.

This doesn't stop the more persistent of the class from trying to gather intel from wherever they can get it: starting with what can be gleaned from Professor Kurosaki's home. While he usually shares his screen when he lectures, there's the in between moments when he's just sitting before the camera or pacing in front of it as he talks, or simply setting up or shutting down the stream. It's a goldmine of moments.

One person in the private group chat reports framed photographs on the shelf. The light always hits the glass so they can't make out the faces, but they're sure a later or earlier lecture could yield results if someone looks. It's on the left corner, is the instruction . If you've got a morning or late afternoon lecture, keep an eye out!

Another says, "I saw some kind of pet bed in the corner once too, when he was still setting up. Does Prof have a dog??"

Then, "I saw a lady's shoes on the ground when he was still setting up. Did you see them?? AM lecture yesterday??? Is Prof married???" which is followed by vehement denies because of course not and we would've noticed a ring by now and then, "women in the photographs are his sisters, maybe one of them is staying with him during quarantine?" And yes. Yes, that's feasible.

Except the next time, thanks to a student who'd read the time wrong and arrived too early to the stream, spends it listening to Professor Kurosaki set up for the lecture with the screen tilted onto the keys; they catch snatches of conversation between the professor and someone who very clearly isn't one of his sisters:

"You look tired."

"Thanks, that's exactly what a woman wants to hear," a female voice says, sarcastic and fond. And while there isn't much of a view, lacking in faces for one, the student can see the two bodies standing close enough to touch without actually doing any touching, a gravitational pull that's being resisted by sheer force of will. Then, voice softer than they've heard it ever, Professor Kurosaki tells her, "Go back to bed, the court documents can wait."

"My name's on the door," is the response that sounds like a whine which makes Professor Kurosaki chuckle. "It's Byakuya's too, he can sort it out. I'll make you breakfast when I'm done with class."

There's a sigh, dramatic and long suffering. "Promises, promises, Ichigo."

By then, there's more people in the stream logged in and listening, the private group chat is a mess of epic proportions: Professor Kurosaki has a woman in his life. He cooks her breakfast. She works with court documents, is she a lawyer? Who's Byakuya? We need answers people!

Whoever Byakuya is ends up being the key, though this is only realized later because the class is side tracked by the momentary affection on Professor Kurosaki's face, a tenderness so breathtaking no one says anything for awhile. Which is all well and good because Professor Kurosaki is not pleased with the direction of the conversation in the steam's chat. To the questions of "is that your wife?" He scowls and says, "That's none of your business."

And in his defense, it's not.

Until it is.

The quarantine is getting to everyone, Professor Kurosaki included. The woman doesn't appear again, though there have been reports of a woman's shoes in the background and a cardigan that looks too small to be Professor Kurosaki's, and if his class is disappointed, so must he. Except, "They must be in quarantine together...did they have a fight?"

Which thus begins the great advice giving of May 2020 wherein everyone throws in some casual dating wisdom about apologizing for whatever dumb thing you did, and how to compromise, and what to do to get out of the dog house and stop sleeping on your couch.

Professor Kurosaki must think it's some kind of late April fool's joke or something because he's kind of pissed about it for awhile.

Right until he forgets to end the stream, and few stragglers witness him resting his head on his arms and moaning as he mutters, "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

The audio picks up a growl, and Professor Kurosaki dismisses this with a, "I know, Kon, I know."

When he starts to bang his head on his desk, the students still on the stream start to worry, though thankfully the woman appears.

No one had really known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't her.

Where Professor Kurosaki has cut a famous figure in his jeans and a leather jacket, this woman is soft as a watercolour painting: she is a sunrise in a sweet, misty yellow sundress, what remains of the night sky clinging to her black hair and space blue eyes. Her voice is alarmed, but grounding, "Ichigo, what the hell?"

Professor Kurosaki is so startled he vaults up from his seat behind the desk, completely missing that the livestream is still on his screen. "What? No, I'm fine."

There's a scoff. "You've been acting weird for days, don't lie to me."

"Rukia..."

"Is this because of Saturday?" Is the question. "We were drunk, and ridiculous, and."

"Rukia -"

"Other people sleep together all the time" she says affecting a calm tone though there's a hint of desperation beneath it, "It doesn't have to mean anything."

The private group chat buzzes. The chat on the stream stays mercifully silent.

"We're not other people, at least not to each other," he finally says.

A sigh. "No, we're not."

Almost like a reflex, Professor Kurosaki absently reaches out to his laptop screen, and says quietly, just before they're all shut out, "And I want it to mean something so. What now, Rukia?"

The search for who Rukia is ends twenty minutes later: Kuchiki Rukia, lawyer, philanthropist and university alumni; she's the shining star of Sereitei's highest social circles, the only daughter of the Kuchiki family and the proud dog mom to a pitbull named Kon.

The intrigue continues.

By the time classes resume in person, Professor Kurosaki has revealed nothing. Rukia does not appear in the following streams.

There's a temptation to ask, but there's no doubt the professor will deny it.

Which is why when a student spots Rukia on campus, the group chat lights up.

A student still in Professor Kurosaki's lecture hall slows in packing away their things as Rukia enters, and it feels like Professor Kurosaki's entire class is holding their breathes.

Rukia and Professor Kurosaki, however, don't notice, and with an exchanged kiss in greeting as natural as a breath exhaled, the group chat lights up again.

The student is sufficiently embarrassed when, called forth by Professor Kurosaki about what they think they're doing, and show me your phone if it's nothing, then the last message insists: pics or it didn't happen!

Rukia laughs so hard, her happiness all but lights her up, and oh, the student can see how Professor Kurosaki could be in love. And from his expression to the one Rukia returns to him, amused and fond and tender in one, the student wonders why no one's seen it before at all.

#ichiruki #deathberry

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 16

Catch up on Chapter 15 here

“So,” Danica is the first one to speak, “When are you supposed to see him again?”

Your shoulders slump at this. “He’s in town this weekend, but I don’t think we’re gonna see each other.”

Mary snaps to attention, her eyes locking with yours. “Why not?”

Everyone seems to be on the edge of their seat, waiting for more details with bated breath.

You shrug, but Mary only narrows her eyes. “I think I’m gonna end things,” You keep your voice light, stirring the ice in your now-empty glass.

Summer’s coming to an end.

Word count: ~8.2k

Chapter Sixteen October 2019

Those few rushed nights with Van are all you get in September.

The band’s schedule is less jam-packed this month, and Van promises over text that he’ll be around soon. He responds to you more often, and is able to fit in some phone calls more often when he’s on smoke breaks, even if sometimes he accidentally calls you at three A.M. and has to go to voicemail.

You know you should be excited to see him again, but you can’t stop remembering how awful you feel each time he leaves. With September under your belt you’re more adapted to his absence, feeling a little more steady on your feet. Wouldn’t seeing him again just fuck it all up?

Maybe you could still be friends with Van, as long as you kept a little distance between you two. Maybe if you gave yourself some space this month you could accept that Van was just a best friend with a spotty visitation schedule, and not cling to him so tightly. You make a pact with yourself to take October off of seeing Van, with the exception of phone calls and texts. That way you could keep him at arm’s length while you get your head together.

Even making that promise to yourself gives you a rush of relief. Your September funk had been much more serious than you’d realized, and now that you were starting to shake it off you knew you couldn’t jeopardize it. You’d started having regular weekend brunch with Mary at the diner again, and had gone out with the girls at work for drinks after one of them secured a huge client for the company. Everything was starting to fall back into place in your world, returning to the way it had been before your birthday weekend in San Diego had tipped everything over.

On a Monday morning midway through the month, you’re dashing to your desk after running hopelessly late. You’d forgotten to plug your phone in last night, so it’d died in the middle of the night, and your body’s natural clock had woken you up on way too short notice. Thankfully nobody seems to notice as you slide into your cubicle, eagerly tapping the enter key on your keyboard to wake your computer up.

Your phone is still dead in your bag, and you dig it out before rustling through a drawer for your work charger. As your phone starts to boot up you focus on your computer, using your credentials to log in. You take a moment to collect yourself as everything loads, smoothing your hair down and taking a sip of your coffee you’d poured into a travel mug before rushing out the door.

You’ve caught your breath by the time you get your browser open and your email loaded. The subject line of the third email in your inbox immediately catches your eye: Y/N OPEN THIS NOW IT’S IMPORTANT

It’s from Danica, one of the girls in your coworker friend group.

The new martini bar on Melrose finally opened and we want to get drinks Friday after work!! Let me know if you’re in!

Getting drinks on Friday sounded fun, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Yeah I’m in, you send back, but what martini bar on Melrose?

You take a quick trip to the bathroom, and when you come back there’s a response at the top of your inbox. She’s linked the website for the bar, and it does look pretty cool. The decor is crisp and modern, and from their ‘about’ section it looks like they’re bordering the fine line of being a club without trying to attract the student crowd.

Oh, cool! Do you care if I invite my friend Mary? From the photos it looks like the sort of place Mary would be right at home charming everyone at, so you can’t resist asking.

Once Danica has given her approval to invite Mary, you finally unlock your phone, ready to send a text to her about Friday night. That’s when you see Van’s message.

Guess who’s gonna be flying in on Friday?

Your blood instantly runs cold. Oh shit.

It only takes that simple text to throw you off kilter. How can some words on a screen do that?

You swipe Van’s message away, hoping to forget about it. You couldn’t, of course, but you’d made a promise to yourself not to see him and now he was trying to mess that up! You’d have to say no. You knew you’d have to say no. Technically, you had plans. And, more importantly, you were not going to spend the weekend crying your eyes out over some stupid guy! It was a no. For sure. The only thing is that you’d have to figure out how to say it.

You proceed with texting Mary about the martini bar, and then decide to focus on work for the day. You were already behind from running late and time wasted emailing Danica, so you needed to get going. It would be good for Van not to have an immediate response. You needed some time to word things in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. After all, it’s not him- it’s you.

But after an hour of some market research you pick your phone up again. Omg I just made plans for Friday, You respond with an emoji of a facepalm. You get back to work, ridiculously proud of how you’d brushed him off. Take that, Van McCann. You would not be dropping everything to see him.

Van doesn’t respond until the next afternoon. That’s alright! Saturday?

You bury your head in your hands where you’re sitting at your favorite cafe booth on your lunch. Lord, he was making this so fucking hard.

It isn’t until you’re home, fresh glass of wine in hand, that you reply. Idk. So swamped with work lately.

To keep your guilt at bay, you actually do swamp yourself with work. Van has dropped the subject of meeting up for the moment being, but you know he’ll bring it back up with a vengeance. You don’t know if there’s been one time he’s been in L.A. this entire summer that you two haven’t hung out, and knowing he’s not the type to let subjects drop peacefully leaves a pit of dread in your stomach.

You smother said dread with the market research you’re currently doing for some sort of waterless shampoo for dogs. It was a successful enough product, given that there were already a few brands on pet store shelves. The only issue is that you were at a loss when it came to what was supposed to make this particular brand special. The client couldn’t answer that question herself, either, so this was essentially a THC-water-rerun where you use up the research budget, don’t get anywhere, and the client eventually gives up.

As you remember the THC water, your fingers reach across your desk for a pen, so you can jot down a reminder to send them a thank you note for the products they’d sent you. Van had informed you during one of your phone calls last month that he’d brought the bottles on tour, where one night the boys chugged the entire pack. According to him, they’d all actually gotten high. Plus, you’d like an update on how they were doing with their new marketing team. You’d managed to call in a favor from a different firm with more THC experience, who was genuinely interested in taking them on. Hopefully now their product was getting the attention it needed.

On Friday morning, you wake up sick to your stomach. You’d barely slept, your mind tossing Van’s impending visit back and forth the entire night. He hasn’t texted you about it since you’d brushed him off on Tuesday, and now you were filled with the sinking feeling that he was upset with you. Which, first of all, was a ridiculous thought. You hadn’t done anything wrong by not clearing your schedule for him! Certainly he understood that you had your own life and your own job, and not everything revolved around him. As much as you wanted it to.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? The more that Van was sweet and understanding, the harder it was to force yourself to reject him. You literally wanted nothing more than to come home from having drinks tonight and find him curled up in your bed. You were putting yourself through this torture, and it wasn’t even necessary!

But it is necessary, you remind yourself. Look at you! Losing sleep, stumbling around while your stomach does somersaults just because you were so hopelessly in love with Van your body couldn’t bear the concept of having to opt out of seeing him for one weekend. How were you ever supposed to create some distance between you two?

You’re a zombie at work, jumping at your phone each time it buzzed. It was never Van, only the group chat of everyone going out tonight. You let them discuss their outfits and designated driver situation amongst themselves, trying to force yourself to focus on the paperwork you needed to get done to help a client apply for a patent today.

You startle when your phone vibrates on the bathroom counter, almost falling into the damp sink. You lurch for it with the hand not currently running the flat iron through your hair, sighing in irritation. The group chat has continued to go off incessantly all day, keeping a steady stream of anxiety and adrenaline running through you. What could everyone possibly need to fucking talk about when you guys were about to be face-to-face in less than an hour?

It’s a text from Van. Just got in.

Although it solidifies the nerves in your stomach, there’s some sort of relief that what you’ve been anticipating has finally happened. Easy flight? You can’t resist responding.

Eh, He says, lots of turbulence.

With no mention of meeting up, your shoulders release the tension they’ve been carrying all day. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s the girls, and you hurry to order your Uber while you finish up your hair and put the final touches on your makeup.

Martinis on Melrose is hard to see from the main road, and it takes your driver a minute to find his way into the parking lot. The name is glowing in a dark blue neon script across the smooth cement of the exterior, casting a glow on all of the sleek cars crammed into the lot. You’re glad you don’t have to worry about finding a spot as you shimmy out of the backseat, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and trying to find your footing on your heels.

Two of the girls are already here and have reserved a table for tonight, but Theo is still en route dropping Mary off. You pause just outside of the front door, eager to stall, and dig around in your purse for your pack of cigarettes.

It’s the quiet before the storm, that moment before you walk into a gathering where you like to mentally brace yourself for the night to come. No offense to the girls, as you enjoy their company a ton, but you’ll always be an introvert at heart. Having a quick cigarette is the perfect way to calm yourself down, get yourself ready to be social for an extended period of time. Your first puff sends relief rushing through your brain, a craving satisfied.

As you watch your exhaled smoke glow blue from the fluorescent lighting, you feel a pang of disappointment in yourself. You can’t believe Van’s managed to get you hooked on nicotine. Oh, Van. The disappointment in your belly blooms larger, deeper. Disappointment that you won’t be ending your day wrapped in his arms, comforted by his company, his charisma that had weaseled around your introverted tendencies until you felt right at home with him in your space. Disappointed that you don’t have him by your side tonight, your hand in his, anchoring you to the moment. Disappointed that after the fiasco over this weekend, you had the feeling that you’d never be able to remain just friends with him.

“Since when do you smoke alone?” Mary’s voice has you crawling out of your skin, dropping your cigarette from the scare.

