#but hey ill do more tomorrow probably this is a good sign it's been literal weeks since i touched it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quidfree · 3 years

Note

prompts,.,, fem tdbk and a date gone very wrong ? ❤️

ohhhh my god anon. pump this shit directly into my veins i love this whole premise let’s go. also all inspired by whatever the fuck horikoshi was doing in this

just so everyone is on the same page here, it is not a fucking date.

it’s lunch. a singular lunch. people do that shit all the time. even katsuki does lunch, sometimes. she went to that semi-shitty diner place with kirishima that one time when the food hall was shut because some dumbass first year exploded into goo or whatever. and todoroki does lunch, too- her and deku were on some shitty lunch date like a week ago, as evidenced by deku’s even shittier selfie of them having a grand old time doing whatever the fuck they do alone.

fuck, not a shitty lunch date. a shitty lunch. whatever.

the point is lunch is a normal non-date thing people do, and the fact katsuki and todoroki are maybe not the usual suspects for it is just circumstantial. it’s not like they planned it ahead of time, or made some big thing about it. they literally arranged for it in public, so obviously todoroki didn’t think there was anything weird about it. and there isn’t! they’re both going to be in tokyo on the same day, and todoroki’s always happy for any excuse to spend less time with her old man, and katsuki sure as fuck wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to avoid her hag of a birth-giver for a few blissful hours, so when todoroki had very nonchalantly gone ‘oh, bakugou, we could do lunch then”, it wasn’t like she had any real reason to tell her to go fuck herself. like, yeah, maybe a year ago, on principle, she would have, but even katsuki can only take so much trauma-bonding before she resigns herself to the reality that she’s stuck with half ‘n half for life, one way or another, and she may as well suck it up and approach civility because said moron is determined to ignore her open malice until she plays along anyways. they’re... you know, whatever. friends. or something. jesus.

the point being that it’s not a date, and the fact that she’s getting increasingly annoyed at her limited wardrobe is just because she would have packed more shit if the crone hadn’t insisted that they ‘pack light’ so they could get cheaper train tickets for less luggage. it’s just annoying that she can’t wear anything that’s not screaming holiday.

it occurs to her as she sits and scowls at her suitcase that her mother has been watching her from the doorframe for some undetermined amount of time, which is criminal mainly because she’s a goddamn hero-to-be and getting snuck up on by anyone is a blight upon her good name. she tries to disguise the ego damage dealt by glowering murderously in her progenitor’s direction.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“you know,” the she-devil says, cocking a hip, “if you want to borrow something nicer...”

“i wouldn’t be caught dead in your shitty clothes!” katsuki snarls, which prompts the witch to immediately scowl back.

“watch your damn mouth!”

“watch your waistline! no way in hell are we the same size!”

“why you little-”

the interruption at least reminds her that she is obsessing over her clothes ahead of meeting todoroki for lunch, which is so humiliating it kickstarts her brain again long enough to grab some normal shit and get the hell out of there.

on the walk she checks her phone again. the previous day she’d had to bite the bullet and make the first move, todoroki’s infamously terrible communication skills making themselves known once more, and their ensuing conversation had been so mortifying she’d nearly cancelled all-together.

to: Half ‘n half

Yo asshole are we still meeting tomorrow or what

I’m busy as shit

from: Half ‘n half

Yes. TS

to: Half ‘n half

What the fuck is TS

from: Half ‘n half

I was signing off.

to: Half ‘n half

SIGNING OFF ON YOUR OWN TEXT

YOU THINK I DONT KNOW YOUR DAMN NAME

from: Half ‘n half

[Pin attached]

Does here at 12.30 work for you?

to: Half ‘n half

Yeah whatever

Don’t be late

And don’t think I’m forgetting the fucking signing off thing

from: Half ‘n half

Glad you can make time for mockery in your busy as shit schedule.

the venue looks like some rich person shit, which she semi-expected, but it means a lot of people give her weird looks as she makes her way inside, probably on account of the shorts and t-shirt she’s wearing if not her general vibe. some old woman actually drags her purse to her, which makes katsuki sorely tempted to bare her teeth and maybe hiss for effect, though she settles for scowling and shoving her hands in her pockets. it’s 12.27, because she wasn’t going to be late but being any earlier would have given off some dubious impression that she’s eager to see todoroki, except now she kind of wishes she’d just come for 12.30 because if there’s some reservation bullshit she gets the feeling she’s going to start fighting with the waiting staff, and then-

“bakugou,” todoroki calls, from inside, raising a hand with unnecessary formality. “you made it.”

“course i made it,” katsuki grunts, absolutely not relieved as she by-passes the suspicious looking waiter to join her outside. “think i can’t ride the damn underground by myself?”

todoroki is wearing jeans cuffed at the ankles and a white t-shirt on top of which she’s thrown on an open button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and she looks casual and normal and incidentally kind of like they dressed to match, but the important part is that she doesn’t look dressed up at all, so katsuki was totally right about the non-date situation, and also isn’t the only one totally underdressed for the shitty venue.

“you look nice,” todoroki says then, completely shattering katsuki’s brief moment of reprieve. “i’ve never seen so much color on you.”

katsuki almost chokes on her own tongue, but the worst part is that the asshole seems completely nonchalant about the weird as shit observation, focused on her stool as she takes a seat on the balcony. which- what the actual fuck? since when does todoroki issue compliments unprompted- of the non-professional variety, at that? and what the fuck does she expect katsuki to say now- return the compliment? say thanks? is this whole thing some kind of exercise in psychological torture?

well, fuck it. she can’t look like a little bitch just because todoroki said something inanely positive. two can play that game.

“yeah. you look half decent yourself. did you hire someone to dress you for the occasion?”

todoroki blinks up at her in surprise, which is totally a win and would make her more smug if she could stop feeling so weird and prickly all over. for a dangerous moment todoroki seems on the verge of blushing, but miraculously the world rights itself and the usual deadpan persists, one brow quirking up in completely feigned ineptitude.

“there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thank you, i think. i thought we were past this vendetta.”

“we’ll be past this vendetta the day you burn your piece of shit hero suit,” katsuki retorts, back on familiar ground, and relaxes long enough to squint down at the menu.

this turns out to be a mistake.

“the fuck? is this whole thing in french?”

“oh,” todoroki says, after a beat. “that makes sense. i thought my english had deteriorated.”

“are you- you didn’t know? you recommended the place!”

“it was the nearest place to our hotel,” todoroki defends, now having the decency of looking slightly put out. “coq can’t mean what i think it means, can it?”

“that’s chicken, asshole,” katsuki hisses, flinging the menu down. “great, now we’re going to have to flag down one of the shithead waiters and ask for a japanese menu. excuse me! hey! yeah, i’m talking to- what the hell, did he just blow me off? hey, jackass! you with the shitty mustache!”

“sorry about that,” todoroki interjects, when mustache asshole turns an offended stare their way. “do you have the japanese menu?”

“we only serve the food in its authentic form,” mustachioed asshole says, with frigid self-satisfaction. “might i suggest google translate?”

“might i suggest my foot up your ass, you shitty-”

“that’s fine,” todoroki says, in a flat tone that implies otherwise. “we’ll make do.”

the waiter sniffs pretentiously as katsuki thinks about all the ways she could beat his ass into next tuesday, running an aggravated hand through her hair when the wind rustles it into her face. she’d half expect todoroki to suggest they fuck off elsewhere, but when she looks back her way she finds an ill-boding gleam of determination in her eyes despite the impassive set to her face, and it’s a testament to how fucked in the head ua has made katsuki that she feels a sort of sick thrill of recognition at the sight. todoroki’s in stubborn bitch mode.

“i’ll have this,” todoroki says, sure enough, pointing to the most expensive item on the menu. “and also this. and one of those.”

the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and todoroki looks unfazed in katsuki’s direction, tapping pointedly at a sleek black and red credit card in her wallet. “bakugou?”

well, if endeavour’s paying....

“sure,” katsuki says, slowly, and then turns her meanest smile the waiter’s way. “i want the frog legs.”

mustache clears his throat, attempts condescension. “we don’t serve that here.”

“you’re a gastronomique restaurant,” katsuki says very loudly, as other clients turn to stare, “and you don’t have fucking frog legs? is this a joke? does this napkin say authentic french cuisine or am i hallucinating?”

“i can ask the chef,” the waiter demurs, casting a nervous glance at the muttering snobs nearby, and attempts an ingratiating smile. “anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“what did you just call me?”

once the ordering debacle is over, todoroki slants katsuki what may well be an apologetic glance, vaguely contrite frown sitting pretty atop her usual dead-eyed stare.

“i probably should have read up on the place ahead of time.”

katsuki is well within her rights to chew her head off, she thinks, but food’s on the way and she got to yell at the asshole who gave her the once-over when she came in, so she’s feeling forgiving, even in the face of todoroki’s annoyingly doll-faced apology. the bitch really has to do the bare minimum and she looks like a fucking kpop idol.

“yeah, whatever. i always knew you were a shitty ops planner.”

todoroki, who is an asshole, looks relieved at her generous forgiveness for all of a second before she quirks a brow. “between the two of us, i only count one person who has actually spoken the words ‘shoot first, ask questions later’.”

“that was in a training simulation,” katsuki protests, outraged. “and you know damn well the actors were annoying as shit!”

“i did find them slightly too committed to the role,” todoroki concedes neutrally, which totally means she agrees with katsuki 100% and is being precious about it. katsuki scoffs.

“least the view’s decent.”

“the-“ todoroki starts, in weirdly confused tones, until she follows katsuki’s gaze outward and nods in understanding. “oh, the skyline. yes.”

what else katsuki could have meant she doesn’t fucking know: they’re sitting pretty in the middle of tokyo. the only thing the hellhole of a restaurant has going for it at this point is the cityscape.

todoroki stares out into the distance for a good long moment, and with the breeze her negligently loose hair whips this way and that, red and white blur where the two halves mingle. instinctively katsuki itches to braid it flat so it doesn’t tangle. if todoroki asked her she’d tell her to just cut her damn hair into a bob or something- it’s not like icyhot has any attachment to her princess hair, and she’s got the obnoxious bone structure to pull off any length. not that she’d mention this last part. or that she’s given it much thought. it’s just fucking obvious.

if todoroki could keep her mouth shut throughout the rest of the meal, it could be sort of nice. tokyo skyline, and companionable silence, and presumably edible food. worse ways to kill some time, and way less incriminating than anything that may be said otherwise.

“i think this is the part where we make small talk,” todoroki says instead, sadist that she definitely is, as katsuki grimaces feelingly her way.

“no, we don’t.”

“well, we don’t. but this is the part where we should.”

“i don’t even believe you can last a minute of small talk, icyhot.”

todoroki looks pensive, mismatched eyes thoughtful. “...how has your day been?”

“uneventful,” katsuki says, combative, and eyes her watch. todoroki does not give.

“this place seems nice.”

“you don’t even think that.”

“how have you been finding tokyo?”

“noisy.”

“the weather seems-”

“no.”

“you look nice.”

“you said that already, dumbass,” katsuki grunts, palms crackling with sweat, and does not at all read into the way todoroki makes a stupid little movement with her mouth that could ungenerously be interpreted as a pout.

“well, i meant it, so i’m saying it twice.”

“give it up, half ‘n half, just ask me about training.”

“...how is your training?”