“Shit,” You hiss, further disappointed that you have to stomp your cigarette out when it was only halfway done. The cement is so fresh and clean you decide to lean over and pick the butt up, depositing it in the trash directly to your right by the door. “Just getting my head in the game,” You respond to Mary.

Ever the extrovert, she clearly doesn’t understand, blinking at you as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I fucking love that outfit,” She changes the topic.

You glance down at yourself. It’s actually the same one you’d worn to Lou’s birthday party, complete with the uncomfortable heels and the denim jacket to help dress it down. Looking down at your toes you remember trading shoes with Sam, arguing with Van in hushed tones on the deck stairs. You hadn’t known how deep your feelings were for him then, but you remember how his jealousy both pissed you off and pleased you at the same time, an indication that he might want your arrangement to go deeper than friends. That memory falls into the disappointment abyss when you realize in hindsight how that never happened.

“Thanks, but look at you!” You beam at her, gesturing to her own dress. It’s a silk slip that looks like you might see a Kardashian posing in it on instagram. It makes her legs look a mile long, and she’s gone braless, always on trend. She’s got her right hand wrapped around a sleek clutch bag, and as you two head into the bar she holds it up.

“Don’t let me get drunk and forget this in the bathroom or at the table,” She warns in a low tone.

“I’ll try,” You mutter, as the hustle and bustle of the club surrounds you two. “But I’m in need of a few martinis myself.”

“Long week?” Mary eyes you after she scans the room. You’re doing the same, looking for the table Danica had texted you they were at.

You spot the table, starting to head to it, Mary following along. “Oh yeah,” You nod enthusiastically, realizing how emotionally drained you’ve been since Van’s text on Monday.

You introduce everyone to Mary before sliding into the curved booth, exchanging greetings. One of the girls pass you a menu that you look over with curiosity. You need something strong enough to forget these last two months.

Your focus on the menu fades when your phone buzzes against the glossy tabletop. Just as you reach to check what notification has appeared the server comes around to get you and Mary’s drink order. While she opts for a cosmopolitan your eyes quickly flit over the page, your brain scrambling to read the different ingredients in your hurry.

“I’ll have an endless summer,” You recite to the waitress, smiling at her as she hurries away to relay the order. She leaves the menu so that the girls that haven’t arrived yet can look over it.

As soon as she’s gone you grab for your phone again, unlocking it to see a text from Van: Wanna do lunch at that diner tomorrow? It’ll help with that hangover

You’d told him about your plans to go out for drinks, and his thoughtfulness makes your heart ache. Why does he have to be so fucking nice all of the time?

“Is that Van?” Mary interrupts the wave of sadness welling up in your chest. Everyone has stopped talking, Mary commanding the attention of everyone per usual.

“Um, yeah,” You respond politely, despite the urge to reach over and strangle her. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and your cheeks burn at the way Mary’s just exposed your Van situation to everyone.

“Who?” Danica asks, tilting her head as she takes a sip of her drink. “I thought you were single!”

Realizing your coworkers had no idea about him, Mary’s face lights up in joy. You hate her for it, internally groaning. There’s no way she’s going to let you get away without telling everyone what was going on.

“Y/N hasn’t told you about Van?” Mary asks, leaning in excitedly. Danica and your other coworker that had arrived early, Nicole, are suddenly at attention, waiting for you to explain.

“Hey, hey!” Olivia- forever the loudest coworker in the office- calls from behind your shoulder. She’s sauntering effortlessly on stilettos, Mia trailing behind.

Olivia makes a big scene of plopping down in the booth, Mia shuffling in next to you. Whereas you’re the quiet counterpart to Mary, Mia’s the same to Olivia. You’d always liked Mia, the way she never seemed stressed or worked up over office demands or drama; she tended to let them roll off of her with a quiet shrug. You tended to stay away from Olivia, however. While Mary radiated an outgoing, enjoyable charisma, Olivia radiated an air of lead-cheerleader bitchiness.

The commotion of Olivia and Mia’s arrival has successfully diverted the conversation to how hard the restaurant had been for Olivia to find, and everyone forgets about the Van topic. You sigh in relief when the waitress comes back around to collect the new drink orders, gingerly setting a glass full of sunset-colored alcohol in front of you. It starts deep red at the bottom with the cranberry juice, and somehow fades to a soft orange by the middle of the glass, a pale pink at the top. You suck at your straw eagerly, ready to have some alcohol in your system. It’s overly sweet and burns as it goes down, but Danica and Nicole are already one drink ahead of you, so you’re trying to catch up.

“He’s an annoying motherfucker,” Olivia is complaining about her husband, tossing her phone back into her bag with a scoff. Mia murmurs agreement next to you, and Danica is asking her some question about wedding venues. Danica’s not engaged just yet, but it’s clear she’s desperate for a proposal from her boyfriend.

Oh, to be surrounded by friends in couples. Mary has chimed in about some pet peeve she has about Theo, and you let their conversation fade to the background of your mind as you pick your phone up again.

This weekend doesn’t really work for me at all, you text Van. It physically pains you to press send, but you know it’s what you’ve got to do. He’s not getting the hint!

“Oh! Y/N!” Danica suddenly exclaims, and when you look up from your screen she is gesturing excitedly, like the words are on the tip of her tongue.

“You were gonna tell us about that Victor guy!” She finally spits it out, and the spotlight is on you again.

“Van,” You correct absentmindedly, before realizing you’d missed the point. You clear your throat, tucking your phone in the pocket of your jacket, deciding not to check it again. You couldn’t handle Van possibly becoming angry or hurt. “Um, there’s not much to say!” You laugh nervously, glancing at Mary as a call for help. “He’s my best friend.”

“Besides, you, of course,” You hurry to assure Mary. She rolls her eyes in amusement, unbothered.

“He’s her best friend with benefits,” Mary stirs the pot. Everyone’s interest in you had started to fade with your lackluster explanation, but at the mention of the benefits they all perk up again.

“And get this,” Mary gestures excitedly, and you’re relieved she’s taking over the storytelling. “He’s the lead singer of this band that’s fucking huge in the U.K.”

“No way,” Danica’s eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Mary nods. “We met him after they played a show at the House of Blues in San Diego.”

“When?” Nicole pipes up, scooting in closer.

“In January, when I was there for my birthday,” You tell her.

“You’ve been with him since January?” Danica asks, clearly shocked. “You haven’t said a word!”

You open your mouth to respond, but are interrupted by the waitress passing out another round of drinks. You take the last few sips of your first martini, then stick your straws into the next glass.

“Girl, explain,” Nicole demands, earning a laugh from everyone at the table.

“Hold on,” You laugh, feeling a bit more comfortable with their interest. This whole thing has been weighing on you, after all, and now you’ve got the chance to get some fresh opinions on what you should do. Without further ado you hold the straw of your drink between your thumb and forefinger, swallowing it down in a matter of a minute.

“I need to catch up!” Olivia shouts as you pull away, and starts to gulp down her own drink. She’s finished quicker than you, ever the show-off, and waves the waitress over again to request another round for you and her.

The waitress is back pronto, another endless summer dripping condensation on the table in front of you, a bloody mary perched in front of Olivia.

You take a sip to wet your throat before you sit back.

You’ve never told the story of you two out loud like this before. Mary’s been present every step of the way, and you’d managed to stay away from your family’s prying by telling them only the basics of your friendship. This is the first time you have to listen to yourself explain all of the time you’ve spent together, and it shocks you as you hear yourself. Like when you explain the story of Van catching strep throat, and Mia is confused as to why he decided to spend over a week crashing at your place. You recite Van’s excuse at the time about the lack of food at his house, but nobody at the booth seems convinced.

You trail off when you’re finished, deciding not to share anymore details with anyone. Mary had snorted more than once during your chronicles due to your decision to keep everything very surface and PG- although you’re sure none of these girls cared about Catfish, Van’s trust is sacred to you. You’re fiercely protective over the private moments you two have had together; even Mary doesn’t know about the way you’d tied him up during his birthday sex.

There’s a silence that falls over everyone when you’re finished, punctuating the story of your summer with a long, burning sip of your drink. You’re expecting Olivia to launch into her own story- no doubt somehow more interesting than yours- but you’re surprised to see her stirring her bloody mary, looking lost in thought. Was this Van thing really that crazy?

“So,” Danica is the first one to speak, “When are you supposed to see him again?”

Your shoulders slump at this. “He’s in town this weekend, but I don’t think we’re gonna see each other.”

Mary snaps to attention, her eyes locking with yours. “Why not?”

Everyone seems to be on the edge of their seat, waiting for more details with bated breath.

You shrug, but Mary only narrows her eyes. “I think I’m gonna end things,” You keep your voice light, stirring the ice in your now-empty glass.

“What? Why?” Nicole shrieks. “He sounds great!”

“He is great,” You affirm. You’d sworn to yourself a long time ago that no matter how this thing plays out, you’d always maintain that Van had been the best man you’d ever been with. “But he’s just really busy now. He was gone for almost all of September.”

“So you’re gonna give him up?” Nicole scoffs in disbelief. “You’re insane, Y/N.”

“I mean, there’s nothing to give up!” You defend yourself weakly, your voice going higher in pitch. “We’re not together!”

Mary opens her mouth to speak, no doubt to derail you from your plan. You understand why she’s eager to dissuade you from something so drastic, but she also had no idea about the agony you’ve been in, how cutting ties with Van is the only way you know how to save your sanity.

“Do you have a picture?” Olivia asks, successfully interrupting Mary. Despite your dislike for Olivia, you’re glad for her intervention.

“Um, lemme see,” You murmur, grabbing your phone back out of your pocket. But you forgot you’d been keeping your phone in there on purpose, and as you go to scroll through your photo gallery you’re accosted with Van’s reply to your previous message:

Everything alright?

You swipe it away, reaching your drink before realizing it’s empty. “Ugh, I need another one of these.” How many drinks have you had now? Three? You wish you remembered.

You deliberate over what photo to show them; you hardly take any when you two are together, and most of the ones you’ve taken seem too intimate to share with others. You laugh when you scroll past a photo of Van you’d taken in August, standing by the front door with his ribboned ficus in his arms. He’s got an exaggerated grin, no attempt to look poised for the camera. There’s tons of photos with his blurry hands or feet in them, attempts to obscure snapchats you were trying to take for Mary, and you hurry past the few nudes he’d sent you when you two had decided to exchange a few over text. You settle on one you feel comfortable sharing; it’s a photo of him at some bar, his eyes bloodshot from the alcohol. He’s flushed and beaming, leaning against Bob, who was the one taking the picture of the two of them. He’d forwarded it to you the next morning, complaining about his hangover. You present this photo to the others.

Immediately Olivia takes your phone from your hands, sending a shot of anxiety through you. You’ll never understand why some people insist on taking the phone out of your hands rather than just looking at the image on the screen.

“He’s good looking!” She exclaims, almost like she didn’t expect it. Danica and Nicole nod their agreement. When Olivia hands the phone back you flash the photo at Mia, who seems more interested in Bob’s half of the picture.

“Isn’t he?” Mary agrees, playfully elbowing you. “If you’re finished with him then send him my way,” She jokes, but you can hear her ill-concealed frustration with you underneath. You know she’s dying to know what the fuck you’re doing, messing up the best not-relationship you’ve ever had. Maybe she’ll get lunch with you tomorrow, so you can properly explain. Of course you hadn’t shared your true feelings for Van with everyone, but it was probably time for Mary to know.

“He sounds like a keeper,” Olivia agrees, and you’re surprised to hear she thinks so. You’re even more surprised at everyone’s enthusiastic nods.

“You’d be an idiot to let him go,” Danica tells you seriously, and Nicole murmurs her assent. “Like, seriously. Have you lost interest in him?”

Lost interest in him? You wish it could be true, but that wasn’t even a possibility you could fathom at the moment.

“Uh, no,” You answer her, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s just the logistics.”

“Well, make it work,” Nicole urges you.

There’s some murmurs about ‘the one that got away’ from the other girls, and the conversation about Van finally dies out. You’re relieved when Mia brings up a project she’s working on in the office, looking for some advice from everyone about how to respond to a client who tends to have an aggressive tone in his emails. From there things fade into hilarious client stories and email blunders, and you try to seem as engaged as possible, relieved to have the focus off of you.

You lose track of your drinks, absentmindedly sipping them while everyone’s voices flow and mingle around you. You’ve definitely hit your introvert limit, ready to head home and curl up in bed. Nobody seems to notice how quiet you’ve grown, or how you perk up in relief when Mia finally suggests you guys call it a night. Everyone takes her cue, the table lighting up with phone screens as everyone reaches out to their ride.

“Theo can take you home,” Mary offers when you pull up the Uber app.

“Oh, it’s fine,” You politely decline. There’s a lot of Ubers doing rounds on a busy street like Melrose during this time, and you know a car will be here soon. More than anything you were craving the quiet, some time away from this loud club music and conversation.

“If you’re sure…” Mary trails off. You remember your idea about lunch suddenly, ready to blurt it out to her, but the sober fraction of your brain shushes you. It would be incredibly rude to make lunch plans with someone right in front of everyone else.

Lunch tomorrow? You text her instead, and watch the notification ping on her phone screen.

YES. she sends back. YOU HAVE EXPLAINING TO DO.

That would cause sober-you to dread these plans, but thankfully drunk-you is only preoccupied with going home.

You’re drunker than you’d thought by the end of the night. You’d managed to down all of your drinks without the need to use the restroom (miraculously), but when you had stood up to let Mary shuffle out of the booth it suddenly felt like your bladder was nothing but a bouncing water balloon, and all of the alcohol had rushed to your head. You had struggled to keep yourself walking in a straight line to the bathroom, not to mention staying balanced on your heels while you washed your hands. You get the notification your ride is here as soon as you’re pushing through the heavy swinging door, so you grab your bag back at the booth and exchange goodbyes and promises to do this again with Nicole, who is the last one waiting for a ride, and head out front.

There’s no silence quite as satisfying as the one that follows a night out after you’ve hopped into the car and closed the door. Besides the polite hello the driver offers he doesn’t seem interested in conversation, so you stare out the window at the night sky and try to make sense of the mess in your head.

Only as the car is pulling out onto Melrose do you remember you’d left a text from Van on read. You grab your phone off of the seat next to you, clicking your texts with Van open.

Everything alright? You read to yourself over and over. How the fuck were you supposed to answer that? Was he really that clueless? Were you that amazing at hiding how much this had been hurting you, or had he just not bothered to pay attention?

I’m fine, you decide to reply. Was it the truth? Not exactly. But you knew you would be, eventually. Ending things would hurt like hell at first, but you’d recover. You had from every other heartbreak you’ve experienced in your life, after all.

You’re surprised when your phone vibrates in your palm, an instant reply from Van: Don’t seem fine.

Shit. Maybe he’s been paying a bit more attention than you thought. You double down on your lie: It’s fine Van.

The three dots pop up before you can even lock your phone: ??

You click your screen off, tossing your phone beside you on the bench. It bounces with a soft thud, and you rest your head in your hands, trying to take a deep breath.

Everyone’s advice starts to echo in your mind: He sounds like a keeper! You’d be an idiot to let him go! Make it work! Offered up so happily as if those were actually options, as if there was any fucking possibility Van felt the same way about you.

It completely overwhelms you then, how in over your head you are. There had been moments where you’d felt a speck of hope, signs that maybe he wanted more than this casual thing, but now it’s been six months of spending time together, and exactly zero attempts by him to broach the subject. It all hits you then, all the emotions you’ve been keeping controlled while you tried to enjoy your night out, and before you know it you’re in tears.

It’s only a few tears at first, but letting go feels so good you give in to it, the car silent except for your loud sniffles and the occasional shaky breath. The Uber driver, to his credit, doesn’t react as you silently bawl your eyes out in the backseat.

Your phone goes off again from where it’s facedown, light seeping out of the sides. You leave it there, for once not pathetically controlled by Van’s moment-to-moment whim. A little laugh bubbles out of you at that thought, and you think absentmindedly that you must sound absolutely crazy, but you’re too drunk to care, the alcohol carrying that thought away as you continue your catharsis.

Time slips by in jumps and starts, your tears slowing eventually, and by the time the car turns onto your block you’re excited to get inside, make yourself a hot mug of tea, and continue your cry in private. Your house is the only one on your side of the street with the light on, and so you watch it slide into view as the car makes its way down the road.

“It’s that one,” You snuffle, “With the light on.”

As the car approaches, your blood goes cold.

Your first instinct is to assume it’s some sort of alcohol-induced hallucination. You wipe the tears from your eyes furiously, but when you look again there’s no mistaking it. The porch light is cascading down your front lawn, and Van’s silhouette is perched on your front steps, smoking a cigarette.

“Here you go, ma’am,” The driver stops the car and unlocks the door for you. As soon as the car pulls up Van tosses his cigarette onto the front path and stomps it out, standing up. You watch him through the car window in disbelief before you grab your things, give a numb thank you, and get out of the car.

There’s a stretch of silence as the Uber pulls away where you stand right outside of the front gate, unable to do anything except gape at Van.

A car suddenly whizzes down your road, and you realize how close you are to being in the street. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You exclaim, the clatter of the gate clicking closed behind you echoing with your voice off of the silent houses around you.

“I came here to get some answers!” Van says, exasperated. “You won’t tell me nothin’!”

“There’s nothing to say!” You gesture with your arms as you reach the steps, face to face with him. “There’s no answers to get!”

“You’ve been cryin’!” Van gestures towards you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” You wipe at your undereye self consciously and look down at your finger. There’s a smear of mascara. You sigh before moving past Van up the stairs, headed for the front door. He follows.

“Did I do something?” He asks, coming into your peripheral vision. “If I did, just tell me! Let me make this right.”

You look through your purse for your keys, ignoring him.

“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything on purpose!”

You continue your search for your keys, keeping your head down.

“Fuck,” You say quietly to yourself as you sweep your bag for the third time and fail. You click your phone on, switching on the flashlight and lighting up your bag.

Van groans in frustration, wiping a hand through his hair. “Y/N!”

“What?” You snap at him, looking up. You’ve finally found your key and you jam it into the door, clicking it unlocked.

“Why are you ignorin’ me?” He pleads.

“Van,” You start, trying to keep your voice steady. You look up at him then, and you feel like your breath’s been punched out of you. The light is illuminating him from behind, a halo of golden light that catches each strand of frizz and accentuates the sharp line of his chin. His hair’s grown out since the spring, the light snagging the curls that are upturned at the nape of his neck. You swallow thickly. His eyes are wide in confusion.

“I think we need to end things,” You say quietly, struggling to see through a fresh batch of tears.

His jaw hangs slightly ajar. “What?” He asks in disbelief.

Your eyes are welling up again, and you wipe at them, a mess of mascara on your hands. “We’re done,” You tell him, voice wobbling, as you swing the door open and head inside.

He doesn’t give you a chance to shut the door in his face, heading in right behind you. “You’re fucking joking! What have I done?”

You head straight for the bathroom, examining yourself in the mirror. You cringe inwardly at yourself and grab for your makeup wipes, trying to make yourself look a little less pathetic.

Van is standing in the front room. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this,” He says loudly so you can hear him from behind the bathroom door.

You don’t respond, wiping away your eyeliner vigorously.

“I said I’m sorry!”

You sigh to yourself.

“Look, I-”

“Listen, Van!” You cut him off from the other room. You swing the door open, marching out. “It’s like you said in the hotel that one time, remember? We’re supposed to be simple, easy. And that was working great. You stop by at your convenience, and I throw everything else out of the fucking window to spend time with you. And then you just fucking… disappear! For two months! And it- I-” You struggle to find any words, your voice fading out as you feel yourself start to cry again. And I love you. I miss you.

Van throws his arms up. “I didn’t mean it like that at all, c’mon! It’s not at my convenience! I was working! I wasn’t trying to ignore ya! I try my hardest to come around!”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again. When he speaks again, he’s quieter. “It wasn’t like that, honest.”

“I just can’t do this anymore,” You try desperately to explain. “This whole ‘simple’ thing is killing me. The long trips out to see you, and I’m lucky if I get to see you for two whole days…” Your words are interrupted by an embarrassingly pathetic sob, Van’s eyes widening at your outpouring of emotion.

“Please don’t tell me you think this whole thing was about having you around just for a fuck,” Van pleads. “You’re my best mate! I can’t help that I travel a lot!”

You bury your face in your hands.

Van sighs, moving towards you. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” He says earnestly. “C’mon. I’m sorry. Get out of that dress and we can turn a film on, yeah? Or we can go grab some food. Whatever you wanna do.”

You groan into your palms, the sound echoing in your ears. He just wasn’t getting it.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Van offers, his voice soft. “I didn’t… I’m sorry if it seemed like I was using you, or something.”

“But then we’ll go out to eat, and everything’ll be fine tonight, but it’s still gonna be the same! And you’re gonna be so busy with tour, and it’s not fair to me when you’re not around, and I can’t spend my whole life roadtripping with you!”

“The bulk of this leg is over!” Van argues, “And I don’t mind if you’re busy. It’ll be your turn to text me like I’ve been texting you, yeah?” The corner of his lips quirk up in a tired smile.

“Oh my God, Van,” You groan again. You take a long, frustrated inhale. It was now or never, you realize, because he might be the best man you’ve ever been with, but he’s still completely clueless.

“I’m trying to tell you I fucking love you!” You yell, throwing your arms up. “I fucking love you! I don’t want simple and easy! I want you!”

You feel like you’re about to faint from the admission. For a terrifying moment all of the blood rushes to your head, and the only sound you can hear is your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve put all your cards on the table, and there was no going back. Van might’ve been eager to fix things moments ago, but he could very well change his entire attitude now that the truth is out.

While you stand there, terrified, you notice his tired smile start to stretch into a grin.

“What?” He asks, grinning ear to ear.

“I love you,” You repeat, no longer yelling. Your throat hurts. It feels like the dust settling after an explosion, but your heart is skipping because Van isn’t running, not yet.

“Are you saying that I’m not simple? Or easy?” Van jokes, still beaming.

“No.” You feel a small laugh of relief bubble up. “I know it’s hard. With the traveling, and the label deadlines and stuff. But I’ve had the trial period. I wanna be able to text you and ask what you’re doing without seeming all clingy. And I don’t wanna go days without hearing from you!” Van groans at that. “And I want you to be able to tell everyone that I’m your girlfriend. Not your mate!” You say that part with a glare, remembering the conversation between him and Bondy you’d overhead by the ice machine in Detroit.

“You heard that?” Van groans again, laughing. “I didn’t know what to say! He caught me by surprise!”

“And I want my family to be able to meet you!” You add on, “Not have to lie and pretend you’re busy with band stuff because you wouldn’t come in!”

Van’s jaw drops slightly at that. “I wanted to come in!” He confesses, “I thought you were asking as an afterthought! To be polite!” He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know how bad I wanted to say yes.”

He wraps his arms around you now, pulling you in close.

“I love you, too,” He admits. “And I have for a long fucking time! I’m sorry it didn’t seem like it. I thought you liked this whole ‘simple’ thing. I was playing it up for your sake!” He sways you back and forth while you bury your head in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

“I can’t believe you,” You shake your head against him in exasperation. You lift your head suddenly, your face inches from his. “When did you know?”

Van puffs his cheeks up with air, releasing it with a whoosh as you watch his eyes flit through the air while he considers. “On the couch on the tour bus,” He tells you. “I mean, I already did, but that was my moment of… yeah.” One side of his lips quirk up in a lopsided smile.

“Well, I win,” You tease. “Because I realized it backstage in Phoenix.”

Van’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re fucking joking!” He laughs, “And you’ve been keeping it a secret since?”

“Yeah!” You exclaim, lifting your hands from where they’re resting on his sides to gesture at him. “You were making it pretty fucking clear you weren’t interested in dating!”

“Oh, yeah?” Van challenges, his playful grin reappearing. “More clear than you attempting to break things off with me?”

“Oh, stop,” You huff, pointing to your puffy eyes and splotchy face. “Clearly you can see it wasn’t an easy decision!”

“Fuck, I thought you had it out for me,” Van laughs, letting one of his hands fall from your back so that he can run it through his hair. “Whatever I did, I was ready to accept your wrath.”

“You don’t even know,” You start, burying your face in his shirt again. Your tears are back, overwhelmed with relief that the truth was finally out, that Van loved you the same way you loved him. “This has been tearing me apart for months now.”

“Me too,” Van sighs, his palm rubbing up and down your spine. “I even told you on accident that one time.”

You freeze, trying to understand what he meant.

“Wait,” You lift your head, stepping back from him. “Are you talking about that phone call?”

“Yeah.”

At this your jaw drops. You’ve stepped out of Van’s arms, and he’s keeping his hands busy by rolling the sleeves of his button-up over his forearms. “You said you didn’t remember it!”

“I told you I loved you!” Van’s clearly embarrassed, his cheeks burning pink. “And I got all soppy about being apart on my birthday!”

“I said I loved you back!” You shout in complete disbelief. “We both admitted we loved each other and you didn’t think anything of it?”

“I was drunk! I thought you were taking pity on me! Give me a break!”

Oh God, he was impossible. You open your mouth to ridicule him further, but instead you step toward him again, cupping his jaw and bringing your lips together. There’s no sense in arguing about it anymore. Clearly you’d both been oblivious, but what did it matter now that everything had worked out?

Well, technically, you had no idea what the road ahead would bring for you two. But you’ve made it this far, right? Seven months of navigating these unspoken rules between you two, it feels like things can only get easier now that they’re dissolving right before your eyes. You kiss Van harder, and when your lips open for him it feels like all of the possibilities opening up before you: Van was your fucking boyfriend now.

In the thrill of your realization you reach for his belt buckle, struggling to undo it while you’re distracted by the kiss.

After fussing with it for longer than normal you feel the warm press of Van’s lips being pulled away, his hands coming to wrap around yours.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” He remarks in amusement, brushing your hands aside and undoing his own belt.

“Because I love you,” You confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” Van chuckles, giving you another quick kiss. “Whew, how much did you have? I feel like I took a shot just fucking kissing ya.”

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him bluntly. “Help me out of this dress.”

Van knows you’re right because he obliges, tossing your jean jacket in the vicinity of the couch before helping you undo the zipper that runs down your back. Soon your dress has fallen around your ankles, tripping you up as you step out of the puddle of fabric on your heels.

Van’s hands reach out, steadying you. “Christ,” He laughs, guiding you to the couch. “Need help getting those heels off?”

“Please,” You sigh, flopping down on the couch in your bra and underwear, extending your legs out towards Van, who gets down on his knees to be of assistance. His fingers easily undo the straps around your ankles, releasing your feet from the hazard of your heels in no time.

His fingers tuck into the waistband of your underwear next, tugging them down your thighs and depositing them on the ground before his head’s between your legs.

You sigh happily, slumping against the cushions as you pet his hair. You can’t remember the last time you were as content as you were right now; having drunk sex with your boyfriend, the person you loved and trusted most in the world.

Your entire body feels like a warm puddle of endless summers and pleasure, but suddenly a thought pierces through the fog in your brain, and you shoot upright in your seat so fast that Van pulls away in concern.

“I have to text Mary!” You remember. Your eyes search around wildly for your bag, and you can feel the air passing between your legs without Van’s mouth keeping you warm.

Van wipes his chin, making to stand up. “Well, text her,” He says, gesturing towards the bedroom door. “Then come meet me in bed.”

You stumble up from the couch, crossing the living room naked and heading into the bathroom, where you’d left your purse.

Hello???? Mary’s sent. Did you get home safe????? Are you okay?!?

Home safe, You send back. Sorry, Van showed up unexpectedly and we talked. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow!

As soon as you’ve sent it you see the typing indicator pop up. You decide to respond to one last message before catching up to Van so you two can resume your first official romp as a couple.

If you tell me you two are done I’m gonna kill you.

At her words, you grin.

Haha nope. We both realized we’re in love with each other and we’re official now. It’s a long story.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction #catb #catb fic #van mccann #van mccann fanfiction #van mccann fic #van fic

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atlafan · 4 years

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Take it Slow - Part Seventy-Three

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: smut, and FLUFF SO MUCH FLUFF I SOBBED WHILE WRITING

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

You were stressed to the max, and to top it all off you had your period. Harry’s studio opening was just a couple of days away. He was stressing too, working late getting all these little last minute touches together. You were spending all your free time promoting the opening on social media, watching the analytics, responding to comments as they came in. It was like you were working two jobs, but it was all worth it to see him happy and put him at ease for a bit. The website you designed was immaculate. Harry was incredibly impressed with what you put together.

“Babe!” He calls for you from the bedroom. You and Buster come running in.

“What is it…holy shit! What happened in here?!”

Your bedroom was in complete shambles. Harry’a clothes were all over the place. His hair was a mess from tugging at it.

“I have no idea what to wear tomorrow, and I’m freaking out!”

“Oh, Harry.”

“I mean, I feel like a suit is like too fancy, cause like, the place is going to be really chill, but I don’t want to wear jeans, even the black ones, that’s like too chill for a party, and then there’s the shirts! I have silk shirts, button ups, polos-“

“Harry, Harry!” You put your hands on his shoulders. “Please, take a deep breath.” He looks at you and sighs. “We’ll find you something to wear.”

You go through the piles of shirts first. Pants would be easy enough to pair later.

“Do you want to be covered up, or unbuttoned?”

“Think I’d be more comfortable unbuttoned, you know, so everyone can see my necklaces, and the tattoos. I really wanna look like myself.”

“Okay.”

“But like…also cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yes! I want to cool, collected.”

“Harry…you could wear a paper sack and you’d still look cool.” He smirks at you and shakes his head. “Oh! How about this one?” You hold up a black button up with white polka dots on it. “This would look really nice.”

“You think so?”

“Sure! You could dress it up with a blazer if you want for when you first get there, and then take it off later.”