“i did this thing yesterday,” katsuki starts, leaning back in her chair, and from then launches into a very technical and barely exaggerated retelling of the batshit insane stunt she pulled off with her quirk the day prior. todoroki’s focused attention is gratifying, in a totally platonic non-weird way- it’s just that her parents couldn’t very well follow why exactly said stunt was as insane as it is, but todoroki obviously can, and also there’s that thing with todoroki where pulling a reaction out of her ice queen act is admittedly more satisfying than most people. it has jack shit to do with the fact katsuki’s got a very minor complex about todoroki paying her her dues, and even if it did then that’s entirely fucking reasonable considering she still hasn’t forgiven her for the sports fest incident.

it is a little weird having todoroki’s sole focus on her outside of hero shit, though. it’s not like they really hang out one on one outside of school or work. it’s kind of- unnerving. yeah. unnerving, to be making prolonged eye contact, todoroki’s expression intent but not intense the way she gets in fight scenarios, frowning lightly because she has resting bitch face but apparently genuinely interested. it’s kind of a relief that todoroki asks questions- moves them safely into a conversation, so katsuki’s not just sitting there talking and sort of dry-throated. fucking waiter, leaving them water-less.

it’s fine. they talk about training, and quirks, and then todoroki pushes her hair behind her ears and leans forward to demonstrate on a small scale this thing she’s trying to do where she melts her ice and refreezes it in rapid succession so it causes what is essentially ice rain, but there’s logistics and shit that need to be worked out for it to work the way she’s thinking it might, and katsuki knows her thermal shit so they start scrawling maths over the napkins, and then bicker over the finer points of first year chemistry, so when the food actually arrives to interrupt them todoroki’s startled blink is weirdly relatable, like she also forgot where they were.

the waiter’s there and gone before they’re really recovered from the brief misplacement, which katsuki registers only when she looks down at her empty glass.

“goddamnit- how hard is it to bring us water?”

“they only offer sparkling,” todoroki says, gravely, then outpaces katsuki’s disgust by placing her hand over her glass, ice rising before she switches hands and melts it down. “tell me if the temperature’s off.”

intensely mollified and trying not to look it, katsuki sips it. “’s fine.”

“okay,” todoroki says, faintly pleased, and tilts her head to look down at her food. “i have no idea what any of this is.”

“moron,” katsuki snorts, except it comes out way fonder than it has any rights to, and from beneath the convenient curtain of hair todoroki’s smiling a little, so she hastily stabs a frog leg and gets to eating before anyone gets any ideas.

the actual meal goes okay-ish. most of the stuff todoroki ordered is extremely pretentious french cuisine, and todoroki secretly has the culinary adventurousness of a five year old, so it befalls katsuki to impatiently attempt every dish and pronounce it edible before todoroki will deign to brave it. she’s still trying to bully an unyielding todoroki into attempting the weird bird soup thing when there’s commotion nearby. it takes the both of them approximately three seconds to spring into work-mode; katsuki’s on her feet poised for a fight before she’s even consciously thought about it, scanning her peripherals, and she doesn’t even need to look to feel todoroki unconsciously covering her back, cool sting of air signalling her quirk at the ready.

the commotion turns out just to be some old dumbass choking, relaxing them both out of their stances as she falls back to let todoroki ahead. they’re both uber-qualified for first aid shit, but she’s self-aware enough to know even todoroki’s bland reassurances are usually preferred to her bedside manner. unfortunately, the whole entourage seems to be braindead, because they’re all crowding the old guy in a panic while he chokes, his wife in shrieking hysterics.

“oh, my god, he’s choking! he’s choking! sugar-plum, stay with me!”

“fuck me,” katsuki mutters, unethically thinking that she would personally prefer choking to being married to someone who calls her sugar-plum, but todoroki’s pushing ahead with implacable calm, so she trudges after her anyways.

“excuse me. excuse me. i need access to your husband.”

“who are you? don’t touch him! help! get this woman off my husband!” wailing hysteric yells, bosom heaving dramatically. katsuki is starting to suspect she poisoned him on purpose or some shit, because no way does anyone talk like that in real life.

“she’s a fucking qualified first aid provider, lady, shut up and let her through!”

thankfully, the woman seems on the verge of an outrage aneurysm, which drags her focus away from suffocating her choking husband to dramatically pointing at katsuki long enough for todoroki to duck past her and reach the guy as he turns purple.

“how dare you speak to me that way? who do you think you are?”

“ma,” chinless moron number one says, clearing his throat. “i think that’s one of those future pros from TV.”

“what?”

“you know, ma,” chinless moron number two adds, glancing nervously between them. “the one that explodes things. you know. from UA.”

katsuki takes great pleasure in watching recognition dawn in the old cow’s beady eyes, but in any event there’s a hacking noise and then the old man’s coughing out a bone into his plate as todoroki steps noiselessly back from the table.

“he’s fine now. enjoy your dinner.”

“god, that was gross,” katsuki says, as they ignore the woman’s sputtering and return to their seats. todoroki tilts her head.

“not really. if he’d thrown up it would have been.”

“not the choking guy,” katsuki scoffs, casting a glance back his way. “his wife. talk about theatrics.”

“she seemed more afraid of us than her husband dying.”

“for good reason,” katsuki mutters darkly, spreading out in her chair. “i hate civilians.”

“i don’t think she recognised us,” todoroki counters, pensive, and absent-mindedly takes a bite of the weird soup before she screws her face up like a betrayed kid. “oh. you didn’t say it was sweet.”

the look on her face thoroughly distracts katsuki from asking what other reason the pearl-clutcher could possibly have to be so terrified at the mere sight of them; instead, she chokes back a laugh, stifling a grin. “what are you, five?”

“i don’t think i like this,” todoroki says, mournful, which makes katsuki grin harder. she can’t help it- todoroki looking stupid is her kryptonite.

“then don’t pick a restaurant where you can’t read the menu, next time.”

todoroki’s midway to looking up, but for some reason her expression transforms instantaneously, which makes katsuki reflexively try to quash her amusement. todoroki always gets weird when she’s smiling.

“next time?”

motherfuck. obviously she didn’t mean next time like next time, she meant next time like- hypothetically, in the future, when todoroki’s on a lunch date with someone else. a lunch non-date. she’s just about stopped sputtering furiously long enough to try and express this sentiment when it occurs to her that todoroki seems- pleased, one eye soft sky-blue when katsuki accidentally meets it, and that draws her up short long enough that she ends up just muttering lamely to herself. fucking todoroki.

on the heels of this utter embarrassment, she downs the rest of her water, scowls in a neat 180 at everything in sight, and wonders for the first time in her life how the fuck extras get through dates. not that this is one.

it’s fine. they’re done eating, and no one’s died, and katsuki is no longer fifteen and thus mostly trusts her ego to lick its wounds and recover from the ordeal. even if they stick around for desert that’s only another half hour of this to endure. as long as todoroki doesn’t make any sudden moves they’ll be fine.

...the problem is, of course, that sudden moves are todoroki’s modus operandi. katsuki has not forgotten the bitch calling them friends on national television in the same breath that she was vociferously denying them being anything of the sort. in todoroki’s fucked up brain, they’re always ten steps ahead of whatever they actually are- considering katsuki’s come around to privately acknowledging she’d take a couple more stakes through the gut for the asshole, in todoroki’s world they're practically hitched.

platonically. platonically practically hitched. this is not a thing, goddamnit. no matter the weird looks aizawa’s been giving them, or utsushimi’s nefarious schemes, or the alarming cardiopulmonary condition katsuki’s been developing of late. she’s not some shitty yuri protagonist pining over the nearest female bishōnen in her vicinity.

admittedly if she was to pine over anyone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be some guy, but that’s besides the point, since pretty damn near every person on earth is just some guy by her standards, regardless of gender. the fact that todoroki is not one of said people is entirely irrelevant.

her internal irritation is so distracting that she misses the tremors nearby until entirely too late, by which point todoroki’s stupidly perfect brows raise an incremental fraction and she goes: ‘oh’.

when todoroki goes ‘oh’, some shit is about to go down.

katsuki turns slowly with an impending sense of doom, and sure enough, the sight that greets her is so nightmarish she seriously reconsiders whether the entire day has been just that.

“don’t freak out,” a giant building-sized deku booms, apologetically, as his hideous giant face stares at them. “it’s just a quirk thing.”

it’s probably a good thing katsuki has gone speechless with outrage, since it permits todoroki’s constantly composed ass to ask useful questions katsuki probably would have coated in a fair amount more threats and cursing.

“midoriya. i didn’t know you were in tokyo.”

“well, i wasn’t meant to be,” deku says/booms like a foghorn, as the restaurant clientele shrieks and stampedes behind them. his sheepish expression is even more punchable when magnified. “it’s a long story. it’s almost sorted out now, though. i just saw you guys from over at the NPA office and thought i’d come ask if you maybe wouldn’t mind lending a hand? i wouldn’t ask but there’s going to be a lot of cleanup and your quirks would be really helpful to-”

“we’ll do it as long as you shut the fuck up,” katsuki yells, to cut him off, massaging her temples. “the monologuing’s bad enough when you’re not about to burst my fucking eardrums, jackass.”

“oh, sorry! i’m trying to be very quiet but this body’s just hard to get used to- thank you so much for helping, i didn’t mean to come bother you on break...”

“it’s fine,” todoroki says, and then seems to realise that her monotone doesn’t reach midoriya’s giant-ass ears and clears her throat, raising her voice to a shout. “it’s fine. let me go deal with the bill and then we’ll go.”

“sorry?” midoriya whisper-shouts, craning his monstrous head closer to them, the sight of which will haunt katsuki for the rest of her life. “i can’t hear what you’re saying!”

“she said she’s going to go pay for our nice fucking lunch,” katsuki hollers, with no small sense of satisfaction, as deku winces and todoroki slinks off. “since you want to come crashing it like a dipshit.”

“sorry, kacchan!” deku begs off, flapping hand gestures creating enough wind to knock over a nearby umbrella stand. “i just thought it would be a lot of help if you came to oversee the fall-out- especially with the building damage-”

“we’re good,” todoroki announces, to katsuki, apparently having given up on matching her in decibels. she’s got that classic hero look on her face, already in work mode, but just when katsuki’s about to do the same and jump into action, the look wavers a little and she frowns vaguely awkwardly. “thanks for doing lunch.”

“huh?” katsuki stutters, thrown, and then scowls at nothing in particular, stalling. todoroki’s the one who paid, albeit indirectly- it’s typically weird of her to be all formal about it all of a sudden, leaving katsuki to attempt to wriggle them out of the awkwardness of the moment. “i didn’t do shit except show up and eat, weirdo.”

“it’s been abnormally hard to show up and eat in the circumstances,” todoroki replies, a little wryly, and more concerningly a little resigned sounding. which is just unnatural, because todoroki may have expanded her range of emotions considerably since first year but resignation is not on her usual roster, and there’s nothing to be resigned about unless she had some kind of vested interest in this whole fiasco playing out any better than it did.

which she didn’t, obviously. katsuki’s been through this. she chose the nearest possible venue and rocked up in jeans and a t-shirt, and- and why is the fact that todoroki never dresses so normally out of class only now occurring to her, again?

she’d said ‘i think this is the part where we do small talk’. the part of what?