“Yeah, actually, I could see that, let me grab my black suit jacket.” Harry digs it out of the pile and puts them together. “What about pants?”

“I really think your good black jeans, like the really nice pair, would look fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I know you haven’t really been doing the skinny jean thing lately, but I think if you wear that, and your beige Chelsea boots, you’d have a whole ensemble going.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” He smiles with ease. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Stop worrying, it’s going to be great. So many people are excited to come celebrate you.”

“WhaT are you goin’ to wear?”

“Not sure yet. I was thinking of my yellow dress, you know the one with the short sleeves and the open back? Know how much you like yellow.” He wraps his arms around you.

“Can we have sex?”

“M’all bloody…” You whine. “Can you put all these clothes away?”

“On it.” Harry rushes around hanging all of his things back up, and putting other pieces back in his drawers. He turns to see you walk into the bathroom. “Shower?”

“Yeah, just give me a couple minutes to like…clean up.”

After about five minutes you call for Harry. He comes in, already naked, and gets under the water.

“All set, angel?” He asks, kissing on your neck.

“Mhm.”

“M’just so stressed, need to take my mind off things.” He starts kneading your breasts. “That okay?” You nod your head yes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You wrap your arms around his neck. “Now fuck me.”

“Okay, great, You’re the best! Seriously, thanks again. We’ll see you guys soon.” You hang your phone up, and put it down on the sink counter. You put some red lipstick on and smooth out your dress. You were thankful it wasn’t a humid evening so you could wear your hair down. “Buster!” You yell as you walk out of the bedroom. He comes running to you. “Come on, we gotta go meet daddy before everyone arrives.”

You leash him up and get him down the stairs. Mariah and Isaac weren’t there yet. Harry was upstairs getting dressed in his office, He nearly spent the entire day making sure everything was perfect. You and Buster greet the waiters that had started to set up. You go upstairs and knock on his door.

“Babe, it’s us!”

He opens the door immediately and yanks you inside, closing and locking the door.

“Oh my god, you look stunning.” He smiles. “How do I look?” He turns around for you.

“Absolutely incredible.” Buster sniffs at his feet.

“Hey buddy.” He pets the top of his head. “I’m freakin’ out, Y/N, and I never freak out. Okay, I do, but not like this!”

“Harry.” You tug at his suit jacket. “Look at me. It’s going to be great. You have prints available for purchase, a ton of booklets for people to look through, and Isaac is going to be walking around with a tablet to book appointments with people. We have a geotag set up through snapchat and insta, and we have a hashtag ready to go. I’m going to be taking pictures and videos all night. Everyone here is here to su-“

He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you, smearing your lipstick. Your tongues mold together and you pull him closer to you. He lets go of you just for a second to get some air.

“Sorry, I-“

“Sit down.”

“What?”

“We have like fifteen minutes before Mariah and Isaac are going to get here. Sit down.” Harry sits in his desk chair, and you grab the throw pillow on the little couch he has in his office, putting it on the floor.

“What’s happening right now?”

“I’m going to give you something you’ve been asking for, for a long time.” You get on your knees in front of him.

“Buster, go sit on the couch.” He does as Harry says and looks away from the two of you. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. I want you to be as relaxed as possible. And I know how much you love it when my lipstick gets all of your cock.” You smirk.

You undo his pants and tug his hardening cock out. You pump it a few times, and rub your thumb over his tip. You lean forward and lick the underside of his shaft. You lick of his tip, flicking back and forth on his slit.

“Shit.” He breathes, gripping the armrests of his chair.

You suckle on his tip before taking more of him. You bob up and down slowly, and he bucks his hips up. You let him hit the back of your throat. You’re desperately hoping your eyes don’t water so your makeup doesn’t get fucked up. You swallow against him, making him grit his teeth. He’s trying so hard to be quiet, how cute. You bob up and down on him faster, hollowing your cheeks.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna come.” He feels his stomach tighten.

You groan against him as it shoots into your mouth. You take all of it, careful not to make a mess. You swallow and slowly stand up. He looks at you and tucks himself back in.

“Do you have any water?” You ask, wiping the corners of your mouth. He points to the bottle on the side table next to the couch.

You grab it and sip on some, swishing it around in your mouth before you swallow. You grab your lipstick out of your purse and touch up your mouth. Harry slowly stands up. You straighten out his clothes and smile.

“Well?”

“I feel…much better. Thank you.” He presses his forehead to yours.

“My pleasure.” You smirk. “Buster, come on, we need to go downstairs now.” He hops off the couch and goes to your side.

Harry follows you out of his office, and perks up even more when he sees all of the food and drinks set up. Mariah and Isaac just walk in as you and Harry come down the stairs.

“It looks amazing in here!” Mariah says as she gives Harry a hug.

“Let me take a picture of you three, it’ll kickstart my posts.”

The line up and all make pouty faces.

“Jesus, you all should just be models.”

“Y/N, let’s get one of you and Harry.” Isaac snatches your phone. Harry hooks an arm around your waist and you place a hand on the exposed part of his chest. “You two are so cute, it’s ridiculous.”

“When’s Rach getting here?” You ask Mariah.

“She’s coming with Niall and Sarah.” She smiles.

A little while later, the party gets started. Niall, Sarah and Rachel all walk in. They each hug Harry and Mariah and start walking around to check the space out. More and more people trickle in. Past and current clients of Harry’s. He mingles with a ton of people, nursing a glass of wine. You go around taking pictures, monitoring mentions. Erica, your mom, Bridget, and Kyle all show up to support as well.

Your eyes keep watching the door. You needed Louis and El to get here before Harry made his speech. People were starting to circle up as it was starting to be that time. Just as Mariah was starting to clink her glass, the doors fly open, catching everyone’s attention.

“Mum?! Gem?!” Harry’s eyes become glossy.

“Harry!” They both say in unison. Louis and El walk in behind them and you feel a giant wave of relief.

The three of them all run towards each other and hug. You squeeze Louis’ shoulder and smile.

“Sorry, they insisted on freshening up, and it took them way longer than we thought.”

“I tried rushin’ ‘em…but they wanted to look around the place too.”

“Of course they did.” You sigh. “It’s okay, they’re here now.”

“You two suck! You said you couldn’t make it!”

“We lied!” Gemma says. “Y/N arranged the whole thing.” Harry looks over to you. Before he can come over Mariah clinks her glass.

“So sorry to break up the family moment, but in order to enjoy the entire evening, we have to get this crap out of the way.” The crowd laughs. You were grateful you thought of microphones. You start filming Mariah for a live video. “Three years ago I started working at this great place where I got to take pictures of plants. About a month in they hired another photographer. This guy who kept to himself. Once in a while he’s laugh or even talk. We later found out he was from the U.K.” The crowd laughs. “Little did I know that not only would this guy become one of my best friends, introduce me to my girlfriend, hey babe,” Rachel blows her a kiss. “But what I really wasn’t expecting was for him to ask me to leave the comfort of my job to come work with him.” She looks at Harry. The two are glossy eyed. “Thank you for being one of the most amazing people I know. I’m honored to do be in this with you. Ladies and gentlemen, Harry Styles.”

The crowd claps as Harry hugs Mariah, and takes the mic from her.

“Thanks, Mariah. I never thought I’d need a work partner, especially since I think my way is the right way.” The crowd makes noises in agreement at Harry’s arrogance. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Anyways, I wouldn’t be able to do this without you, so thanks.” He clears his throat. “I wanna thank you all for comin’. It means a lot to be supported by so many familiar faces, and some new ones. I love taking pictures, I always have. I’ve been there during some really beautiful moments for a lot of you, and I’m excited to be able to continue doing it full time. I want to thank Isaac Matthews for also leavin’ his comfortable job.” The crowd claps for Isaac. “There’s no one else I’d trust to book appointments for me. Speakin’ of which, he’ll be goin’ around all night with that tablet he’s holdin’, so you know, don’t be shy.” He smirks. “I want to thank my friends for bein’ here tonight to support me, as always. I’m fuckin’ annoying, I don’t know why you all put up with me, but I’m grateful.” They all laugh. “Mum, Gem, this is the best surprise ever. I’m so glad you both are here. Wouldn’t have felt right without you.”

“We love you, honey!” Anne shouts.

“Lastly…” Harry looks over aT you, who was intently filming him. “Y/N.” You look up from your phone as you continue to film. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you, I mean it. I never would’ve found the guts to finally build my business up. You make me better every day.”

“Oh my god, do you think he’s going to propose?” Sarah whispers to Niall.

“No way, he wouldn’t do that tonight.”

��But her family’s here.” She points to your mom and siblings.

“No…he…has a plan. He wouldn’t…”

“Can you com here?”

You shakily pass your phone to Louis so he can keep filming the live video. Harry wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Not many people know this, but Y/N is really good at social media marketing. She planned this entire event so I could focus on renovatin’ this place. She got her dad and brother to help me out with that. She built the website so many of you have started to use, and she’s been postin’ pictures all night.” The crowd cheers for you. “Y/N, I cannot say thank you enough. You’re the love of my life, and I couldn’t feel more lucky.” He kisses you and everyone cheers. You beam at him and wipe a few tears from your eyes. “Alright, enough of that. We have prints of sale and lots of booklets to go through. So please, keep supportin’ me and spend some money.” Everyone claps and Harry hands the mic to a waiter. The crowd goes back to mingling and checking everything out. “You got my mum and sister here.”

“I got your mum and sister here.”

“You got them to lie to me.”

“I got them to lie to you.” He hugs you and kisses you again.

“You’re amazing, I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I’m so proud of you.”

“Harry?” A woman asks. “Do you take senior photos? My daughter is graduating this year, and we don’t care for the photographer the school provides.”

“Yeah! Let me show you some samples, actually.” He walks with the woman over to one of the booklets.

You go over to Louis to take your phone back.

“I stopped the livestream, but didn’t post anything.”

“Thanks! I wasn’t expecting him to do that.” You giggle. You walk away and Louis turns to Niall.

“Thought he was goin’ t’bloody propose.”

“So did I for a second there.” Niall says.

“Wait, you said he has a plan for that.” Sarah says.

“When exactly is he planning to do it?” Rachel asks.

“Girls, would you like to come with me the loo?” El asks.

“Oh sure!” Sarah says. El winks at the boys as the girls follow her to the bathroom.

“We can’t tell them what he told us. I don’t want any of it to be spoiled.” Niall says.

“Agreed.”

“Niall!” Erica says to him.

“Hey!” He gives her a light hug. “Hey guys, glad you could make it. Lou, this is Y/N’s sister Erica, her brother Kyle, her other sister Bridget, and her mum.”

They all introduce themselves to Louis.

“Thought he was going to ask her to marry him for a second there.” Your mom says.

“Yeah, that would’ve been crazy.” Louis laughs.

“They’ve been together, what? Almost ten months? He said she was the love of his life, that’s wild.” Bridget says.

“Well…not totally wild. I mean, we’ve both known Harry a long time, he’s never said that about anyone he’s ever dated.” Louis says. “And didja see how happy they were? They have this little life together.”

“Yeah, and what would know anyways?” Niall says. Both of Bridget’s eyebrows raise and Kyle nearly bursts out laughing. Erica’s jaw drops, and your mom bites the inside of her cheek. “You should be happy your baby sister is with someone that cares about her so much.”

“Especially by someone as great as that lad over there.”

“And had he proposed tonight, she would have said yes without hesitation.”

They all look at Niall and Louis.

“Mom!” You yell. “Come here, I want you to meet Anne and Gemma.” You look at your siblings. “Well, I suppose you all can.” You wave them over and they walk towards you.

The girls come back over to Niall and Louis.

“Anne, Gemma, these are my siblings and my mom.” They all introduce themselves.

“You must be so proud of your son.” You mom says.

“Oh, I am. He never ceases to amaze us.”

You leave your family to get to know Anne and Gemma so you can continue doing your thing. The night goes really well. A lot of people buy prints, and Mariah and Harry’s calendars fill up with appointments. You were exhausted, and so was Buster. Harry had to carry him out to your car for you.

“I’ll see yeh at home. Mum’s gonna ride with me, and Gem said she’d go with you.”

“Sounds good, see you soon. So proud, tonight was amazing.” You kiss and get in your cars.

“Your mum is really nice.” Gemma says.

“Oh good, they weren't rude?”

“Not at all! They were lovely. It was so nice to meet all of them. The party was amazing. I can’t thank you enough for pushing him to finally do this. He’s so happy.”

“You know what the funny thing is? I never once asked him to do it, never told him to. One day he sort of just brought it up. I supported him on it.”

“That’s all he needed. That reassurance that he could do it. And you dove right in to help. That website you built is incredible.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” You smile.

You put Buster over your shoulder and you and Gemma head up to the apartment.

“Harry…” Anne says on the ride back.

“Yeah, mum?”

“I’m so proud of you. So many people showed up for you tonight.”

“I’m still in shock. I’m really glad you were there.”

“You frightened me for a moment.”

“When?”

“When you gave your speech, and called Y/N over. My heart nearly stopped.”

“What?” He laughs. “Why?”

“I thought you were going to propose.”

“Mum…I would’ve told you if that was my plan.”

“Would you have?”

“Of course! I tell you everythin’ don’t I?” He sighs. “I am plannin’ on it though, but not for another few months.”

“Harry, you really think you’re ready for marriage?”

“Mum, I wanna spend the rest of my life with her. Why not get engaged?”

“She feels the same way?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve had that conversation?”

“Of course we have.”

“And what about children?”

“Talked about it.”

“How will you raise them? She’s Jewish, you’re not. Will you stay in the city for a few years? Move out to the suburbs? What would that mean for your business?”

“Mum, please!”

“I’m sorry honey, I just need to make sure you’ve thought these things through! This is a huge life decision!”

“Duh! And yeah we have talked about those things. We’d raise ‘em Jewish, but still have Christmas and Easter. Neither of us wanna move out of the city yet. She doesn’t even want to have kids for another couple of years anyways.”

“Good, the dog’s plenty for now.”

“I agree.”

“You really love her that much?”

“I really do, mum.”

“Alright, well not that you need it, but you have my blessin’.”

“Really?”

“Of course. She’s lovely, and I think she fits right in with us.”

“How was meetin’ her mum and siblings?”

“Oh it was great! I think her mum and I are gonna have lunch while Gem and I are here.”

You and Gemma were sipping on tea when Harry and Anne get up to the apartment.

“Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m pooped. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Yeah, mum. We’ll go to Rick’s.”

“Alright, goodnight sweet pea.” She looks at Gemma.

“I’m gonna stay up a bit, finish my tea.”

“Okay, goodnight, night Y/N.”

“Night, Anne.”

Harry plops down on the sofa next to you. Buster was in his bed fast asleep. The three of you stay up chatting for a bit until you all decide to call it a night.

“Is Aunt Flow still in town?” Harry whispers.

“No she left this morning.” You whisper back. “I can’t have sex with you. It’s one thing with friends, but your mom and sister?”

“Come on, we’ll be quiet.” You look at him. He looked so fucking good, and you were still riled up from giving him a blow job.

“Okay…in the bathroom, with the fan on.”

“Who did it, Professor Plum?”

“Harry!” You laugh and cup a hand over your mouth and shuffle into the bathroom.

He peals your dress off and it pools at your feet. He lifts you up onto the sink counter. It’s cold against you and you wince.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna warm yeh up.” He takes all his clothes off. He reaches between your legs and slowly fingers you.

“Ugh, Harry.” Your head rolls back. You loved when he did this. Deep and slow. His fingers curl up inside you. “Shit.” You moan.

“I love you so fuckin’ much.” His lips connect to yours, and he swallows your moans as he pumps in and out of you, knuckles deep.

“Harry.” You groan. “I love you too.” You press your forehead to his shoulder. “Please, fuck me with your cock.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, and pumps himself a few times before lining up with you. He pulls you closer and thrusts into you. You wrap your legs around him and your arms go up under his so you can grip his back easier. He rocks in and out of you. His teeth sink into your shoulder so he won’t be too loud. One of his hands moves between the two of you so he can rub your clit.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

Harry crashes his mouth to yours. You knew you needed to be quiet and this was the only way to do it. You panted into his mouth and bite harshly on his bottom lip when you come. Once you catch your breath you bury your face in his neck. He fucks you hard and fast until he’s filling you up. You both stay there for a second, just holding each other. He pulls out and helps you down. You use the toilet while he brushes his teeth. You wash your face and brush your own teeth.

You both crawl into bed. He rests his head on your chest and you play with his hair.

“My mum said she’s going to have lunch with your mum sometime this week.”

“Wonderful.”

Harry looks up at you. You kiss each other again and he lays back down. The party was perfect. You knew Harry would start to get busier than ever. But right now, he was in your arms. Right now you were engulfed with each other. Right now, nothing else mattered.

#take it slow #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut fic #sorry its so late #its a good one fam

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Worthy

One-Shot

Description: What happens when Steve goes to collect the Soul Stone instead of Natasha and Clint?

Warning: Curse words, spoilers for Avengers Endgame

This is for the awesome, caring and super-talented @jtargaryen18 's writing challenge. She eased my mind about the plot. Thank you 😘 Click here to know the rules and participate!

Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

...

Who was he? Steve Rogers? Or Captain America? Are they both different people? Or are they two sides of the same coin?

Steve wondered as he gazed down the cliff at Vormir, home to the Soul Stone.

When he had first arrived alone on the barren planet, he had been shocked and angry to see Red Skull guarding the infinity stone. To think that he went under the ice all those years ago stood for nothing. To have lost his life, his partner, his best friend and for what? Hydra was still active, the world was still suffering from war and now Red Skull was still alive, floating in space.

But as he understood Red Skull's predicament, Steve realised that while he himself was a man out of time, Red Skull was stuck here in his miserable existence till the end of time, out of place, out of touch. That brought him some satisfaction.

He was glad they had decided to send Natasha and Clint with Tony, Bruce and Scott to 2012. There was just too much ground to cover with 3 infinity stones in the same city. It made sense to have more eyes on the ground.

There was no way Steve would sacrifice anybody from his team for the stone. They had lost too many lives already. And if they were successful, then they would need all hands on deck to manage the chaos that would follow once everybody was brought back.

Steve sat on a rock and pulled out his compass. He sighed as he saw Peggy, "What do you think Peg?" he murmured, lightly running his thumb over the photograph.

After a few minutes, he clicked a button on the rim and the compass flipped open, revealing the hidden compartment beneath. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from within. It was as old and worn-out as Peggy's photograph. He closed the compass and looked at the other image. A black and white Bucky laughed back at him while at his side, a thin, scrawny Steve was looking scornfully at the camera, his face bruised. Steve chuckled as he remembered the day this photograph was taken. He had gotten into another one of his infamous back-alley fights. Some drunken idiot had punched Bucky because he had been flaunting his Sergeant's uniform at the bar amongst the ladies. While Bucky could have easily mopped the floor with the guy, Steve had decided to step in and push the drunken idiot. Then, as it always happened, Steve was dragged into the back-alley to be turned into a punching bag, with Bucky finally saving his skinny ass.

This photograph was taken later that night, with Bucky laughing at the whole incident.

The cold Vormir wind brought Steve back to the present. Ever since he could remember, he wanted to do the right thing, save the innocent people and just help those who needed it the most.

While the asthmatic 90-pound Steve Rogers couldn't do that, the 240-pound Captain America was able to do that and much more.

That's why he loved being Captain America. He could finally do what he had always wanted to do. It didn't matter whether the Government labelled him as a criminal or whether the press questioned his every move. He was able to help people, change lives for the better and protect the little guy. Isn't that what mattered?

He opened the compass again. Looking at both the photographs, he whispered, "Thank you."

He picked up his shield and faced the cliff.

"What are you doing?" asked Red Skull, as if guessing his next move, "How do you know this will work? You are Captain America," he declared.

Steve looked at him, his mouth turned into a smirk, "How would I know? I am just a kid from Brooklyn," and with that, Captain America jumped into the abyss below.

…

Steve's entire body was shivering with cold as he lay in the water. With his teeth clattering, he barely managed to sit upright. He started breathing rapidly as he took in his surroundings. He was still on Vormir. As he tried to get up, he realised two things. One, he was completely naked except for his time travel bracelet and vibranium shield, and two, he was holding something in his right hand. He opened his palm to look at the yellow Soul Stone. Almost laughing in relief, Steve looked down at himself. He saw he had the same scrawny body as the Steve in the old photograph. Shivering further with cold, he pressed a few buttons on his bracelet.

…

One by one as the Avengers returned to the compound, they looked around excitedly at their peers, relieved to find them safe. Steve was the last one to return. His knees buckled as soon as he landed. Hiding his naked bony body behind the shield, he threw up on the floor, his body not able to handle the stress of the quantum time-travel.

"Oh my God who is that?!" Scott exclaimed as Tony, Natasha and Clint stepped tentatively towards Steve. As his body convulsed with pain, he held up the stone towards them. The second Nat took the stone, Steve collapsed.

…

Steve woke up two days later on a hospital bed.

"We are trying our best to keep your bodily functions from collapsing onto themselves. You should be thankful that we have medicines to treat most of your ailments. What were you thinking?" Tony spat with frustration.

Steve saw large swollen bags under Tony's red eyes. Steve was willing to bet that Tony hadn't slept ever since his return. He smiled, "It had to be done Tony," said Steve, his voice flat, having lost its 'Captain America depthness'.

"What happened on Vormir?" asked Natasha gently. Steve tried to sit, "The stone demanded a sacrifice. A soul for the soul stone. So I sacrificed him."

"Yeah and left us without a leader. What are we supposed to do now? You are meant to rally the troops. You are meant to lead. How do you think you will do that if you need an asthma inhaler every time you try to take a walk around the compound?" Tony voiced his concerns. "Tony, calm down. Shhh now," Thor said from his chair.

"You look like you need a sandwich," Rocket commented, seated besides Thor.

"Your vitals look good Cap... ahem I-I mean Steve," Bruce flustered while checking Steve's reports.

"Captain America was never about one person. It is about what the title stands for; Bravery to face any challenge, Courage to stand up against the greatest powers for the right reason and Having a clear sense of duty, of what's right and wrong. Captain America can be anyone," Steve said, pointedly staring at Natasha.

He turned to look at the shield placed by his bedside table. Carefully, he picked it up with a bit of struggle and held it out for her.

"I can't think of a better person to lead us," Steve said decidedly. Wide-eyed, Natasha looked at him with bewilderment. "No Steve. I am a spy. I am not a soldier. I cannot be trusted with…"

"You are not a spy. Not anymore. You have been leading the Avengers not just on earth, but across the galaxy, especially when most of us had given up. You are right though. You are not a soldier. You are a leader, Captain."

Natasha looked at Steve, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice almost breaking "I have too much red on my ledger Steve."

"You wiped that ledger when you joined the Avengers Nat. You deserve this," Clint supported her.

As Natasha took the shield and tried it on, Tony asked her, "We will have to render your suit. Do you want black with Red, White and Blue?" Natasha nodded. As Tony left, Natasha mouthed the words, "Thank you," towards Steve as he brushed it off.

"Have we brought everybody back yet?" Steve asked.

"No. We are just finishing the gauntlet. It should be ready by tomorrow," Banner said.

Clint looked at Natasha proudly. "We have a female Captain America now."

"No," Steve said. He grinned at Natasha, "We have a Captain America now."

…

2014 Nebula kept her attention at Antman near the Quantum Time Machine. In the last two days there had been a lot of activity in the compound thanks to Steve's return. It would have served as a good distraction, but unfortunately, there were people working around the time machine. She was itching to bring her father and his army to this future. However, for that, she would need to have patience. A lot of patience. They were planning to undo the snap tomorrow, that's when she planned to strike. She cannot afford to fail her father. She must not.

…

"All the best guys," said Steve as he sat in the car, ready to leave the compound. There was going to be a tremendous blast of gamma radiation from the snap. Steve understood that he might not survive the blast and instead, had offered to bring falafels from the nearby restaurant for lunch.

He reached the modest Middle Eastern eatery. Only two tables were occupied when he placed his large order to go. The server looked at him in suspicion. He doubted whether Steve would be able to carry all the packages by himself. Still, he shrugged, large orders such as these were a boon in the post-snap world.

After 5 minutes, the restaurant shook with a wave of energy blast. Steve fell down from his chair with the impact. As he got up, brushing himself off, he saw black dust materialising in front of him. He looked on as the dust came together to form a person, a man. Steve noticed this happening all around the restaurant. Within a span of a few minutes, the entire restaurant was filled to capacity, with more people appearing on the sidewalk.

He heard terrified screams of people around him. Then guns were fired into the air. Steve turned, trying to determine the source of the violence, when he felt the ground shake.

"EARTHQUAKE!" someone screamed and they all tried to take cover, mostly bumping into one another. There was a loud deafening sound of a missile exploding, then another 4-5 such sounds in rapid succession as the ground shook relentlessly with the impact of the missiles.

Shit, Steve thought. Who would be attacking them now?

A few moments later, when everything went quiet, Steve stepped out of the restaurant and looked in the direction of the Avengers Compound. He could see dark smoke rising into the sky, with a huge spaceship eclipsing the sun. Thanos.

Without a second thought, Steve entered the car. "F.R.I.D.A.Y," he commanded, "Take me to the compound right now." "There has been an attack Mr Rogers, I am not sure if…" the AI tried to reason with him, but Steve interrupted, "Now!" "Yes Mr Rogers," she said in resignation.

…

He reached as close to the compound as the car could take him. The debris of the buildings and the gaping holes in the ground preventing the car from going any further. Steve stepped down, and started making his way to the centre of the ground.

As he used his asthma inhaler, he realised Tony was right. If he couldn't even walk this much without needing his inhaler, how can he help them?

When Steve reached the centre, his heart broke at the scene before him. Tony was lying on the ground having sustained multiple injuries. Natasha was trying to get up, her arms and legs badly cut. Thor was fighting with Thanos, but it seemed that was a losing battle as well. Steve couldn't just give up. He never had.

Looking around him at the ground, he saw a big piece of concrete. Lifting it, he tried to throw out with all his strength, but the concrete didn't even fall within 10 yards of Thanos. His eyes then went to Thor's Mjolnir on the ground. He still had to try right?

He rushed towards the hammer and pulled on its handle, Mjolnir feeling surprisingly light in his hands. He aimed and swung for the ugly purple head. With Mjolnir hitting the mark, the hammer dutifully came back to Steve.

"I KNEW IT!" exclaimed Thor, his reaction earning him a kick from Thanos.

Thanos's surprise was short-lived. He charged towards the little guy. Steve threw the hammer again but Thanos easily deflected it with his double-edged sword.

Before he could reach Steve, Natasha attacked Thanos, diverting his attention. "F.R.I.D.A.Y," she screamed, "get Steve a sandwich."

This isn't the time for a joke, Steve thought as he summoned the hammer and threw it at Thanos again.

Thanos threw Natasha to the ground and headed for Steve. A back-handed smack sent Steve flying in the air. He wouldn't have survived the fall, if it hadn't been for the S.A.N.D.W.H.I.C.H.H- an iron-man suit in the darkest shade of blue. The suit wrapped itself around Steve as it broke his fall. "Welcome Mr Rogers," greeted F.R.I.D.A.Y, "Do you like your new suit? It stands for

S - Steve

A - Always

N - Needs

D - Dangerous

W - Weapons

I - In-order-to

C - Cover

H - His

H - Homies"

Steve was still panting from the impact of the smack as he lay on the ground in the suit. "Not one of Tony's best acronyms," he managed to say between breaths. "Yeah," agreed the AI, "but he only put this together last night."

Steve struggled to get up again. He heard Thanos mumble something, but he couldn't care less. He stumbled in the new suit, barely being able to walk towards the giant alien, but still, willing to fight till his last breath. Just then, the microphone in his suit crackled a bit, "C-Cap, you ther--re?" He heard Sam's voice…

…

Steve couldn't believe it. The entire universe had come to fight with Thanos. He looked at humans and aliens alike, pissed off and ready to face the biggest threat to the universe. He managed to make it to the front of the line besides Thor, summoning the Mjolnir.

Natasha smiled at the army behind her, then turned to look at Thanos with a deadly stare.

She raised her shield as she called out to the warriors, her voice bellowing on the battlefield, "AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE!"

#steve rogers #captain america #avengers #Natasha #black widow #Hulk #hawk eye #iron man #rocket #Thor #infinity stones #soul stone #tony stark #bruce banner #avengers assemble #30daysofchris2020 #30 days of chris 2020

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rubbrfrk9 · 5 years

Photo

REBORN

I HAD A NAME. I used to be somebody.

I had a profession, dignity, a position in the class structure.

Nowadays, I see through a cracked lens - society is broken, and the people participating in it are all prisoners. The people you see shuffling in the great to and from, every morning, every evening - they’re miserable. Ask any one of them if they wouldn’t leave their life, and - perhaps after some hesitation - they would say Yes.

Even the ones who have kids - the ones in love - all of them. In fact, those with ties to other people are the first ones to get in line.

For me, it was curiosity that opened the door. If one follows the classic Hero’s Journey, the arc that every myth and story takes, I heard the Call - just like you - through a buzzing, pixelated source… the great and sordid world of the internet.

One wrong step can put you on an entirely different path.

When you look back, the path you were on is obscured by the surrounding environs - pressed firmly closed, as though no thing had ever once passed through.

I should introduce myself before I preach anymore. I am rubbrfrk9. You’ve read the stories on the website, you might’ve seen my name watermarked on pics as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.

That hasn’t been our name always. But what our name was before does not matter.

All hail the Rubbered One!

And if you’re reading this, then you’re as curious as I was.

Do you dare follow your own Call?

If you do, keep reading.

THE CALL COMES FOR YOU. You don’t come for it. The Call has been there, waiting, for you to pick up the other end, for as long as you’ve been alive.

Like I was saying, for me, it was curiosity. It seems like it is for you, too.