“yeah, whatever,” katsuki says, automatically, as her brain plays catch-up, which is the excuse she will forever stick to for what leaves her mouth next. “should have known you’d be a lousy date.”

todoroki goes ‘what?’ at the same moment deku does, ten times louder and more bug-eyed, which reminds katsuki that 1) deku is still there, 2) deku is still as big as his martyr complex, and 3) deku is the fucking worst, and allowing him to trap her into friendship is somehow responsible for this, she’s sure of it.

“can we go handle this fucking mess or what?” katsuki snaps, instead of screaming or breaking deku’s very large nose or maybe self-immolating in abject humiliation, hands erupting into explosions as she jumps onto the balcony railing. maybe if she throws herself headfirst into the debris she’ll concuss herself and turn amnesiac.

“um,” deku is saying, when she turns a withering glare his way. “um, yes! yes! yeah! let’s go do that!”

so she jumps skywards, explosions blasting her high into the air, and very scrupulously does not look towards the sounds of slick ice forming just behind her until todoroki skates into her peripheral vision, hair waving flag-like behind her. ahead there’s a building with a crater clean through it where deku must have erupted from, though when she turns to comment she finds him a fair deal behind them, lumbering pace slowed further as he avoids stepping on anyone or anything along the streets. instead her eyes lock on todoroki’s where the latter is staring at her, face unreadable, and she bristles hard enough to disrupt trajectory, correcting course rapidly before she plummets into an office.

“what?”

“i’m a lousy date,” todoroki repeats, neutrally, over the wind. katsuki grits her teeth.

“and what about it?”

she’s bracing for a lot, but not the horrible, sickening eye-crinkle thing todoroki does, dark eye twinkling even as her expression stays carefully impassive. “you think you can do better, then?”

“hah?”

“next time,” todoroki intones, very precisely, and then dips ahead like a complete coward as katsuki goes a color never previously visible to the human eye, sifting through about fifteen emotions before she decides to stick to outrage.

“what the hell? you suck at asking people out, icyhot!”

“you don’t have to say yes.”

“what, you think i can’t do better than this mess? you’re on, asshole.”

“i look forward to it,” todoroki says, gravely, and then there’s a collapsed building to handle and shit to do and if anyone wants to ask why katsuki is so especially gleeful in blowing shit up they wisely keep their mouths shut. she just likes the job, all right.

(for the record, it’s still not a date until katsuki says it is.)

#qui repond #qui ecrit #anon #prompts #tdbk #todobaku #fem todobaku #fem todo #fem baku

45 notes · View notes

thenextchapter22 · 4 years

Text

To Be Loved by Lucifer

Description: Mika is upset to find out she has gained weight yet again and cannot fit into her clothes. She tries to lose weight by starving herself among other things and Lucifer is not pleased.

Warnings: NSFW, Eating Disorders, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Panic Attacks, Corporal Punishment, Insecurity, Plus Sized OFC

Pairing(s): Lucifer/OFC

Word Count: 7,499

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: Despite the tags, there is some fluff involved as well! And if you ever feel like you aren’t good enough or the right size, just remember you are loved and please please do not copy anything in this fic because, it is just that - fictional.

_+_

“No!” Mika cried out. “No way!”

She pulled and yanked but it did not move. It was stuck. No force in the Celestial Realm or Devildom could help her now.

This could not be happening to her. She was just having a bad dream. Mika would wake up and it would be fine.

But alas, it was no dream. She was really in her bedroom in Devildom, getting ready for Monday morning classes. Just a regular morning like the others… or it was supposed to be.

Her uniform skirt was not buttoning up. She had gotten fat enough to not fit. The reasoning was all the midnight snacks with Beel no doubt, and that was 100 percent her own fault. She should have paid more attention to her own body.

She tried one more time, grunting as she tugged with all her might, she could handle sitting too straight and sucking in her gut for a few days until she lost the weight again. But then the button actually popped off. Shot across the room, hit the wall, and fell to the floor. Mika stared at it like the button had committed murder. And she stared some more, until her eyes burned with incoming tears. She felt frustration boil in her belly, then immediate anger at herself.

Yes, she was a bit bigger than the average woman, a “plus size” to be exact. When Mika first came to the Devildom, surrounded by seven sexy demons who she immediately wanted to fuck but did not have the confidence to say anything, she was insecure in her size. But over the months here with them all, they had gotten to know her and made her feel good inside and out with kind words and gentle touches that eventually turned into more with most of the brothers. She realized she was more than her weight. She was comfortable in her skin for the first time in her life, and it was demons of hell that made her feel good ironically.

So this, this sudden weight gain, it broke her emotionally. It was like she was starting over and all the work she had put into herself was gone in a snap. Every kind word the demon brothers had said to her when she down about her appearance vanished into pure hatred for how disgusting she was once more.

How much weight was it? She couldn’t tell just squeezing her belly between her fingers. It was only her belly, too, because her boobs still fit into her bras, and her shirts fit fine, too, but they were looser around her belly anyways. Maybe 10 pounds or so? Mika wished there was a scale so she would know exactly.

Mika groaned, wiping her wet eyes and scrubbing her cheeks roughly. This was terrible. She would not be going to RAD today, and probably not tomorrow either. She couldn’t let anyone see her so fat. Plus, she would have to go in something other than the uniforms she owned and that would probably get her sent home and Lucifer would reprimand her.

No, she was not going. She was going to starve herself for a couple days and feign illness. She would need to lose this weight fast, so not eating for a few days sounded like a good plan.

Oh fuck. She’d have to lie to Lucifer.

“I hate myself.”

She plopped back onto her bed, her DDD above her face. She sighed heavily and opened the chat with Lucifer.

Hey, I’m not feeling too well this morning, gonna skip classes today. Sorry. I’ll make up for any lost work I promise.

She felt like she was texting her boss, not her... lover. Ugh, she was so nervous he would totally be able to tell she was lying. And usually she was a good liar, but to Lucifer, she just was bad at it. Well, Mika couldn’t take it back now.

The DDD beeped. Lucifer replied. She bit her lip, dreading what he would say.

I’m on my way to your room

“Fuck!”

She threw her phone down and groaned again. This was awful. Not only did she look terrible from crying, she was huge now. Mika did not want the eldest to see her this way.

Plus, Lucifer was probably going to punish her. And not in the sexy way. But in the painful way where she wouldn’t be able to sit for days without squirming and getting looks from the other demons in the house and school.

There was a knock on her door. “Mika, may I come in?”

“Um… just a second,” she called out.

Frantic, Mika grabbed a pair of pants from the floor and threw them on. She would just have to fake it and hope.

Lucifer eyed her as soon as she opened her door. He did not look impressed, arms crossed in his RAD uniform. “You don’t look ill. What’s wrong?”

Shit. “I…”

“Yes?” he raised his brows, his lips pursing just so. Her mouth opened and nothing came out. He sighed. “Don’t waste my time. I have piles of paperwork to sign off on today.”

And that, right there, was all it took. She could not do it. She would not lie to him. She had done so once, with Belphie, and it turned out to be the worst choice she had ever made and it nearly ended up with her dead.

She sighed. “I can’t lie to you.”

He uncrossed his arms, and titled his head down at her. “Well, it seems you already did.”

She winced. “I know.” She invited him inside to talk, an inevitable really if she had thought more into it and just not sent the stupid text, and he sat on her bed. Mika sat beside him, silent for a few seconds. Hands in her lap, barely thinking of anything, simply gathering courage to speak her mind.

Before she could speak, Lucifer cupped her cheek, turning her head just so, and wiped his gloved thumb under her eye gently. The tense atmosphere he gave off was gone and in replace of that was concern, especially in his eyes which were almost always telling to her what he was feeling. “You were crying recently. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She sniffled. His hand was warm, and comforting. “It’s hard to say…”

He frowned. “Please understand that I will always be here for you, Mika. Whatever you need me to be for you I can, whether that’s a lover, or just somebody to talk with. You must know that. So tell me. Why can you not come to classes today? The sick excuse is something Mammon even rarely uses any longer.”

She just spit it out. “I’m…disgusting.”

“Mika!” He held her face tighter, and stared into her eyes with great intensity. It was like she could feel his eyes burning into her own, an invisible beam cutting into her deepest insecurity. Lucifer looked at her like she disappointed him and it ached.

“Do not ever speak of yourself that way again. I won’t tolerate lies.”

Mika’s emotions were going haywire. She was angry at him, angry at herself. “It’s not a lie, Lucifer.” She stood up, practically wrenching her face from his grip, and stormed over to her closet. She grabbed a RAD skirt and threw it onto the floor, and did it with several others, making a pile of discarded clothes as she ranted. “I’m fat as fuck right now! I can’t fit into any of my skirts for school and a button literally popped off of it. You know how long it took me to even cope with this overweight body I have?! Honestly I really don’t think I ever did! I’ve always been ugly. And I always will be ugly!”

He was at her side in seconds, holding her close, hushing her, pressing her face into his chest with his large hand. She sobbed into his arms, clutching the back of his jacket, albeit rubbing her wet snotty face into his nice uniform.

“My love, you are so, so beautiful. Your soul shines brighter than any other I have met. There is nothing I would not do to protect you from harm, even from your own foolish words.” She gasped as he said this, but he went on. “I don’t know what else I could say to make you love yourself like I do.” His fingers found her chin from where it was buried in his shirt, and he pulled her face to look up at him. There was something akin to pity, she assumed, lingering there in his expression. “You know I can and should punish you for this, correct? I have said many times I will not allow lies in this house.”

Her throat was tight, she could barely swallow. She nodded as best she could in her position. “Yes,” she murmured. It was what she dreaded. He did always comfort her, made her feel treasured, but in the moment she would feel ultimately continuously guilty for whatever she had done to deserve the reprimand.

“Good, as you well should. But,” he continued, “I believe you have punished yourself enough. I think I should show you just how much you mean to me instead. Show you just how absolutely stunning I think you are.” He went from punisher, to seducer in an instant.

“Wha—Lucifer!” She gasped as she was grabbed around her waist and tossed onto her bed, bouncing on the mattress. “What are you…”

He looked determined, and a bit mischievous which was one of her favorite Lucifer’s (up there with domineering). Those subtle shifts in his lips, and his brows, it took her some time to figure out just what each expression meant. “I adore you, Mika. Let me show you.”

She gulped, and nodded slowly. “Okay, show me.” She spoke quietly. If he wanted to touch her, let him. Maybe it would help her. She wouldn’t know until he tried.

Lucifer got to work on removing her clothing. First her shirt, which he gently unbuttoned and pulled over her head. She shook out the frizz that came with that and he smiled at her.

This moment felt so intimate, more than any of the last few times they had sex. The last time it was in celebration of an exam she got a near perfect score on and he praised her over and over again.

No, this moment felt almost virginal. She was in a bad place, and vulnerable to every word he would say. She realized this was almost like their first time, when he was gentle and slow with her despite her saying she had been with men before. But he didn’t care, because demons were not the same as human men.

She had been very shy then, but still a spitfire when told off. It was how she had always been. She was introverted at times, afraid to speak her mind in fear of rejection or failure, but then she was also adamant and spoke louder than any other on certain days and for certain things.

And with him, she could be innocent. She could be fierce. She could be anything she desired to be. He let her take control and let her be controlled whenever she wanted. Because she was a human and he was a demon; it was why he gave her a pact with him. To show ‘ultimate love’, Asmo once said to her. A pact from a demon was a bond not unlike love. It was, in fact, the greatest way to show it.

“Darling, pay attention now.”

Lucifer’s teasing voice had Mika startled, coming back from her thoughts. “Y-yes. Sorry.” She blushed.

He chuckled. “It’s quite all right, it’s positively endearing when your eyes glaze over as you think.”

His adept hands found her bra, hands stroking over her back and causing goosebumps before un-clasping, letting it fall and tossing it away. Her room wasn’t cold, Devildom never was really, but she felt her nipples harden instantly.

He stared at her for a moment, admiring the beauty of her pale voluptuous body, before he pushed her back onto the bed.

She went easily. Head cushioned by her pillows, she watched him lick his lips. His presence was calming, but had her nerves prickling in wonder at what he was going to do next. His uniform brushed against her nude upper half as he lowered his body over hers to kiss her mouth. The taste of him always made her feel lightheaded.

Her hands itched to touch him, but she kept them at her side, obedient. He always would tell her when she could touch, he had drilled that into her from day one, and she realized he probably wasn’t going to allow it today because he wanted to show her how much he “adored” her. She really knew him too well but that wasn’t something she would say aloud to him.

Lucifer was an amazing kisser, so much so that her thoughts were nonexistent as he licked against her lips before delving into her mouth. She focused on his vibrating hums tickling her lips, and listened to their soft moans melding together. He wasn’t overly gentle, but she had to press up against his mouth to feel a bit more of him, smell and taste him.

His hands found her breasts while he expertly used his tongue to brush against her own. He pinched her nipples, tugging the pert buds while cupping her tits with his bare hands—and when did that happen, fuck skin to skin contact was the best— causing her to exhale harshly into his own mouth as he bounced them a bit.

He leaned away for a second to say, “Ah, so soft in my hands.”

She squirmed. She was softer, and that meant fatter. “I know…” she said sorrowfully.

He pinched her nipple harshly then in reprimand, and she groaned, pushing her chest upward into the pressure. “No, darling. No.” He growled. “I love your body. Every single inch. And I meant I love how smooth your skin feels against my own.”

The hot mouth traveled down her neck, suckling more as it went, not enough to leave marks but enough to leave her breathless. He licked a line down from her neck which she happily bared for him. One hand left her breast to stroke over her waist, and in place of pinching fingers was his tongue and teeth. Tugging with fervor, suckling and getting her wet with his mouth. He blew against it, and she sucked in air, desperate sounding moans escaping her throat.

He moaned over her breast, his other hand squeezing her and flicking his thumb over her nipple repetitively. She felt it down to her toes and in her core, the tightness in her muscles from the attention. “This body is incredible, and mine to play with. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Mika whispered, head tossed back. “It’s yours.”

“And I do not lie, Mika. Correct?”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed.

“Then listen to me. You are beautiful. You are sexy. I want you to know that you deserve to feel loved, by me, and by your own self.” She cried as he abruptly went to her neck to bite nearly enough to make her bleed.

Sliding down her body from her breasts, he kissed and bit softly at her flesh, tugging here and there with his blunt teeth. Above her belly button he suckled a bit, and then slipped down more. His elegant fingers found her pants zipper to pull it down, and then he was having her lift her lower half to slip her pants off until she was only wearing her underwear, which were boxer style to help suck in her stomach. The band rested just above her belly button.

When he moved to pull down her underwear, Mika reached a hand down to stop him instantly. “Please… I…” She bit her lip, unsure. She felt amazing, truly he was making her feel so good, but this was… this was hard to do.

His eyes shone with nothing but kindness, and he spoke with a tender tone. “My love, I want to worship this body. Let me?” He kissed above her waistband, lips hovering and breathe hot against her skin. The sensation had her eyes fluttering.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want it. Because who would turn down Lucifer Morningstar? No one with at least one brain cell. Having his hands and mouth and tongue and dick anywhere on or in her was nothing short of a miracle, and that was where the problem lay. Her insecurities took hold of her tight, and started to push away any of the desire she felt like burning hot coals inside.

His dark red irises gazed up at her as he spoke, “I want to devour you.”

She shivered and moaned. He was so sexy. Her core was leaking with each second he kept position over her lower half, and he could no doubt smell its wetness. But would he find her gross to look at? She wasn’t as pretty anymore with her pudge and fat belly.

He stayed where he was, fingers lightly scratching over her body, up and down on her thick thighs. She had no problem with big thighs, the more to pull others in close when fucking she thought. But bellies shouldn’t be so pudgy, and hips shouldn’t be so squishy. Especially when you were already a bigger sized human.

“Mika. I’ll ask again.” He spoke in a husky tone, and his tongue dipped against her for a quick second like a cat lapping up a droplet of milk. He grinned devilishly. “Can I eat your pussy?” he asked, and pressed his palm right against her core, rubbing it up and down over her underwear.

“L-lucifer!” she cried out. Fuck this, she couldn’t deny anymore her neediness. Her wants for him. Her insecurities would have to wait a fucking minute for her to have a great orgasm from the Prideful Avatar’s mouth. “Yes!”

“Hm, good girl, that’s what I like to hear.”

Her underwear was tore into bits in milliseconds, Lucifer’s demon claws being used of course. She had no time to react, as his mouth was on her and he was eating her like she was his last meal.

“Lu-lucifer, yes, so—Fuck!”

He lapped at her folds, and made lewd noises as he did so. He kept her open with one hand on her upper thigh, but realized soon that he did not need to and that hand went to play with her clit, index finger rubbing in circles, pressing down against it hard. Her legs had never spread so wide before as Mika gave him full access to all of her private area.

Mika’s hips buckled upwards, head rushing and static ringing sounds in her ears. The kisses to her mouth were nothing like what he was doing to her lower body. He licked over her in an oval pattern, tongue flat and then sharp and flickering like a snake. It danced over her clit for a moment and Mika bit her lip, but he soon focused on her entrance. He pursed his lips over it, humming and dipping the tip of his tongue into her just enough to open her up and make her gush into his awaiting mouth.

Lucifer’s mouth left you, and he suddenly pressed his fingers into her, Mika’s eyes watered and she cried out from the shocking pressure that was totally filing and fantastic. She clenched around him as he worked his two fingers in and out of her for a few quick bursts, then his tongue was pushing between the digits to open her more. His fingers and tongue worked together to get her ultimately wet and open, and he hummed some more, the vibrations of his sounds causing body spasms. The single finger on her clitoris rubbed back and forth demonically fast. She was stretched open so far.

“Ah! ‘S good!” She sobbed, limbs twitching, core tightening. She would come soon, but she held off, waiting. She was obedient for him, only for him. Permission was needed. She was in a totally different headspace, one she saved for these moments alone.

The finger on her clit turned into a thumb and forefinger pinching and rubbing together. His hand fondled one of her boobs, and she could smell herself from how close it was to her face. The musk made her wetter, if even possible. His tongue left her pussy and he licked over her labia while he squeezed her sticky tit, wet from her own fluids. She glanced down at him while she could, and saw his glimmering eyes and perfect mouth against her. His teeth found her clit then, and he licked and nibbled it, never picking just one sensation. She opened her mouth and let out soft puffs of air and shook her head back and forth from overstimulation.

She needed release. She wanted it so badly.

As if he read her mind, or maybe her body, he raised his head to say in a deep dark tone, “Mika, you may come,” before biting her clit and sucking wetly with fervor as fingers pumped in and out of her.

She convulsed on his mouth, legs pushed together enough to press him into her further. She moaned loudly as her orgasm spread over her entire body, sending shockwaves of pleasure.

Once she came down from the high, Lucifer moved away from her leaking pussy. He sat back on his knees between her spread legs, uniform looking perfect still. He licked his lips and smirked wickedly, fingers dancing over his plump mouth to suckle them. “My sweet tastes so sweet.”

She groaned. “Please no.” She threw her arm over her eyes. But admittedly, that was a hot image she would forever remember.

He laughed. “I apologize.” He lay next to her, tugging her head to his collarbone. He brushed his fingers through her hair, sighing. “I hope you know now what you mean to me. And how much I dread hearing you speak lowly of yourself.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’ll try to be better.”

And she would try. Mika was feeling better. She still hated her weight gain, but Lucifer didn’t mind it, so she could mind it a little less. It bothered her but seeing how Lucifer had basically just worshiped her to show her what she meant to him, she could just as easily do this in return.

Anyone with eyes could see that Lucifer loved her in some way. But if they saw him now, not “Council Member Lucifer”, they would truly see just how much. Because that Lucifer hid himself from others, emotions were hard to show on that Lucifer, the one with a public image to maintain, the public image of Pride and being loyal to Diavolo always. Outside of this room they could kiss, hold hands, and speak caring words, but once in the presence of others, he closed off his face. He was protective, still, and caring, but it was a different type of protection and care. It was almost possessive, while in private it was gentler. His eyes were softened more.

And Mika was fine with that, she was totally fine with all sides of him. She understood. She went through tough times herself where she had to be brave or whatever else.

So she never took for granted these moments.

“Come to me when you feel this way again.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Do I have to go to RAD?” she asked, and pouted at him.

He sighed. “No, you do not have to if that is what you wish. But, if you don’t want to go to class today you must stay with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

She licked her lips. “Please, I would like that a lot.”

He kissed her cheek, then lips, and she giggled. He smiled at her blushing face. “Then it settled. Let’s clean you up and get you changed into something comfortable. Then you will gather your school work so you have something to study. I will watch over you, but I won’t have time to pay much attention to you.”

She smirked at him. “Well, I think my attention was satisfied enough for now.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad to see you feeling better, dear one. Let’s go.”

_+_

Lucifer’s study always smelt like leather and smoke, in a soft way, nothing to intense. The air was warm and soothing. Mika used to be terrified when she came in here, sometimes still was, but now she just felt tension she didn’t even know was holding her down melt away in the air.

“You may sit on the couch if you wish. If you need help, please let me know.” He sat in his large swivel chair and picked up his pen and got to work on the huge stacks that layered his desk.

She shrugged. Taking a seat in the center of the sofa, she pulled out her Demonic History and got to work. What felt like hours but was actually just one, she signed and cracked her neck from her slouched position. She glanced up and saw that Lucifer was in the same spot he had been, swishing his wrist over documents in elegant flourish. He was totally focused. Mika was not.

She felt her eyes burning from looking at the notes and work books and tiny texts that filled each page so she looked around for a moment, and fidgeted a bit with her phone, twirling it around.

“Mika, take a break. Go get some lunch.”

“But I’m not—” She looked at him, and he was not happy. His red eyes glowering, pen paused on the document before him. She swallowed, heart pounding. “I could eat. Thanks.” She stood, dropping her stuff on the sofa and table, and went to the kitchens, leaving Lucifer to do what he did best: approve and sign paperwork.

Food did not sound appealing. She knew she promised to do better, but Mika could not take how she looked, or felt. It was an awful feeling she wanted to go away. It would not be easy to hide eating less but she could do it with a big effort.

Once she reached the kitchen she got out a glass and filled it with some berry juice. She wasn’t sure what berry that was used, it was dark red and smelled acidic and had an aroma not unlike oranges which was odd as it wasn’t, you know, orange. But it didn’t poison her so she drank some.