I was always a curious guy. It’s how I became a teacher, I guess. I loved to learn about shit. Endless amounts of shit. The subjects that interested me were sucked dry by my voracious need to know. On top of it all, I was cursed (blessed?) by a need to collect, a completionist’s frenzy, and so I found myself needing not just to know, but to know it all.

Everything. A question could not go unanswered. I was a very vocal kid, always asking the dread “Why?” to anyone who had the faculty to answer. Of course, I learned quickly that faculty does not imply ability; and later still, that ability does not imply honesty. Soon enough, I started shutting up and consulting other avenues of information - books. I loved books. I read anything I could find, from my mother’s tawdry romances on the back of the toilet to magazines at the doctor’s office - but my preferred genre was Horror, without a doubt.

I loved to read stories of unfortunate people, blind to their predicament, be lulled to the predator in the story. I loved how the protagonists were slowly overcome by a sense of dawning knowledge, and were thus able to conquer - or not - the abiding horror. The best ones were when the hero failed, in my opinion - those dark, twisted passages of despair and helplessness …

I was a weird kid.

I didn’t have very much luck making friends. I didn’t really understand what a “friend” should be. I knew that it was some sort of social construct, but I hadn’t figured out how it worked yet. Taking the time to do that analysis set me back, quite substantially, in the invisible school of society. Maybe, at heart, I was always a bit of a freak, even before I came out.

Funny to think of that, now, sitting here, writing from behind my gas mask and full rubber suit.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I love how tightly it encases me. How tightly it erases me.

Slowly, now. Don’t give up too quick. Finish the story first.

As I was saying. Curiosity. After college, I became a teacher. A professor. Very highly regarded in my field, but poor with social interactions. Dates? Of a professional courtesy, only, and as awkward and dry as a lecture. Actually, for me, lecturing was my second home, aside from my tidy and obsessively-ordered apartment. I loved standing at the podium, talking about the books we read together. How they are structured, and how events, following a certain chain, can be transformative.

Although sometimes, horrific.

Life that is contained entirely within the snowglobe of acadæmia becomes brittle, after a time. Even the most relentlessly anti-social of us have a heartbeat, a pulse, and a sexual drive.

Most sexual drives will tend towards the obligatory, the procreational. Attractiveness, physicality, congruence, intercourse, and then the subsequent emotional tangle. Sex is more than just a body meeting a body a-comin’ thru the rye - it is a rendezvous of energy, some of which we can’t even begin to understand.

Some kind of cosmic interplay happens during sex.

Something so bright, so chimeric, that I was blinded just thinking about it.

I fled from it, like a medieval monk from a vision of God.

SPARE TIME. I spent most of my time in my apartment in my bedroom, perched with my skinny knees up, my face obliterated by the powder-white light of my phone. I’d scroll endlessly. And always pictures of men.

I’d known I was gay way before most people do, but I’d never bothered to “come out” or anything that obvious. I just kept my feelings to myself, for as long as I could - which may not have been the healthiest thing to do, in hindsight, and when they finally vibrated at the seal on the pressure gauge, I spewed it out all over the internet.

Tumblr was my outlet. You could find something for every kink, from men transforming into donkeys to using politics as a sexual tool. I considered myself omnisexual. I could be convinced, really, to like anything. Except a few things.

I never really got into the big “full fetish” scene. I’d, of course, seen the pictures go by - of Folsom, Folsom Europe, even some kinksters trying to make a name for themselves, become influencers, with pictures so heavily edited and filtered they almost looked fake.

But for me, my kink was - get this - intimacy. I loved pictures of men, beautiful men, kissing, embracing. Tangling together, with bliss inscribed on their faces. And it was that expression that did it for me - the bliss, the complete and total walling-off of any worldly concern but the physical, the presence of another’s lips, breath, proximity -

It got me off, every time. Imagining myself in those positions. Wearing those clothes. Caught up in those bedsheets.

Then, I’d stare into the mirror, and flex my coming-along biceps. My quads. I’d get dressed for the gym, and I’d go work out for an hour.

I loved my routine, even if I felt the dreary recalcitrance to wake up every morning and head to work, just another body with the other bodies, shuffling to and from. The night time is when I felt the surge of life - I would be free of the grimy shackles of the city, I would pound through the tumblr feed, I would shower, I would go workout.

Life was half-bliss.

But as anyone who has half of bliss will tell you, it is never enough. You must go searching for the second half of bliss - and I found mine on the night in question.

Knees up, one foot tapping a heel in idle, anxious rhythm. Eyes greedily consuming, picture after picture, and then -

My thumb hovered over the screen as if about to lay a fingerprint down on a reader. I stared.

The picture, my gateway, was a bedroom picture much like any other I saw in my daily feed, except for one crucial ingredient - one of the men was entirely encased, from head to toe, in shiny black rubber.

The rubber was so shiny, so depthless, so reflective, that it almost seemed as though its host was Not - as though there were some kind of blotting-out, erasing, blankening … And yet, this Not Person was being encircled by the arms of another man, a strong man, by the looks of it, his biceps bulging around the Rubbered One.

Even now, looking back on it, I find it insanely difficult to pry my eyes away from the memory of that reflective rubber. That shiny, reflective black rubber. And the detail! I could see the hollows of the eyes, the imprint of the big toenail, the curls of the ears down to the tragus - it was truly as though this was not a suit being worn, this was a suit that was animated, had breath and energy of its own.

Perhaps it was, in hindsight, seducing the man which embraced it.

I don’t know how long I stared at the picture. A long time. I was fascinated with everything about it - the mess of clothing on the side of the bed, socks and shirts strewn around, as if someone had melted and left only their garments as markers that they ever existed at all. Even a pair of glasses lay askew on the carpet, next to a pair of jeans and Chucks.

If I listened, I could almost hear my own heartbeat, beating in time with the glints of light off of that rubber surface, as though the Rubbered One were moving, in infinitesimally small increments, writhing on the bed in either pleasure or agony -

I blinked, shook my head, and pressed down deliberately on the screen, for the little “Save Image” dialog to appear. I needed to see that again, sometime.

It was a lot sooner than I thought.

I had to excuse myself from my lecture. I was shaking, and my breath was wobbly in my mouth. Words had come out gummily, and I was worried that someone would be convinced I was having a stroke. I’d send in a TA to finish off the lecture, not that anyone in the darkened hall was paying attention anyway.

I went into the nearest bathroom, a single-room lavatory, and sat down hard on the toilet. Instantly, my hands fished out my phone from my pocket and called up my Photos.

There, on the top of the digital heap, was the faraway glisten and shine of the Rubbered One. I sighed in relief, in pleasure.

You would too, if you’d seen the picture. Don’t judge me.

A whisper of triumph, of pleasure, of satisfaction, threaded through my mind as I opened up the picture. There it was again. That endlessness, that Void, that Nothing. I craved it, and I didn’t know why, and I needed to know why, and to know why, I needed to keep looking. I needed to keep looking to stop looking.

The Rubbered One had moved. I remember its legs being in a different scissor - left on top of right, and now it was right, on top of left.

This did not frighten me. Perhaps it should have. Pictures are not supposed to move.

But in my addled state of mind, I was blissfully unaware of the warning - or even, really, of the thought itself. It slid right out of my head, as if on a glossy sheet of black ice. I smiled, warmly, the shuddering ceasing.

Then, surprising even myself, I unzipped my pants, and hauled out my cock.

Nothing would stop me. I was a man determined. I could even smell the rubber, could feel it lifting, wafting out of the screen of my phone. That smell, that smell that I have no words for - something utterly inorganic, but somehow seductive for that very reason.

I jerked off, right there, in the bathroom around the corner from the lecture hall. I sat so still, my hand doing all the work, that the motion-sensing lights clicked off, leaving me alone, lit only by the powdery light of my phone. There, in the enclosing, mummifying dark, I jerked myself off and came with a jagged, oblique moan that slid out of me, catching me by surprise.

I may have even been in such a hurry to get inside that I didn’t even lock the bathroom door. This suspicion came to me as I exited, stuffing myself shakily back into my khakis and my blazer. You see, the door had opened seamlessly, with no hint of a lock dis-engaging.

In fact, the momentary thrill of being caught as I masturbated to the Rubbered One flicked a little shiver of pleasure up my shaft anew, and I started shuddering so much that I had to grab the wall for fear of falling over.

All hail the Rubbered One!

There was no way I could go back to my lecture now. I fled the campus for the safety of a local coffeehouse.

OTHER THINGS STARTED HAPPENING. Like how I thought I was having a stroke, before? I found that, when I spoke, my mouth felt oddly compressed, as though I had lockjaw. I went to the doctor, but when they told me to “open wide and say ahhh” I had no trouble - my jaw, seemingly re-oiled, complacently opened its full width, and I made the obligatory noise.

Nothing wrong with my temporo-mandibular joint, advised the healthcare professional.

And yet, as soon as I left the office, trying to speak to the Uber driver, to give him directions to my apartment, the same muffling, mysterious pressure returned, and I was only able to speak in tight, restrained tones.

It didn’t occur to me until much, much later, that this was the voice of someone wearing a rubber gas mask, much like the one I am wearing now.

After awhile, I stopped talking altogether. Of course, this did make it rather difficult to be a professor, and so that had to stop, too.

But what does a mute member of society do, when the one thing they have in life is a degree in English Literature?

Well, the first step is despondency, and denial. I spent a month at least, just searching tumblr for more pictures of the Rubbered One. Sure, there were plenty of pictures - the fetish for rubber has never been a subtle one - but none of them had that same irresistable sheen and shine, that fathomless Void, of the Rubbered One. I’d exhausted most of the blogs. I kept returning to the photograph I had saved to my cloud - and jerking off to it, again and again, like a desperate man. Like a junkie. If I went without, or even thought about going out, my hand developed such a tremor that I looked afflicted with tardive dyskinesia.

It got so bad, and the attacks so frequent, that I eventually just made the picture my home screen on my phone. That way, if the tremors started, a quick pocket-dig and finger-flip would open up the likeness of the Rubbered One, and instantly, I would calm.

And (he? It?) continued to move. Perhaps, now that (he? It?) knew that I had noticed the movement, it happened more and more, and faster, as though I were watching a video rather than a photograph.

Now, in addition to the slow, sensual scissoring of its legs, the Rubbered One was turning its head, away from the suckling devotion of its prey and turning to look at me, choosing me, directing its energy towards me.

I already had my rubber in the mail. It took some doing, some difficult work, some self-measuring, but before long the order was placed and the shipment was made. It was, of course, a link that I’d seen on tumblr, from one of the many rubber fetish sites. Drone, and a series of numbers, I think. One of the ones that’s talking about being absorbed into a Hivemind, a Central Core. Nothing that ever really appealed to me.

The only thing I wished to absorb into was the Rubbered One.

I ached, yearned, to be the man in that picture. I was even jealous of him. Who was he to show his devotion to such a being, such a beautiful entity? Would not I be a better candidate for the first apostle position?

But I knew, somehow, deep inside, that I wouldn’t even be considered until I had donned my own rubber.

Here’s where it gets a little weird, right - this is usually the point when in the story, the protagonist gets a little real, sizes himself up, maybe learns something about themselves. Call me crazy, I know, but at this point, I just knew on the inside, so strongly, that I would never be worthy of the Rubbered One if I wasn’t Rubbered myself.

And so I waited, agonizingly, nearly tearing my hair out, for the package to inch itself across the ocean to my apartment mailbox. I’d ordered the full suit, of course, the one that most closely approximated my photograph.

I was utterly consumed, I was ablaze with obsession. For the first time in my life, I felt an utterly overwhelming feeling - a lack. I felt as though I lacked something that I had had for just a moment - one sweet moment, hovering, crystalline - and now that I no longer had it, I could never live a whole life again.

And everywhere I went - watching with a hawk’s eye the slow drainage of funds from my bank account - I smelled it. Rubber. There was even an auto repair shop, blockaded on one side with piles and piles of tires - I altered my daily neighborhood walk so that I could slowly amble by it, inhaling the thick, gray smell. The more of it I could get on me, the more I wanted. If there were a cologne that smelled of rubber, I’d wear it - hell, I’d bathe in it! I twitched for it to be near me, on me, inside of me.

THE DAY MY NEW FACE CAME IN THE MAIL. I was wearing rubber gloves, made for chemical and construction workers, pressing them to my face, and inhaling as deeply as I could, when my phone made its little ringing noise to signify that a package was Delivered.

It could only be one thing.

It would only be a matter of moments before I could prostrate myself in front of the Rubbered One.

I hooked up my laptop to my flat-screen television, where the Rubbered One had also become my desktop wallpaper. I opened up the picture file and let it sit, in the middle of my living room, the picture of Him.

Again, I fell far into His Nothingness, His All-Consuming Void - He turned on the bed, in the picture. He silently got up. He moved so subtly that it was impossible to tell if my hallucination was real, or some sort of digital magic. He kicked, as if insulting, the pile of clothes left by the bedside.

The whole time, He kept his head, His black eyes, His shiny face, impassive and monstrous, but so aloof, so superior - His direct gaze - riveted on mine.

All hail the Rubbered One!

With barely a shimmer, He stepped out of the frame of my television and deliberately into my living room. Tendrils of black squirmed out around the square of my screen, lashing to and fro idly, almost amusedly.

None of this seemed unreal, or even fantastical. It was simply as it was - I was in a sort of ecstasy, like the kind the saints have, all-consumed, raptured. The Rubbered One had chosen me!

Go, He told me without speaking.

I was on my feet, I was sprinting, I was dashing, my hands, still in their gloves, slippery on the door knob. I was down the stairs before I realized I was barefoot, or that I was still wearing the heavy-duty black rubber gloves. And there it was - my Rubber. It was, of course, still in the box, it needed to be freed -

I cradled it in my arms. I inhaled, as deeply as possible, again. I could smell it, whining at the edges of my nostrils, begging to be freed. I felt it, inside its cardboard prison, shifting and rustling. Whispering.

I brought it upstairs with as much care as a mother would bring home her day-old newborn, but once inside, slamming the door behind me, I pillaged the drawers for the scissors, tearing into the box that would dare imprison my -

And there it was. Still in a sad, folded-up heap, but it was mine.

Now, said His voice in my head. I didn’t have to turn around to know that He, the Rubbered One, was standing behind me - had moved silently from the living room to the kitchen. I felt Him questing at the edges of my consciousness, starting the interview process.

I felt a strange mix of craven desire and hot-blooded lust twist through me. How I wished to possess the Rubbered One! And how I wished to be possessed by Him!

I began to don my Rubber. I felt it coo as it met my skin, as I replaced my own with its black sheen. I saw my toes go, then the top of my foot - ankles, calves and shinbones, kneecaps and thighs - I watched as the black tide continued its creep up my body, as quickly as night follows dusk.

The Rubbered One put His hands on me and I was nothing, I was everything. I was part of a gigantic, moaning chorus of voices, I was absolute silence.

I saw Him reach out to me, his Nothing fingers and Nothing hands, his Void arms, his Void body. I saw Him pull my self to His, and I felt us as we docked, somehow, for an imposssible moment, sharing the same physical space.

Then, with a sound that reminded me of a slurp and a sucking, closing noise, I was no more.

RUBBERBORN. I ceased to exist as I knew myself.

I had a name.

I wasn’t much of somebody, but I was somebody.

Now, I was part of a growing, aching consciousness - I was part of a vast, growing hunger. My thoughts were no longer my own.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I buzzed and chirred, excited beyond words. I was ramrod hard, even in the rubber, which smoothed everything away, everything - all emotion, all thought, all nerve, all worry. All features of my face - gone. All features of my body - slurped up.

I stood in front of the mirror. All sign of the Rubbered One was vanished. I could see, somehow, through my suit, though it had no eyeholes.

I saw through Rubber eyes.

I understood that I was Rubberborn. That this was my destiny.

The words “my” and “me” and “I” and “mine” were erased, scratched out heavily. I was plural, now.

We were plural.

We stand in front of the mirror, staring at ourselves, our new body. A mere morsel in the face of our hunger.

Do you feel it?

As our eyes swivel slowly, tracking across the room, away from the mirror. Looking into the camera lens backwards. Do you feel the chilly fingers of our gaze landing on you as you read? Playing along your bare shoulders, the pliable, delicate skin of your arms?

The Rubberborn understand and acknowledge that this body can be used for purposes that satisfy the hunger.

They gave it the name rubbrfrk9. The name you know, the author of these stories you read, curious in your own way to know how the rubber feels. The same name you’ve seen watermarked on pics of us as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.

Or maybe you already know - maybe you’ve already felt the ecstasy, struggling into your own shirt or pants. Gloves or socks. Mask or hood.

Perhaps all of the above.

Perhaps the voice of the Rubbered One is even now mingling with your own thoughts. Sinuous, twisty, shiny and smooth. Silken whispers, just an undercurrent of sibilant breath in the background, there. If you strain, you can make it out. Can hear our voices.

We can sense you.

We know.

We are coming.

Say it with us now: All hail the Rubbered One!

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j-graysonlibrary · 1 year

Text

Fort Heaven Chapter 32

Title: Fort Heaven

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 69K

Genres: Suspense, investigative, drama, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: Some call it a hoax. Others claim it’s a cult. But, to Evon and his friend Yasmine, two online journalists, Fort Heaven is the subject of their latest story. Along for the assignment is cameraman and not-so-secret crush of Evon’s: Russet. With a drunken, murky night in their recent history, things are especially tense between them but, of course, personal matters take a backseat when the interviews start. The trio speaks to ex-members of Fort Heaven and, while some of the accounts are shocking, the job remains just that: A job. That is until one of the women they interviewed, along with her daughter, goes missing. It soon becomes clear that not only is Fort Heaven a real threat but Evon and his friends are being watched. And what started as a simple cash-grab article is now a matter of life and death.

Full chapter 32 under the cut

Chapter 32

Everything was blurry and inconsistent—much like a dream where the dreamer drifts in and out of consciousness. And while the benefits of everything having been a dream were far greater than the drawbacks, Evon knew it had to have been real when he was met with his sister in his arms.

There was no telling how much time had passed since they had collectively arrived at a hospital but he knew it would have taken at least two hours for Trinity to get anywhere close to the camp from his house. So he knew it had to have been at least three hours since the cops and EMTs came but there was a good chance it had been much longer.

All he knew for sure was that he couldn’t see very well, there was a numb feeling pulsing throughout his entire body, and he could hear Trinity’s cries.

Her arms were around his middle and her shoulders shook while she let out sobs of relief and joy. Evon felt slightly guilty when he realized that he hadn’t thought of her in the past few days or how their disappearance must have worried her.

“…’m sorry,” he finally mumbled, getting her attention.

Trinity’s head snapped up and, while Evon’s vision was still blurry, he could see that her eyes were red. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Evon, oh my god…Evon…what happened…?”

He took a long, even breath. “A lot…too much to say…”

His sister wiped the corners of her eyes with a little more force than necessary. “I heard Russet was in surgery…and I haven’t heard anything about Yasmine. You’re the only one they let me come see…”

“Russet…” Evon whispered before he felt a jolt of adrenaline. “Surgery? Did you hear anything else? Like how long he’s been under or what’s going on?”

Trinity shook her head. “That’s all I heard. Do you know of anything that could have happened to make them take him to the operation room?”

“His fingers, maybe…,” he mumbled. Would they operate on him for that or was there something else—something more serious that he didn’t know about?

“Fingers?” she repeated.

“Some of his fingers were severed…” When he met his sister’s eyes, he continued, “He saved me and Yasmine. He took the blame for everything and they took him away and…I don’t even know what all happened.”

“Jesus.” Trinity hung her head. “These bastards had better get what they deserve…death isn’t good enough…”

Before Evon could say anything else, one of the nurses walked into the room. “Hello again, Mr. Sparks. If you are feeling more aware then the officers outside would like to get more information.”

He and Trinity exchanged glances. After a second, she squeezed his hand and then stood up. “I’ll wait in the lounge,” she said with a small smile.

“Looks like we can reduce your medicine just a smidge,” the nurse spoke in a low voice but not quite a whisper. “Are you feeling any better?”

Evon glanced up at her for a second before sighing. “I’m not sure. I’d feel better if I knew how everyone else is doing…”

The woman smiled as she fiddled with a few of the devices at his bedside. “I can’t tell you all the details but I promise that they’re all okay.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

***

There was no telling when they would all get to leave. Russet looked down at his hand that was covered completely in bandages. The cocktail of medicines flowing through him helped some with the incessant pain he’d been suffering through but they also made him feel like he was drifting away from his body.

He’d have to try hard to focus and then a random pain would stab at him. Then, when he let his focus go, it would feel like being full of helium and bumping into the ceiling, unable to get back down.

Like all of them, he wasn’t sure how long it had been since they showed up either. But, besides Evon, Jackson was the only person he was genuinely worried about. The man had taken a bullet in the chest. He already had a weak composition—there was no telling if he would make it.

And that made him worry for Yasmine.

It wasn’t clear what had really happened between them but it was obvious to everyone that they were both very important to each other.

He wondered if that was how people felt when they looked at him and Evon. The thought was both frustrating and amusing…and it gave him an idea.

When his most prominent nurse came to check on him, he spoke up.

“Hey, could you do me a favor?” Russet asked, getting the young man’s attention.

“…Sure? Though it depends on what it is, actually.”

With a soft chuckle, he tapped the table attached to his bed rails. There was a folded piece of paper on the surface. “This. Can you take it to Evon Sparks? I know we’re not allowed to get up and see each other yet so this is kind of important to me.”

The man’s face lit up—no doubt sensing the underlying feeling in his voice. “Of course. I’ll get right on it.”

He picked up the letter and walked out of the door. Just a few rooms down was Evon’s so the nurse made it in front of his room in a matter of seconds. He did have to move out of the way for the police officers exiting the room but quickly slipped in afterward.

“Evon?” The nurse inquired—just to make sure.

“That’s me,” Evon answered, wondering what this could be about.

“I was asked to deliver this to you.”

He didn’t have time to question it. In a flash, a piece of paper was in his hands and the nurse was gone. It was almost funny, he thought.

Instead, he turned his attention to the paper. It was folded in thirds and had his name on the outside. The letters, he knew, were written by Russet. His mind still wasn’t back to normal but he could read.

“Hey, Evon…

Being confined to a room by myself has given me a lot of time to think. And I’m referring to both the interrogation chambers and the hospital room. I’ve been left with just my mind to keep me company for a while now and I’ve thought a lot. About me, my life, my loved ones.

Like you.

I’ll be honest, I thought about you a lot. Probably 75% of the time.

Things have been out of control for a while and I’ve felt a lot of good moments pass us by but that doesn’t mean there won’t be more to come. I mean…we’ve been having moments like that since we knew each other, right? But I was worried you would see this as being ‘too late’ or ‘not the right time’.

I have to tell you though—I have to tell you that I’ve always liked being around you even when I said you were an annoying brat—I have to tell you that these past months have been the most chaotic but most treasured months I’ve had with you. I have to tell you that I’ve felt it for a long time but being with you so much has made me realize or, rather, admit to myself that I love you.

Whether you still feel the same is something you’ll have to tell me in person but, please, if you do have any feelings for me…if you still have that childhood crush on me then I would really like it if you would let me kiss you. I’ve been replaying the same scenario over in my mind for days—weeks even—and I want to experience it. For real.

I know there’s a chance this could ruin what we did have. But there’s also a chance that this entire experience will ruin what we did have and not just between us but between us all. I just don’t want that to be the case. I want to keep you close to me for as long as you’ll let me.

I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.

I really do, truly, love you, Evon.”

Evon didn’t realize he was crying until one of his tears hit the page and soaked through. He immediately wiped under his eyes and set the paper down in his lap.

He found himself, for the first time, glad that everything wasn’t a dream.

“Sparks!” A familiar yet unrecognizable voice called out. It sounded close which brought his attention back up and away from the letter.

A second after the yell, a man slid into the entryway and, if Evon wasn’t so full of numbing drugs, he probably would have laughed.

His boss, Gavin, looking as though he’d just rushed from the office, looked at him with wide eyes and came closer. He covered his mouth for a second before holding onto the bed railing.

“Holy shit, Sparks…I was wondering why you and Mercedes missed deadline but I wasn’t expecting…this.”

“I guess it is a bit surprising,” Evon said and managed a smile.

The man with suspiciously glassy eyes turned away for a second before looking back to him. “Look…obviously you’re not fired or anything but I do want to know if you’ve got a story. I mean…the least you could get out of all this is a decent piece.”

That was more or less expected so Evon wasn’t nearly as offended as he knew he should have been. “We did but it might take a while to get together.”

“Well, sure, of course…” Gavin said and then let out an awkward cough. “Well, get better, Sparks. Call me when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”

Just as the man was almost out the door, Evon called out to him the best he could.

“Hey, Gavin? Could you get me a nurse on your way out?”

With a nod, he left and Evon glanced back to the paper on his lap. He needed to see Russet and he figured he could convince someone to do it.

***

The sun was getting low and Russet watched the light slowly change beyond the window. There was nothing else to do since the TV in his room was broken (not that it meant anything would be on anyway).

Just as he had resigned himself to try and sleep, he heard the squeak of a wheelchair though it sounded awfully close. He pushed himself up to look and promptly felt his jaw drop.

The same nurse who had delivered the letter led Evon into his room in a wheelchair. Both he and Russet couldn’t believe how well the other looked—especially considering the last time they had seen each other.

A huge grin spread across Russet’s face as the other man was set right at his bedside. “Evon…I’m so glad to see you…”

But, Evon didn’t say anything back. His hands gripped the armrests on his chair and he used what strength he had to push himself up. He went from wobbling momentarily to heavily leaning on Russet’s bed. Still, he smiled and made sure to tell the nurse, “It’s alright, I won’t fall.”

His eyes moved up to Russet and they held each other’s stares for a few seconds. When Evon couldn’t wait any longer, he moved over and pressed his lips to Russet’s. The older man touched the side of his face with his hand full of IVs and kissed back.

Evon left a breath between them and whispered, “I love you too, you know.”

“I know. Just had to make sure,” Russet responded and grinned, brushing their lips against each other.

***

Nichole faded in and out of sleep like she had been doing since she arrived at the hospital. She didn’t realize how bad off she was until her body went into shock at the sudden care and attention it was receiving. But, as the nurses and doctors suggested, she would feel better soon.

The medicine, the vitamins, and the eventual physical therapy had a pretty long outlook in total but she tried to just focus on one thing at a time. Only, that seemed to just attract the negative thoughts.

Where would she live now that her mother was dead? How could she pay for all of this treatment? And, most importantly, was Willow okay?

Almost as if she had prophesied it, a knock came on her door. It was open but not all the way so Nichole paid close attention as it slowly swung inward.

Her shadow filled the room first and then her outline could be seen. Before Nichole knew it, she was crying and covering her mouth.

Willow, still in her Fort Heaven uniform, sported some scars and a black eye but seemed fine otherwise. The young woman smiled and only said four words.

“Hey. I made it.”

#fort heaven #my novel #writeblr #lgbt writers

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designsfromtime · 5 years

Text

When It All Goes South: A Designer’s Nightmare

Back in 2013 a client named “Nicole” contacted me. She had been searching for a designer to work with for several years and wasn’t satisfied with the “talent” she had found thus far. She stumbled across my website, found my contact information and gave me a call. She had a stash of fabrics and some basic ideas and we spoke on the phone at length . . . A conversation that lasted over an hour.

I had been a seamstress since I was a pre-teen. My grandmother began teaching me to sew when I was a child and I sort of “fell” into historical costuming by happenstance in 2001. That happenstance being my 16 year old daughter wanting to join RenFaire with her friends and had to have a parent join with her. I used my experience as a seamstress and began dabbling in historical clothing. I made our garb and it was “passable” - barely! LOL Of course I’m judging myself by my current abilities, but hey...we all start somewhere.

Fast forward to 2012. My husband had died from on-the-job injuries sustained in his position as a law enforcement officer and the kids and I relocated to Bonney Lake, Washington. My husband’s death provided me and my adult kids with a generous retirement, so when we relocated to Washington State I was fortunate enough to retire as a Medical Transcriptionist and pursue my costuming full-time.

Enter “Nicole.”

One of my biggest faults, if you can classify it as a fault, is that I am generous. Generous with my time. Generous with my talent. Generous with my friendship. And generous with my trust. This generosity gets me in trouble. It has for my entire adult life, and more especially since taking my talents public and opening my website and Etsy store. But it also has affected my personal relationships. I am a Leo. Astrology likes to paint us Leos with broad strokes. So, for the record, I’m not the attention seeking, spotlight loving, glory hog people may associate with being Leo, but I have a big old fluffy lion heart and I’m driven.

Another factoid: I’m very intuitive. I won’t go into the “I see dead people” stories or the dreams that come true. That’s a story for another time. I’ve used that intuition as a designer. In most cases I can tune in with my clients and get a real ‘read’ on their tastes and have pulled off some pretty awesome costumes as a result. It’s why I like it when a client gives me the freedom to follow my creative inspiration rather than constrict me to follow “their” vision to the exclusion of my creative input. That’s the one time I will own my Leo-ness. I work best when I can take the lead as a designer, but I’m VERY sensitive to my client’s input. So my process is usually a 60/40 mix.

After that long conversation, I didn’t hear back from Nicole until 2016. She’d relocated from New York to California and was now “ready” to proceed with a gown commission. Great! She sent me a huge box of fabrics and trims she had been collecting for over a decade. She had some great fabrics that I was itching to get my hands on, but she wanted her first commission to be made out of a blue “patterned” upholstery weight velvet she had in her stash. Not my recommendation to use upholstery weight velvet, but I will make do with what my client’s have - unless it’s simply too hideous or won’t drape properly.