She pulled up Devilgram and scrolled, liking some of Asmo’s posts of new outfits that looked like they were made for Billionaires in the human world, and Mammon’s picture of his face between two magazines with himself on each front cover from his modeling gigs. They looked amazing, and she never stopped being awed at how good he was at modeling. She laughed at the picture Satan posted of Belphie napping upside down on the stairs with his pillow on the bottom step and his legs straight up. He didn’t look comfortable but you couldn’t get the title of ‘Avatar of Sloth’ from nothing.

She poked at her stomach when it growled at her. “Shut. Up. No food. Only juice.” She said to it, poking the fat at her gut. It argued back and she sighed.

Lucifer would probably notice if she didn’t eat. Demon’s had great senses of smell. Also, if he asked, and she said yes but it was a lie, she would probably be punished for real this time.

Wait, she could do what her friends used to do when they wanted to fit into a dress for events and stuff. Puke it up! There was nothing else to do really, because she would not actually eat. But Mika told herself, she had to really do it. If she ate and wasn’t able to, it would be the exact opposite of what she wanted.

So she pulled out some leftovers and took a few bites. She let it settle a bit, messing on her phone, feeling fuller and grosser. Then, she went to the nearest bathroom and, after making sure no one was around, she closed the door and knelt over the toilet. She stuck her finger in her throat and gathered all her inner strength to be smaller and pressed and spewed the food out. It burned, but the feeling was gone soon enough. Mika was proud of herself. The feeling reminded her of when she was 21 and drunk, feeling done for the night at 1am, and then she vomited and was ready for 2 more hours of fun.

Her DDD said it had been over 40 minutes so that seemed enough time for a break. She went back to Lucifer’s room and knocked to be polite, he announced she could enter again.

“Did you enjoy your lunch?” he asked, still scribbling, head down.

“Yeah, had some leftovers.” She sat down and opened her text book.

“Hm. Lucky Beel didn’t eat them all last night.”

Mika laughed at that. “Yup, but the fridge was pretty bare otherwise.”

He sighed, but she saw a smile peeking out at the corner of his lips. “I’ve already got a re-stock before he comes back from RAD.”

She nodded a few times, feeling happy he didn’t realize what she had done. Guilt was building again, but she pushed it down and focused on her studies.

She did a few more sheets of work that needed to be done, and highlighted some other stuff she wanted to ask Satan about for the Potions and Spells class. Her thoughts kept wandering to what she had done, and she wanted to know more. Her phone was calling to her, so she picked it up and started searching. Key words like ‘getting thinner quick’ and ‘vomiting food’ came on her search. It was called purging, and being bulimic. Interesting, she thought, and seemed easy enough. She could do this each night after dinner! What a great idea!

“Now, Mika, this is not studying, is it?”

She gasped as her phone was taken away from her hands, Lucifer standing in front of her. He tutted, the DDD she had been tapping away on gripped loosely in his forefinger and thumb.

“I-I…” she stuttered.

He raised a brow at her, then sighed. “Oh dear. I’ll be keeping this for a while. I’ll be done shortly and I can help you if you’d like?”

She smiled. “Sure, that’d be nice. I’ll always be in need of help… especially with Demonic History.”

He chuckled. “Considering there have been many millennium of History, I would think so.” He knelt down and kissed her sweetly. “Study hard now.” He whispered, velvet lips pressed against her own.

Mika nodded as he walked away, a light tinge of pink on her face. “I promise,” she murmured.

She cracked down then on her studies once more. So much so that what felt like moments later, but was actually 10 minutes, her phone dinged with an alert and she heard nothing, focused on reading some lines in a very old book yet again.

“MIKA!”

She jumped at the fury she heard from Lucifer, it was a tone he all too often took with Mammon, but not ever her. Not like that.

He was instantly before her, a flash of Infernal magic so bright it stunned her eyes as she stared up at him, nervous and frightened at why he was so pissed off.

“What. Is. THIS.”

And he showed her the screen of the phone he confiscated away, open on an article showing vomiting and the art of being skinny by purging. Her nerves tingled, icy cold in fear, and her body shook in small tremors.

He was not supposed to know. Especially not like this.

“I-I-I d-don’t—”

The phone was gone, where Mika was not sure, and in replace of it was his face as he crouched down to her level, lines of fury prominent on his brow. His eyes dark ruby red and almost black. She could feel magic rippling around him, and saw his demonic form flashing in and out. “NO. You do NOT lie to me again, little girl.”

She gasped. His demon form was out, horns and wings and pure rage came with it. The wings at his back wide and terrifyingly black, overtaking the room. She sunk further into the couch trying to be smaller as instinct took over her like an animal in the wild. This fear was too similar, too alike to ‘that time’ and she despised it so damn much. “P-p-please, I’m sorry… don’t hurt m-me…”

She felt herself slipping into blackness. Was he killing her, was she letting him? She didn’t feel anything around her throat, or on her body anywhere at all, just the brush of the couch that felt like it was moving, back and forth, rocking. Or was that her?

And the air was gone like a snap of fingers. She was in a dark place with no fucking air. It was too hot to breathe. Nonexistent oxygen. Suffocation. Darkness. Heat. Shouldn’t darkness be cold?

“Mika. Mika.”

Lucifer called to her from a tunnel. Her eyes would not open, but he was there. She knew he was right there, but he sounded farther than before. The rage was gone, in place was a voice soft and far away like a dream.

Lucifer would always protect her, even from his own pride and anger (Satan was just the same, worried of his Wrath that never actually hurt her). She wanted him closer, even knowing he yelled at her before about her phone. That was how much she needed him. She over looked his wrong for what she needed, and she wasn’t sure what that need could have been just yet. Maybe a kiss? Or to be able to actually see him?

“Please, darling, I am so very sorry to have frightened you.”

A touch, then, gentle on her arm. Stroking up and down, tickling with the lightness of the touch. “Open your eyes. Breathe with me, that’s my good girl.” As if he grounded her with his commanding voice, air came easy then. Oxygen came in violent bursts of stinging in her lungs that faded after a few times of exhaling and inhaling until it was something normal again.

When she next became aware fully, Lucifer was surrounding her, wings and all. He was warm, she thought, like a heated blanket on a cool winter day, and his feathered wings radiated heat like his body did as it was pressed to her. Lucifer’s big hands cradled her gently. One at the base of her neck with his thumb lightly rubbing, the other at the back of her head stroking her hair soothingly. They were still on the couch she noticed.

His chin touched her forehead as he spoke to her, slowly and softly, “You are precious to me. I can’t help but become angry when I see you harming yourself yet again… this time in a different manner. I’m sorry, my love, for all I have done wrong to you.”

Tears stung her eyes at the sweet words. “’s okay, Lucifer. Really.”

“It’s not. But you’re the kindest creature to forgive a cruel one such as myself. It will not happen again, I promise you.”

She shook her head against him, fabric rustling. Her fingers clutched into his shirt, and she pressed her nose into the spot between, nuzzling absentmindedly. He smelled of smoke from a campfire and the ocean breeze. She didn’t have to worry. Lucifer was her protector her, and he only cared for her. She understood why he did what he did.

Mika spoke then. “I’m okay now. Don’t worry.”

“I will worry as I like.” He paused, his long fingers scratching over the back of her neck. “Did you do what your phone said, this ‘purging’?”

“Yes…”

He sighed. “We’ll speak more in a moment, after you have some water.”

He attempted to stand, but Mika gripped his shirt in her fingers. “No. Stay with me, please.”

Lucifer pet her head a few times, and she felt like a cat in the best way possible. She kept her gaze down, embarrassed. “I’m not leaving you. Count to three and I will return, can you do this for me?”

Easy enough to do. “Yes,” she mumbled. She closed her eyes, let go of him, and counted. Before she got to 3, he was back, and she grabbed him tight. He was no longer in his demon form so she held him around his waist, very nearly suffocating in his scent.

“Darling, here,” he said, turning her head sideways. He pressed a glass to her lips and she sipped it. The cool water was nice and seemed to wake her from her dazed state a little.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat there for a moment. The crackling of the room’s hearth was the only sound, and she focused on it, slowing her racing heartbeat. Lucifer kept his hands moving on her body, circular motions on her lower back, and his other playing with her hair. Never straying from her, never stopping comforting her with his loving hands. He allowed her this moment of peace for a few minutes, and she was grateful for it.

Until, “Mika, my dear, we must speak of this now.”

She knew it was coming, but did not want it to come so soon. “…okay…”

She could practically feel the way he settled his body, preparing for a speech. He was good at those. Lucifer spoke sternly, petting her locks as he did. “This absolutely cannot and will not happen again. If you eat, you will keep the food inside your body. I know you’re upset and unhappy about your weight gain, my dear, but I’ve said before that your health matters to me. And this, what you have done, it’s incredibly unhealthy.”

She winced. “I know. It’s… I can’t stop my thoughts, they just happen and I…” she trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

He hummed at her. “And when they do come, these terrible thoughts, you will come to me, or someone else in this house. I’ll help you however I can. You have to know my brothers will, too. We all care very deeply for you, Mika.”

She opened her mouth to protest. “But—”

“I promise.”

She sighed. “All right. I will…”

“You will what?”

“I’ll come to you if I have any bad thoughts.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, are you ready for your punishment?”

She bit her lip. She really was not.

He frowned, and caressed at her hair softly. “Mika. We can wait until you are not in such a state.”

“I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes a tad. She took a breath, and nodded. Now or never, or rather later. She hated putting things off to the last minute. “Okay. Yes. I’m ready.”

He assessed her once, up and down, into her eyes then, searching. She did not move a muscle or avert her eyes from his. “Very well. This way.” He led her to his desk, where he moved some papers aside and turned over some other private ones. “Hands here and here.” He pointed, and she placed them. “Spread your legs, and dip your back.” She blushed as she did this, head down and hair in her face. It was obviously going to be a spanking, and she hated this position for those.

He stood next to her, his aura changing with what was to come. She was more in tune with the types of energy demons gave off now after learning from Solmon, and from her pacts, and his was very stern and unmoving. “10 hits to your bottom. You do not have to speak, just stay still and take this punishment. The color system is in place. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lucifer.”

“Very good.”

She heard the click of his heels as he stepped behind her. His hand grabbed her hip, the touch making her jump, his fingers gently holding her still. He made a soft noise as if to assure her she was fine. Then his other hand rubbed over her ass, almost warming it up for the pain to be given. Briefly she thought if she was wearing her RAD skirt he would be able to see her panties from her positioning.

She tensed in anticipation as he just kept rubbing her butt. It was the second worst part of being spanked, waiting for it to start, while the first was obviously being spanked. This was what Lucifer did best, though, make her wait; it was part of the punishment.

The swat was sudden and really hard. She grunted, the discomfort flaring up. She vaguely heard the swooshing of… what was that? A paddle? No, it was too small. She widened her eyes in recognition. Oh fuck, it was a ruler, wasn’t it? She turned to look, but then his stern voice halted her.

“Keep facing forward.”

So she did, and two more hits came in hard succession. They stung like hell, the contact worse than a paddle because it was so thin and the force of the ruler seemed to be more intense. Her nails ground on the desk a bit. It got her entire ass, not just one cheek, and he hit it at a different angle.

Mika’s eyes watered up, and after the next hit, harder than the first ones, she grit her teeth and felt her throat get hot. She lost focus when his hand rubbed over the spot he hit then on her left butt cheek, and he rubbed really hard, too, so hard she could feel the indents the ruler made from the edges. She only kept her position because he held her hip so tightly.