I sketched out the gown she communicated she wanted, and pitched my ideas for embroidery, sleeves, and such. I took her deposit and when her reservation rolled around I began working. As I was in the process of embroidering the gown pieces, she called and pitched me the idea of me using a reproduction of an Elizabethan embroidery pattern used on waistcoats of that time period. She wanted her forepart “completely” filled with that pattern. I gulped, and agreed - even though I knew it would be extremely time consuming. Now, mind you - - If I charged FULL PRICE for such a piece, using the standard fee scale for commercial embroiderers, it would have cost in the range of about $1000 or more! But, I was more concerned with making “her” vision a reality and enjoying the creative process and I DIDN’T CHARGE HER extra! (Oh my god, what the hell was I thinking?). There’s that generosity getting in my own way again.

We had continued to communicate over a period of time even after her commission was complete because I “thought” we had built a friendship. We had quite a lot in common - aside from our love of costume and RenFaire. What I was to learn later (at the beginning of 2019) was that she was my friend so long as she was getting something out of that relationship. Stay tuned, I’ll get there in the telling of this story.

So, I designed the blue gown you see in the link at the end of this page and shipped it to her. She was ecstatic with my work and immediately we began planning a “peacock” themed gown. As part of my process as a designer, I generally ask my clients to send me three pictures of their favorite gowns they’ve seen. There were no pictures she could send me for “reference” as this was her dream gown. I sketched out a gown, incorporating designs from a picture I had seen, and she LOVED IT. The only issue was the embroidery pattern. Did she want this Elizabethan style gown to be more “literal” in theme with peacock feathers and a full peacock, or just “touches” of a peacock theme such as the color of the gown. So, I began to scour the internet and vendors for anything to do with Peacocks.

While I strive for authenticity in the cut of my design, my challenge as a designer is to meld the "historical purist" with my client's vision or "fantasy" and produce beautiful and functional ensembles that hit as many points as possible; and offer the public a vignette into each respective time period. While I adore projects that strive for more historical accuracy, what's more important to me as a designer is pleasing my clients, working within their budget, and encouraging their love and knowledge of clothing from bygone eras. So, while peacocks were not a historical theme for the 16th Century, I was game.

The gown went through several iterations in terms of embroidery patterns. Whenever I thought we had nailed down a concept (for the embroidery), she would call me or send me pictures and pitch more ideas for this gown. I’m always open to my client’s input, but the process just kept going...and going...until finally we had reached the date of her reservation! She hadn’t even purchased her fabrics yet! The fabrics were actually the easiest part of the process. We knew what colors we were to use but she hadn’t purchased the yardage we had discussed. With time running short, and the fact that I generally have a very full commission schedule on my calendar, I rescheduled her peacock gown to my next available opening and pitched the idea of using some of her other fabrics and use the time I had to design something else. (See the Red Pomegranate Gown in the link at the bottom of the page). That brought us to about April of 2018.

Over the ensuing months, we continued to discuss the peacock themed gown and she could not settle on an embroidery pattern. I kept sketching, and keeping notes on her feedback, and searching for patterns that might work. She finally came to the decision that she didn’t want it to be too “literal” with peacock feathers AND a peacock portrait - which she had decided that’s what she wanted (a portrait). So, I began researching and sent her pattern after pattern after pattern. She finally came to a decision, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had discussed this damn gown ad nauseam and I was ready to just get on with actually building it rather than to talk it to death.

With a final concept in mind - or so I thought - she went to the website where I purchase my silks and attempted to order the fabric in the colors we had previously chosen. However, the fabric we were planning to use was now out of stock. So, the gown was postponed ONCE AGAIN.

It was going to be some time before the fabric we had chosen would be in stock again, and because of that delay I had to give her reservation away to another client. I mean, this IS my bread and butter! And I had broken a hard and fast rule and hadn’t asked her for a deposit. How the hell could I when she kept changing the damn gown! I charge by the pattern piece - Every piece I physically sew together, but the embroidery is factored into my estimates. The intricacy of the embroidery would affect my fees, so I couldn’t really nail down an exact number - other than the basic estimate I had worked up months earlier.

In the meantime, she had more fabric waiting to be used and I had an concept I thought would be beautiful: pairing a pale gold and cream damask brocade with a blueish-lavender silk and embroidering it with blackberries. I had my digital artist digitize the patterns: realistic looking blackberry clusters with multicolored leaves and glass beads to create the actual berries. So, when her reservation date arrived ONCE AGAIN, I was all set to start the embroidery process. But wait! NOW, she decided at the last minute that she already had a gold colored gown she had purchased years ago, and she really wanted to revisit the peacock gown. So, once again, we were back to discussing embroidery.

She kept pitching me wild ideas such as a peacock head and body on the bodice stomacher with the tail extending into the forepart. Huh?? Is this an Elizabethan gown or a Charles Worth gown? I mean, come on! I’m good but that wasn’t an idea that would translate into an actual finished gown, at least not an Elizabethan style gown. So, following her EXPRESSED desire not to over do the peacock theme I found a pattern that was beautiful and suggested we use it on the stomacher of the bodice and a mirror image at the bottom of her forepart. I sketched up the concept, and found a beautiful filigree embroidery pattern for the skirt facings - a style SHE had suggested. She had previously expressed she didn’t want to over do the peacock theme by adding peacock feathers, but now, once again, she was changing her mind. Now she DID want peacock feathers on the forepart and sleeves. OK! We’re making some headway - so I thought.

She was in a car accident and suffered a head trauma. It wasn’t serious but it rang her bell pretty good but she had to have major dental work as a result, and then her son had to have surgery and she postponed the gown due to financial constraints.

When she was ready, we picked up where we left off a few months prior. With the main “peacock” for the bodice front chosen (or so I thought) I waited for her to send me her fabrics. I waited - and waited - and waited. Come to find out, the dye lot of the color she had chosen for the main color of her gown was MUCH different from the original swatch and she HATED the new color. So, now we were back to purchasing ALL NEW fabric swatches and deciding on what colors to use. FINALLY, after weeks of debate and more phone conversations, she decided on her colors. So, she purchased her fabric, and we were all set to proceed - so I thought.

It had been several months since we had discussed her final embroidery choices, so with her swatches and my sketch I created a design board showing all the concepts, colors, embroidery patterns, etc., that she had agreed to use. I then told her in order to proceed I would need her deposit. Now, keep in mind, I’d lost thousands of dollars already by giving her multiple reservations - turning away multiple commission requests in order to accommodate her. But she was my friend....right?

After receiving my design board she decided she did’t like the embroidery pattern that SHE HAD AGREED TO USE months earlier, and was now back to searching for a better peacock. I took a deep breath, and I drew on my professionalism, and said, “Ok. . . You tell me what you want to use.” She then sent me a drawing she had done years before - which she previously nixed because she had decided against peacock feathers and a peacock portrait! ARRRGHHHH! You feel my frustration yet?

During these two years my brother - my ONLY brother - fell ill. He was a renowned physician who was revolutionizing orthopedic medicine using stem cells to regrow cartilage and other ground breaking treatments that were changing lives. He traveled all over the world teaching, and treating patients, as well as keeping a full patient load in his Bellevue, Washington practice. He kept his diagnosis secret - even from me. Turns out, he had pancreatic cancer.

Approaching January 2019 he had lost so much weight he was flesh draped over skeleton. I knew he was sick. I knew it was serious. My intuition kept telling me it was pancreatic cancer, though he had not confirmed my suspicions. I’d watched our grandmother succumb to the same disease. But stubborn man that he was, and dedicated to healing people, he refused to accept his mortality. He suffered two years WITHOUT PAIN MEDS in order to be able to legally treat his patients. Can you imagine? He would writhe in pain, screaming while his daughter held his hand all night, then get up in the morning and treat patients - lying down in between appointments just to make it through the day. That was dedication! That is the kind of integrity he had. That was my beautiful brother. I like to count myself cut from the same cloth in terms of work ethic, but I pale in comparison to this man. He was a genius. I’m not fricking exaggerating out of familial bias. He wasn’t content just to understand bio-mechanics and the physiology relating to orthopedics. He wanted to understand the whole body - and he DID. He was hands down the BEST diagnostician I had ever seen in my 20 years working for multiple doctors as a transcriptionist.

Towards the end of January 2019, he called me and asked the kids and I to gather together so he could talk to us. “I have pancreatic cancer.” He admitted, “But I’m not giving up!” He rattled off the treatments he was still trying, and apologized when I began to cry. I cried like I hadn’t cried since my husband died. Three days later, we got a call from my niece telling us he was in the hospital and we’d better hurry. I sat by my brother’s bedside for about 12 hours - along with his wife, son, daughter, my kids, and a select few family and friends - and watched him slip away. That brilliant mind that had saved so many lives was riddled with toxins and infection and he was now septic. He kept shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that infected his brain - all the while stating, “I think I can beat this!” He passed away that night around 10 pm. And I was now alone in this world without my brother.

Over the following couple of days, my assistant, Lalana, began fielding all my calls and commission requests. I was numb with grief. I worked just to keep from collapsing in on myself but I wasn’t functioning very well. My brother was the only sibling I had left in my life. His death took me back to the day my husband died, and it was all I could do to keep moving. We come from sturdy Scottish stock. My grandparents were farmers, and southerners who had survived the depression. I’m tough, but I know when to say “Uncle.”

To others I looked like I was functioning fine. But inside, i was hanging on by a gossamer thread so when Nicole contacted me TWO DAYS after he died and left a voice message about wanting to discuss her Peacock gown, I wanted to just run away and hide. I sent her a text message and explained to her that my brother had just died and that I was in a very bad place. She being a therapist I thought she would understand and could empathize. Instead, she said “I just need ten minutes of your time.” I read the text, took a deep breath and reiterated that I had just WATCHED my brother die and that I was depressed and grieving and that I couldn’t discuss her gown right now. I asked her to give me a couple of weeks to right myself and we’d pick it back up then. She’s a THERAPIST she’ll understand and respect that boundary, won’t she? - I was wrong.

Over the following two days, she continued to insist that she just needed ten minutes of my time, just TEN MINUTES and couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to her. I gaped as i read her messages. “Jesus Christ, why isn’t she getting it?” I thought. I took a deep breath, and tried again, this time a bit more strongly. I told her I was grieving, I was sad, I was depressed, I was crying intermittently, and that I simply didn’t have the energy to discuss her gown RIGHT NOW. Surely, that will get the message across? NOPE. She continued to harass me, stating she just needed to talk to me on the phone for ten minutes and then she would leave me alone to grieve. WTAF?

I tried again to assert my boundary, clinging to my professionalism, but mostly trying to salvage what I thought was a meaningful friendship. I repeated that I wasn’t going to talk to her on the phone but if she wanted to send me a message by Marco Polo I would listen to it when I felt a bit better. NO! She insisted I discuss her peacock gown on the phone as she didn’t communicate well in text messages or emails, but that she just needed ten minutes. Reality? There has NEVER been an occasion where this women only talked for ten damn minutes! I knew that! - And I wasn’t going to give in to her bullying. Once more, I wrote back that I could not talk to her about her gown, that it was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. That’s when she did a 180% turn and I realized this woman is not my friend. A friend wouldn’t DARE ask me to set aside my grief to hear her ideas for a gown that had been DISCUSSED ad nauseam. She fired back in a vicious diatribe during which she claimed that she NEVER agreed to the embroidery pattern that I had used in my design board and that I was being unreasonable. “I” was being unreasonable? Are you frigging kidding me?

The more she pushed, and bullied, and accused, and attacked, the more I stood my ground and she went NUTS! I realized then that I was dealing with a true narcissist. I’d been raised by a malignant narcissist so I knew what I was dealing with now that her sheets had been pulled. What shocked me out of my socks was that she was a THERAPIST? My god!!! How insensitive and selfish can you be? It wasn’t bad enough that I just lost my beautiful brother, but I was also facing the reality that the person I had confided some of my darkest, most painful moments - someone I thought was a friend - turned out to be using me. So long as she got her way, we were great pals. The SECOND she didn’t get her way she turned VICIOUS and turned on me. At that realization, I invited her to find another designer and that it was clear to me that we weren’t friends after all.

She continued to harass me and sunk to passive aggressive comments such as “I thought we were friends,” stooping so low as to contact another designer who had made her a Victorian gown (which she complained to me about in regard to the quality of her work) and proceeded to trash talk me to this woman. I know because she accidentally shared the conversation with me on Facebook messenger thinking I was this other woman. I got to see who she REALLY WAS - and yes, I called her out on it.

Did I mention how much I abhor drama?

She went on the Elizabethan Costuming page and posted a picture of the blue gown I made her and claimed it was “her design.” She stated that her previous designer had retired due to “arthritis” and that she was looking for a new designer to work with her. Pictures of my work are all over the internet, ya’ll! People on that page recognized it as my work and were outraged that she was accepting accolades for a gown she had not “designed” or constructed. Her only input had been providing the fabrics and telling me what pattern she wanted on her forepart embroidery. I then began receiving alarmed messages on Facebook asking me if I was no longer accepting commissions, and then in my Etsy store informing me that someone named “Nicole” was claiming she had made a gown that they knew was mine. When she was called out by people who knew my work, she began to bad mouth me and my integrity. She contacted the moderators of the Elizabethan Costume page on Facebook and portrayed herself as a victim - which they swallowed hook, line and sinker, portraying herself as professional and a therapist! Eee Gods! *rolls eyes* They banned me AND anyone who called attention to her lies. Meh, so what. I wasn’t broken up about it. I banned her from my page, blocked her number and ended up having to SPAM her contact info on Etsy as she proceeded to bully and attack me for days following trying to elicit a reaction from me or engage me. The worst thing you can do to a narcissist is to ignore them. So, I did.

So, what’s the moral of this story you may ask? Well, I will tell you.

For all those who are self-employed, or are designers, I have this sage advice:

First, never, ever assume that friendly people are your friends. To quote a very old Scottish proverb: Bees with honey in their mouths, still have a sting in their tails.

Second, separate your business from your so-called friendships. I don’t care if it’s your BFF! ASK for a deposit NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE! - And don’t put them on your calendar until they do.

Third, set boundaries for your time from the JUMP! Don’t accept calls when you’re off the clock - or sick, or your brother just died! Don’t make allowances for bad behavior because you are friends. Keep your business separate, that way your friendships stay CLEAN - - or, you’ll find out whether or not they really are your friends.

Fourth, anyone who tries to bully through your boundaries - even if they claim to be your friend or they’re a family member - should not be allowed to win by attrition.

Fifth, don’t take a difficult client because you “need” the money - it can, and often will, come back to bite you in the arse!!

Sixth, if a client contacts you and her name is Nicole F******* and she shows you pictures of MY work and wants you to design something for her. . . RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

LINKS:

BLUE GOWN: https://www.etsy.com/listing/620394045/womens-plus-sized-spanish-gown-custom?ref=shop_home_active_46&frs=1

POMEGRANATE GOWN: https://www.etsy.com/listing/605925091/womens-renaissance-dress-elizabethan?ref=shop_home_active_59&frs=1

#elizabethancostume #historicalcostume periodcostume costumedesigner renfaire

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