He went hard on the rest, fast and efficient. So efficient Mika barely held her legs up. Her ass was burning and stinging and her stomach was clenched tight. Her arms shook holding her upper body against the desk. Was it over? She had no idea.

“You did so well.”

She collapsed forward onto her forearms, eyes watering up. A few tears fell onto the desk. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

“I know, love, it’s all forgiven. Come, let’s rest on the sofa.” He took her around her waist, leading her while she wiped her face. He sat down first, pulling her across his lap sideways so her legs rested long on the furniture. Then he chuckled as she sat on his lap and cried out from the sting.

She smacked his chest lightly, pouting. “Jerk. It hurts.”

He rubber her inner thigh, cooing almost sympathetically and sarcastically at the same time. “That’s how punishments work, Mika.”

She said nothing, grumbling about asshole demons. He just laughed some more, but it helped her mood settle a bit. The spanking wasn’t that bad, honestly it could have been worse. And she knew that had he not frightened her so much before she probably would have received 10 more hits to her ass than she did. She was almost glad he freaked out on her, her ass was certainly thankful.

“Hm. I hope you know I will be informing the others of what happened.” Her eyes widened. “Not of your spanking, although I’m sure if any had been near they would no doubt have heard it. No, I’m speaking of what we’ll call your… unhealthy dieting… to put it in a kind way.”

“Please no, don’t tell them Lucifer! I promise I’ll do better,” she begged.

But she was no Asmo and she could not charm any demon. He tutted at her, tipping her chin up to gaze at her with his beautiful red eyes. “It must be done to keep you safe. They’ll look after you when I cannot. Do you understand why I’m doing this?”

She sighed. “Yes… I just don’t like it.”

“Again, my darling, punishment.” His eyes twinkled.

She growled, and he laughed, kissing her lips sweetly, killing her hate with his wonderful talented mouth. “My adorable little Mika.”

She blushed. “Luci…”

He pulled her close. “I love you.”

She leaned into his embrace. “I love you too.”

They sat there, close and warm, Mika’s butt tingling occasionally. But she focused on Lucifer’s arms around her, and his lips tickling her hair as he breathed. She would never get over how he made her feel so many amazing things. Or just how much he treated her like family even though she was human. Being loved by Lucifer was such an unimaginable thing, and yet here he was, loving her with all his being.

#mc x lucifer #ofc #obey me fanfic #shall we date obey me #shall we date obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me #shall we date #swd #om #fanfiction #obey me fanfiction #my fics

24 notes · View notes

talietikasero · 3 years

Text

Stability

Random prompt from 8/11 [finished 8/16]: rewrite the Strive ending / create an alternate epilogue [to line up with my story project]. I may or may not rewrite the whole thing for fun lmao.

[Main story preview here (contains 6 scenes)] // [Chapter 1 now on AO3]

"I guess... that's what they meant..." She let out between huffs. Both the voice in her head and the former Sanctus Maximus Populi said the same thing regarding her potential ability.

“When the time comes, with your seed, you hold the power to save or destroy the world.”

“You can prevent the end of it all.”

Energy drained, she fought off the sluggish pace her body was moving. Looking over to her partner, she noticed he was barely hanging on to his life, staying incredibly still, and trying to regulate his breathing while facing down. While her body contained the [Scales of Juno], he had the [Flame of Corruption] ripped out from his, reverting him to a human. "On second thought, don't move." Once she closed the distance between them, she knelt and put her arms around him. Face against the scuffed leather sleeve, and she struggled to hold her emotions in. "H-hey..." Voice cracking, she lowly muttered between sniffles, "please, don't go..."

"..."

"You... you stayed true to... your word about... a-about..."

"..."

"Fighting to... s-save the world..."

"If the world was going to disappear tomorrow... What would you do today?"

"What kind of a question is that? Stop whatever's ending the world or die trying."

Her embrace tightened as tears ran down her face. "Human, Gear, or neither. The world still needs you."

With drooped ears and saddened eyes, the wolf spirit whined. Its host and companion soothed it by scratching behind its ears and reassuring the worst had come to pass. "(It's okay, Rei. We're still alive.)." She whispered to the spirit in her native tongue. Another whine followed by a lick to the side of her face, Giovanna patted Rei's forehead. "What? Are you worried about me? I'm okay, I swear." She winced as another sharp pain ran through her body. "Ouch..." Her superior, the President, placed a hand on her shoulder. Half-expecting him to say she's no longer needed, she began, "I'm sorry-..."

"None of that." Vernon's voice was firm; however, it sounded... fatherly. He may have his doubts about the agent, but he knew she was more than capable of the job. Facing off against an unstoppable force, she did prove she's worth giving a higher position. "I can tell what you were thinking, but you're not being let go. You take as much time as you need off, Gio. Goldlewis, Erica, and I will await your return."

Saddened at the loss of someone he could consider a friend, the time traveler meekly looked down at the minty green and white guitar he held in his hands. This entire time he was unaware of her true identity. If he had to lose someone like her, it didn't have to be this way. Regardless of if she recalled who he was and why he was important to her in the first place, false memory or not. He threw away his chance to return home a while ago, and now he felt that it would've been for nothing had he gone through with it. "It shouldn't have ended like this... Megumi." Axl softly said under his breath.

After regaining control over his body and revealing the wicked goddess's weak point, the vampiric samurai pierced the ground a few centimeters with his sword. He kneeled to show his appreciation for defeating the evil force that used him as a puppet. Now, he could see why his master was fascinated by the will of a single person. This same person was stripped of his powers and still faced death head-on. "May you rest for now. The next time we meet, it won't be as enemies, but acquaintances." Drawing his blade from the ground, Nagoriyuki sheathed it and took his leave.

The King of Illyria – his lifelong rival and their son-in-law – made his way over to them, stopping a few feet short to maintain distance. "It's finally over. They're gone. We can... we can go home now." Part of him wanted to hold a hand out to help him stand, yet he held back and deemed that action unnecessary. Ky's spirits rose once he noticed the man in front of him was taking steady deep breaths -- body slowly moving to show signs of life.

Right hand maintaining its grip on the Outrage's handle, his free hand lightly grasped one of hers. Face still downward, a weak smile formed. "...You think so?"

She couldn't believe it. He's hanging by a thread and using what energy he should be saving to answer her with a question of his own.

"I know so."

The past three weeks were a blur. From the day she woke up and adjusted to this new world to the present, where she aided in bringing down a god. She never would've guessed that any of these events could've transpired. In the days leading up to September 2016, she was a terminally ill scientist who refused any life-saving alternative to live past what little time she had left, insisting she spent it with her significant other. Fast forward to December 2187, and she was brought back to life and became the partner of humanity's savior -- the very same person, albeit for the last time.

_____

The next day, another patient was checked into the hospital. This time there wasn’t a commotion caused by bringing his unconscious form bursting through the front doors. She wasn’t strong enough to carry him in her arms like he held her – that’s what the gurney from the airship’s infirmary wing was for.

“I have a request. May I stay here until he recovers? I… I don’t want to leave him.”

Three days later, word had reached his family that he's – miraculously and defying all odds – alive. His refusal to follow the light after what had happened was attributed to his stubborn nature. The Grim Reaper knocked at his door, and he slammed it shut in their face. Occupying the same bed, in the same patient room as her around a month ago, the now de-powered hero lay hooked up to the vitals system.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Hard to say, but he'll pull through. He did wake up this morning, so there's something, yeah?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen my mother? About my height, short red hair with white underneath, and wearing a blue leather jacket? She hasn't been seen since everyone returned."

"She's in the room and hasn't left at all. I had someone stop by the house and bring her spare clothes since she spent the last four days here."

"Oh, thank god." The queen was relieved to know her mother's whereabouts. She respected her parents' privacy by not asking if she was able to go in.

---

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring-ring.

Sighing in aggravation, she answered her phone. There was only one person she kept in contact with these past few days. "What do you want now? He's still not up, so stop cal-..."

"I was going to ask something else. I'm going to regret this, but are you still angry?"

"You're a smart man to keep your distance from me, but a dumbass to ask that. Of course, I am! You ruined our lives with your 'self-righteousness' and nearly brought another apocalypse."

"...Aria, I understand your rage. If only I could rewind time and prevent your illness. I shouldn't have forcibly converted him and disappeared with your sleep capsule. It wasn't my intention to have our research weaponized, but I was figuratively and literally held at gunpoint to hand it over to the US Government. I should've known better and anticipated that Chaos -- erm, the Original's creation would sabotage your activation. Your screams still haunt me... and... I'm... I'm sorry."

"Asuka."

"I can't fix this by excessively apologizing and listing off my crimes, but I hope everything goes well for you and Frederick."

"Whatever. Enjoy the moon, or don't." She ended the call before her former friend could reply. "Asshole." Aria slumped back in the chair and opened her book to the page she left off. "We should've launched you into the sun."

"Oh my. And I thought 'Sol' was a hothead. You're pretty harsh, you know that? It's more frightening than I-No on a good day." Jack-O's voice rang through. Capable of feeling and expressing emotions herself, the Valentine was taken aback at what she heard during their calls. "If possible, can we listen to his show sometime? Please?"

"...Okay."

"Thank you. ~"

---

Forty minutes after the heated conversation, a groggy voice broke the silence.

"Is the... afterlife a sterile... hospital room?" Frederick's eyes were half-open, staring directly at the ceiling.

Aria closed what she was reading and placed it on the counter. Ignoring the monitors that once kept track of her, she looked over his body to see minimal damage sustained. "Looks like you've still got some of that healing factor. Or you're just too hardheaded to die."

He slightly turned his head to face her. "Heh. Probably both."

Running a hand through his now short hair, her lips curved into an unsure smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living?"

"This doesn't look like heaven. If you're my welcome guide, then I'll stay." His body was still sore, but he extended his arm out for her to hold his hand. The warmth from the fire magic still dwelling within them made their contact feel safer.

"I should've worn that jumpsuit and halo." Her inner voice's reaction was an exaggerated throat clear. "But if I did," she held a finger to her temple, "I don't think she would've appreciated that."

"I would've been mildly annoyed at best. Mildly annoyed yet honored that you'd wear it because of what you did."

"You're really pissed off at Asuka, aren't you?"

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. Didn't know you were capable of that."

"I felt like you after the second day." He took that as a friendly poke at his history. "Since you've saved the world for the last time, are you still up for that 'alternate life' you mentioned the other night? We don't have to stay at Ky and Dizzy's. They can arrange something for us."

His ears perked up at the suggestion. Did she remind him about his statement regarding them settling down? Having survived an act of God, living a quiet life together a few minutes out from the capital didn't sound like a terrible idea. "What did you have in mind?"

"A fair-sized home, nothing too big or small, probably just down the way from their place. I don't want to throw everything away and live in seclusion. We're way out of our own time, but we finally have a family, people who care about us, and we care about them in return. Unless you have a better idea?"

"I'm fine with anything. Can't imagine I'd be able to go out much or at all because I'm officially a dead man."

"Not too long ago, I was a dead woman walking. Besides, the world thinks that Sol Badguy is dead, not Frederick Bulsara."

"Point there. You know, now that I think about it, this situation is just like a month ago."

"With you in my place, but I didn't have to be dragged in? This is the same room where I spent my time recovering. It was also -..."

"Where you got your new start."

"Y-yeah. That's exactly it. This is where I woke up to my new life! Not as Justice, or Jack-O, but as myself. That same day, I met our daughter and her husband, and then I saw you again. Just this time... I've been here since you were checked in. Everyone tried to get me to leave, but I refused."

He noticed the duffel bag placed near the door. There was a pant leg hanging over one side of the unzipped bag, and next to it were two pairs of footwear. "Way to tug at the old heartstrings. Stubborn as always, aren't you?" If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do the same when she was still unconscious. He had the feeling that the IRMC staff wouldn't have thought about asking him to leave the premises, even though he almost kicked the doors clean off the first time.

"One of my best qualities." She winked at him, giggling at her remark.

"Hey, Aria."

"Hm?"

He slowly sat up despite the mild pain, leaning over to bring her in for a hug. "Thank you."

Aria returned the motion, both holding onto each other, not wanting to let go. She had felt incomplete up until this moment. Preventing the end was a combined effort, and she couldn’t be any happier to have been a part of that team.

A sense of déjà vu, the song playing on the radio had neared its end.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words...

"I love you."

#guilty gear #aria hale #only tagging her since she's the main character of this little project #other characters in this mini prompt: sol axl giovanna nagoriyuki and vernon #also ky asuka and jack-o #the main fic's about 90 percent done #and i wrote this because i hit writer's block for two days #i'm ending the main fic's chapter 3 at the beginning of ggst so i may do some more rewrites #the song at the end is the brenda lee version of fly me to the moon #nat's fanfics #ah whoopsie it's 5am #by the energy drain i intended for her to jump into god i-no's body like in the actual story mode #but then she was torn out after starting the halting process

2 notes · View notes

everwitch-magiks · 4 years

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 18)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 17

It’s a quiet evening in January, when everything changes.

Whiskey has just come back from his run and is met by a familiar yet unusual smell as he steps inside the Haus. It’s cumin and garlic, pork and definitely chili… Whiskey frowns. It can’t be. Really, it can’t. He makes his way into the kitchen, almost hesitantly.

Except, it is.

Miguel is at the kitchen table, speaking with a patient tone as he guides an unusually focused Hops through the steps of properly folding tamales. It was only last week that Whiskey learned the method and terminology, himself, when Miguel had shown him the process in the cramped kitchen of his new apartment. There’s two pots on the stove, and something's already in the oven – garlic bread, if Whiskey isn't entirely mistaken. Huh.

Both Hops and Miguel look up when Whiskey enters.

“Hey, there." Miguel smiles. He makes a small, somewhat helpless gesture around the room in general, as if to say I wasn't expecting this, either or perhaps even this isn't actually my fault. “Dinner’s on the way.”

“Whiskey!” Hops exclaims giddily. “I’m cooking!”

“I can see that,” Whiskey says carefully.

He’s more than a little bit surprised. Miguel comes and goes almost as frequently as some of the members of the team, these days, so it’s not completely unheard of that he’d be at the Haus before Whiskey. Still, Whiskey didn’t expect Miguel to have made himself quite this comfortable in the Haus kitchen. Especially since they’ve been making such an effort to keep things very low-key.

“Oh, Whisk, have you met Miguel?” Hops suddenly asks, completely sincere. “He’s Tango’s friend. And a kitchen genius, obviously.”

“Oh my God,” Miguel says, very quietly.

Whiskey wants to laugh. He wants to laugh so badly. He forgets, sometimes, how the world can be so stubbornly determined to see nothing but heterosexuality all around.

“No, we’ve met,” Whiskey finally says, probably more than five seconds too late, but at least he keeps most of his composure. “Actually, we had a class together last semester.”

"Oh, that's 'swasome." Hops grins, blissfully oblivious. "Me and Tango have decided Miguel can use the Haus kitchen anytime, so you might be seeing a lot more of each other."

"I suppose that's fine," Whiskey says dryly. Miguel stifles a laugh. "Do you guys need any help?"

“I think we’re fine,” Miguel says brightly. “Actually, Whiskey, isn’t that your phone on the table? It’s been buzzing non-stop for a while, now.”

Miguel is right – it is his phone. Whiskey picks it up. He’s got seven missed calls, all from an unknown number. Huh. Just as he pulls up his browser to google it, his phone starts ringing again.

“I’d better take this.” Whiskey is already leaving the kitchen. “Save me some garlic bread, okay?”

“You got it!”

He’s making his way up the stairs as he takes the call.

“It’s Connor.”

“Oh, there you are.” The pleasant voice on the other end of the line is only vaguely familiar. “Connor, this is Emily Larsen. We met briefly a couple of months ago at one of your home games. Is this a good time? I’ve actually got a few different things to cover.”

Emily Larsen… Right. That Emily Larsen. The Houston Aeros.

Wait. Seven missed calls?

“It’s nice to hear from you,” Whiskey says carefully. He enters his bedroom and closes the door firmly. “Now is fine. I’ve got time.”

“Good, good.” Emily pauses for a moment. “This is kind of going to be a lot, okay? Just let me talk for a bit, first. I promise I’ll try to answer all of your questions later.”

She doesn’t give him the chance to respond before she launches right into it.

It is a lot, Whiskey thinks dizzily, and paying proper attention soon turns out to be something of a challenge. Mostly because every impossible thing Emily tells him seems more impossible than the one before. Several ill-timed injuries, which means we have an unexpected opening, Emily says, and Whiskey’s heartbeat quickens. A make or break situation where we need to act fast, Emily says, and Whiskey finds that he needs to sit down. We'd like to get you down in time for tomorrow’s practice, Emily says, and Whiskey has to remind himself to breathe.

“Tomorrow,” he manages to cut in, the single word costing him an unbelievable effort. “That’s… That’s really soon.”

“We have our next game on Tuesday, next week,” Emily explains efficiently. “We would need to have you on the ice with our guys as much as possible, before then.”

“Okay,” Whiskey says faintly. “I, uh. I have a pop quiz tomorrow.”

It’s probably a pretty fucking stupid thing to say, but Whiskey can’t actually bring himself to care very much right now. His mind is still spinning rapidly.

“Look,” Emily says. Her voice has softened, just slightly. “If you’re going to sign with us, you won’t be having a lot of pop quizzes in the near future. You’re going to need to drop out.”

“Right,” Whiskey says. He forces himself to take a steadying breath. “No, I get that. It’s just all very sudden. Is there any chance I could have some time to consider?”

Emily is quiet for a brief moment.

“This is a really big opportunity, Connor,” she says firmly. “We need someone to come down as soon as possible – yesterday, preferably. I can’t hold this door open for very long.”

“I understand that,” Whiskey tells her. And really, he does. It’s just… Whiskey gives himself a second, let’s himself just look around his room for a moment. His eyes linger at the Samwell banner he’s got pinned to the wall and the framed picture of the team that sits on his desk. Somehow, it all calms him down enough to help him hold his ground. “But I’m still going to need more than a couple of hours to make a decision like this. If you can’t accommodate that, then I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to accept.”

There’s another period of silence from Emily, except this time it’s not quite silent. A faint noise can be heard at the other end of the line, almost as if Emily has covered her phone with her hand and is exchanging a few words with someone else.

“Alright,” Emily says, more than a few moments later. “How about this. We fly you down tomorrow, you join us for practice for the rest of the week, but you don’t actually decide whether to sign with us or not until Sunday. We can get you back to Samwell over the weekend so you can take care of any unfinished business, but by Monday you’ll relocate permanently. First game on Tuesday.”

Whiskey bites his lower lip. It’s still impossibly fast, but at least it’s slightly better. And Emily is right – this is a really big opportunity. In many ways, it’s actually exactly what Whiskey has been hoping for all this time.

“Yeah,” Whiskey hears himself say. “That works.”

They wrap up the call soon after. Emily says she’ll send him his flight details, plus a check-list of things to pack. Whiskey remembers to thank her for her time, and for the opportunity. When they hang up, he’s almost convinced himself that he’s not freaking out about this.

As soon as Miguel steps into his room, that illusion shatters.

“I swear,” Miguel says cheerfully, “I give Tango one helping of leftover tamales, and suddenly the whole Haus wants in. Can you even believe…”

He quiets. Evidently, he’s registered the look on Whiskey’s face.

“Hey,” Miguel continues softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s... I’ve just, uh.”

Whiskey tries to breathe. God. He thought it wouldn't be like this, at least not yet. He thought he still had time.

Apparently, he was so wrong.

It is what it is, though. And it's not like they didn’t both know this was going to happen eventually. It's just sooner, rather than later. And it's a good thing. It should be exactly what Whiskey wants.

Whiskey finally manages to take a breath. It almost feels better. And anyway, he literally doesn't have time for even a minor breakdown, right now.

He needs to get a fucking grip.

“I’m leaving for Houston, in the morning.”

ch. 19

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #connor whisk #hops #... what even is hops name #OC: Miguel #whiskey x oc #a somewhat unexpected situation #here we go #dance with somebody #fanfiction #evie writes

14 notes · View notes

period-dramallama · 4 years

Text

A skim read of jean plaidy’s St Thomas Eve

For @thalassodromid bc this is our Niche

General thoughts on quality (TLDR)

-First off, I should give this book something of a pass because it was written 60+ years ago. Historical research, like science, Marches On.

-I skimmed it because i was not loving the style. There’s very little description, the pacing feels like This Happened And Then This Happened. With this story, you should have a sense of the stakes, the tension. It lacks atmosphere.

-This book really didn’t spark much emotion in me. I was heartwarmed and amused, but never frightened, horrified, fascinated or upset. I felt no panic when Meg got the sweat.

-Honestly i was so bored I started wondering if maybe this is too difficult a story to tell, because i came in loving these historical figures and wanting content. How bored must the unobsessed reader be?

-Show don’t tell, Jean! Don’t tell me everyone’s very upset, show me them upset. Don’t tell me Meg loves Thomas, show their bond. Don’t tell me everyone loves Thomas for his honesty, show me him helping his neighbours.

-To be fair, there’s a lot to get through in 260 pages.

-I just love how historical fiction pulp novels have Book Club questions at the back. It just feels rather cocky, imo. Like you think your book is Deep enough for me to sit and ponder the characters. Like there was a question that was something like: “do you prefer Katherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn” which was kind of hilarious because the whole book it was Poor Loyal Old Ugly Katherine and Six Fingered Anne Boleyn Is A Minx And Wants Thomas More Dead

Pet peeves

-at the beginning of the book, it says “Secretly Henry VII was unbothered by his wife’s death” or something along those lines. Given that Henry VII locked himself away after Elizabeth died and his mum had to step in and rule because he stopped functioning, this left a bitter taste in my mouth. Henry VII in this book is a Mean Evil Miser so of course he can’t love or be loved by a Good Woman.

-John More jnr being described as the family dunce. To be fair, maybe the book came out before we knew he was a translator too, but STILL. Don’t put John down to raise the girls up. He is valid too.

-the language is what my old tutor would call ‘mock Tudor’. I think it was expected at the time that you had to try and make the language authentic- The Blanket of the Dark and the Man on a Donkey both use Tudor language. It really made the dialogue annoying. Lots of ‘tis and ‘twas and it was this close to beshrew me verily and hey fucking nonny nonny. Every time Alice said fuckign ‘Tilly valley’ I went AAAARGGGH. JUST HAVE HER SAY THE WORD ‘NONSENSE’. There’s a happy middle, imo, between too Tudor and too modern, and it’s quite a broad middle, you can move around a lot in it, but there are limits.

-SPEAKING OF ALICE. Her character introduction was so good- first described as ‘an authoritative feminine voice’ *chef’s kiss* she stops a fainting Jane from being trampled at Henry’s coronation, accompanies her home and cares for her while simultaneously lowkey roasting her interior decoration. But then she becomes a bit of a caricature. When Meg gets the sweat she nags her for going near anyone who might have the sweat. The book club questions say ‘there’s more to her than meets the eye’ THEN SHOW ME MORE THAN ONE SIDE OF HER. Also Thomas loves her even though she’s ‘rude and stupid’ but Meg doesn’t understand why. Grr.

-”mistress middleton will hear you [2 year old John] crying and box your ears” NO NO NO NO NO!

-also i get a 1950s Spanking Children Is Good Parenting vibe because Alice hits the Morelings with a slipper if they don’t study, and Tm’s described as too much of “a coward” (literally the word coward is used) to hit his children other than with peacock feathers.

-Utopia being described as an ideal state...it’s really more than that. I don’t like the idea that Meg and Thomas were okay with religious toleration but then Thomas became Consumed With Hate and he says “well religious toleration would be great in an IDEAL state...”

-Meg being horrified by heretic burning. Maybe the evidence of her views wasn’t yet available and so social mores of the 50s meant that writers and historians assumed that Of Course Being a Delicate Woman She Would Have A Natural Desire For Peace And Mercy. Grr.

-Too romancey. To be fair, Jean Plaidy wrote a lot of historical romances so maybe that’s just what she’s comfortable with (and these are historical figures that never get a chance to shine) but between Meg and Will, Clement and Mercy, Joan and Thomas, Giles and Cecily... it’s a bit like Pearl Harbour in that it’s hard to care about the cute romance when men are getting burned alive in the background. A good historical romance is more like Titanic: the lovers are directly connected with the Big Historical Events ongoing. Skip!

-in this book, Mercy thinks to herself that Meg would have Tm sign the oath, but Mercy would prefer tm to do as his conscience dictates...that feels like the wrong way round.

-Erasmus and Thomas More speaking in English...Doubt.jpeg.

-Thomas More muses on how Complex men are because there’s Proud Cold Thomas Howard who is Soft for Simple Launderess Bess Holland...yeah given the multiple colossal power imbalances in that real-life affair, I’d be very surprised if it never strayed into abuse.

-baby Meg is a lil too precocious.

-dying Joan tells Meg to look after her father, no Joan stop I love you but don’t give a six year old responsibility, I don’t care if she’s six but acts eleven, looking after TM is Alice’s job not Meg’s.

-Tm using the phrase ‘our little secret’ with Meg. The context is not abusive, but the phrase is so weighted, it’s like referring to something as “a final solution”: the famous meaning is too horrifying to feel comfortable with that combination of words in any context at all.

-Joan’s younger sister being described as beautiful and flirtatious, and the whole bit about More fancying the younger sister but going for the older out of honour. The book says that More’s fascination with joan’s sister is the reason he realised he couldn’t be a priest. Given Joan’s 16, her sister’s 15 at the oldest, possibly 14. So a 26 year old can’t be a priest because he’s lusting after a 14-15 year old girl who is attractive and who has been flirting with him. Squick.

-also no mention of erasmus at the end of tm’s life. Boo. I think a dude in the tower would think about his BFF of 30+ years who he hasn’t seen for 10+ years

Good bits

-It’s obviously unintentional, but given how the word ‘gay’ has changed, i gave a little cheer every time a character was described as gay. Cecily and John are both gay, Thomas More is very gay, and later in the book wishes he could go back to being gay again. Loving the accidental representation

-”a boy who is not worth the tossing” i have a dirty mind ok

-Joan getting something of a personality! She even feels insecure because she’s a normal person stuck in a family of geniuses.

-George Boleyn is described as being ‘a bright boy’ and later the girls joke that if they meet him they’ll probably fall in love THIS SO REFRESHING. Otoh, Mary Boleyn is slutshamed and Anne is a scheming minx so the double standard does spoil it a little.

-Thomas More makes puns! At one point Alice says “more’s the pity” and then immediately says “don’t you dare make a pun out of that. i know u will. DON’T I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR PUNS” Granted, Plaidy stresses that his wit is never cruel or mocking (Doubt.jpeg) but i think this is maybe the funniest More.

-It acknowledges the heretic burning! Not bad for 1950-something. At the end there’s a sort of Hm Thomas More Is A Complex Dude How Do We Approach Him page from H8′s POV.

-More’s father getting all misty-eyed when his son becomes Chancellor

-Henry VIII kissing tm’s forehead

-the flogging of the mentally ill upskirter being depicted

-Wolsey not being a caricature but a worldly and practical man. He’s explicitly described as “not a bad man”

-”He [TM] was no Erasmus, who, having thrown the stone that shattered the glass of orthodox thought, must run and hide himself lest he should be hurt by the splinters” not a very fair way to depict Erasmus (as he spent a lot of the last decades of his life arguing against Luther and trying to mediate between religious factions, esp in Basel) However, I like the metaphor

-Meg talking about how she and her sisters will always compare men unfavourably to their father... understandable.

-More explaining why Heretic Burning is Good Actually is done well

-Meg pointing out that More and Erasmus both criticised the Church, only it’s a bit half-baked because More never experiences any doubt or crisis over it.

-Meg being torn between the Lutheran and the Catholic men she loves is at least some conflict and stakes when it finally shows up.

-Alice standing trial for dogknapping on page 195. A Big Lipped Alligator Moment, and I’ve no idea the source (i doubt Plaidy would make it up completely, it’s so out of nowhere) but it’s fun. It feels like one of More’s ‘merry tales’

“[Erasmus] read aloud to Thomas when he came home; and sometimes Thomas would sit by his friend’s bed with Margaret on one side of him and Mercy on the other; he would put an arm about them both, and when he laughed and complimented Erasmus so that Erasmus’ pale face was flushed with pleasure, then Margaret believed that there was all the happiness in the world in that room.” my emotions! my emotions! my ship is sailing, i repeat, the ship is sailing!

-”Meg, this is one of the happiest days of my life. it is a day I shall remember on the day i die. i shall say to myself when i find death near me: ‘the great erasmus said that of my daughter, my meg.’”

-”So the King likes verses!” said mistress middleton, her voice softening a little.

“Ah, madam,” said Thomas. “What the King likes today, may we hope Mistress Middleton will like tomorrow?” Do I smell... flirtation...

-”His face was pleasant and kindly, [Alice] concluded....She would like to feed him some of her possets, put a layer of fat on his bones with her butter.” Does this version of Alice have a feeding kink I definitely think, in this ‘verse, Tm and Alice are 100% having sex.

-John Colet’s in it, though described as tm’s confessor (who i think was actually grocyn or linacre)

-Alice clearing a path for a fainting Jane with “Stand aside, you oafs.” alexa, play X gon give it to you.

#historical fiction #warning: very very long post

2 notes · View notes

slash-em-up · 5 years

Text

Priceless pt. 2: The Collector x Reader

OK. Holidays are over. Enough feel-good fluff, let’s get back to the angst and whump. Jkjkjkjk but for real this one is not fun. Trigger warning for torture and child abuse!!!

Pt. 1 Here

———————————————————————

Your head felt like it was about to explode.

The pain made you moan as your eyes slowly slid open. The dim light of the room barely improved your situation, and the you tried to focus on the source of the baleful yellow light.

It flickered from a lamp sitting abandoned on a scratched and dusty table.

The floor beneath your bare feet was cold cement. You were apparently in some type of basement.

As more sensations began to register in your body, you realized that your arms were tied behind the back of the chair you’d been placed in - a layer of duct tape wrapping around your chest holding you tight to the seat.

Where were you?

“Oh hey sweetheart. Nice of you to join us.”

Your eyes darted up to see Arkin standing across the length of the room from you, rifling through a duffle bag and pulling various tools and metal objects out before placing them deliberately on a table.

It wasn’t until you saw Asa behind him that the severity of your situation really started to sink in.

Arkin had stripped Asa and tied him to a chair much like the one you were seated on. Unlike you, his ankles and arms were tied directly to the hard surface as well. You could see his fists curled, testing the strength of the metal cuffs wrapped around his wrists.

His eyes were hidden behind another strip of duct tape, and his ears were covered with headphones.

Arkin saw your pale and ill expression as you observed the larger man.

“Noise canceling headphones. He can’t hear shit right now.”

He strode over to stand behind the bound man.

“That was always the worst part for me – not knowing what he was gonna do next… I don’t have the fancy set up like he does… or, did. But I can improvise.”

Arkin set his hands softly on Asa’s bare shoulders, and you watched in shocked horror as Asa flinched harshly and began to thrash against the bonds holding him.

Letting out a chuckle, Arkin patted Asa on the cheek, moving his fingers away quickly as Asa snapped his teeth, trying to bite.

“He’s a fighter, your guy. Gotta give him props for that. I wasn’t expecting anything different; but even after I put him in the trunk hooo boy…”

Arkin moves his sleeve up to show you a deep set of fresh gouges in his arm.

“He got one hand loose, and that was that. Not making that mistake again.”

You swallowed nervously.

“Arkin… you don’t have to do this. You can still turn us in, I’ll confess to everything… I’ll make him confess … just… please don’t do this.”

The slender man looked at you with a hard expression before scoffing.

“Because the state’s definitely gonna give him what he deserves… Nah, honey. I want this man dead. I want him to hurt like he hurt me… and I want you to watch it all happen.”

A warm tear dripped down your face as you began to realize neither you nor Asa would probably be making it out of this alive.

Arkin’s pale blue eyes followed the trail of the tear as it moved from your cheek to your chin; gaze momentarily softening before breaking to return to his main captive.

He cleared his throat.

“One thing I learned while I was the good doctor’s guest was that different people respond differently to different kinds of stimulation…. What made me scream didn’t necessarily work on his other pets.”

Your wet gaze followed Arkin as he moved to the table and grabbed a wicked looking serrated knife.

“For example, I can do this…”

Fast as a wink he turned and pulled the blade across Asa’s left pectoral, leaving a streaming red line in his wake.

Asa grit his teeth behind his lips, but didn’t make a sound.

“… and I barely get anything.”

The knife was abandoned to the floor.

“But if I do this…”

He moved his palm to lay flat against Asa’s mouth and nose, cutting off his air.

The effect was immediate. Asa let out a muffled cry – somewhere between a scream and a growl – and writhed. Using everything he had in him to dislodge the hand still pressed to his skin.

Arkin grinned as he took his hand away, letting the offending limb drift to his side as he stood beside Asa’s heaving form.

“Completely different reaction, right?”

You shuddered as you watched Asa try to calm himself, taking deep breaths in and out through his nose as he visibly shook.

“Seems like our boy gets a bit more worked up by the hands-on approach than by any of this junk. Not really surprising, considering his history…”

He must have seen some confusion in your gaze and gave another low chuckle.

“I suppose that’s not really the kind of thing a big bad serial killer wants to share… so I’ll do him a solid and let you ask him about it later.”

You licked your dry lips.

“Later?”

Arkin nodded decisively.

“I plan on getting at least a few weeks of fun out of Dr. Emory here before I send him Downstairs. You’ll have time to catch up.”

With that he pulled the headphones and tape away from Asa’s face.

Asa blinked several times trying to let his eyes adjust to the sudden light before they focused on you.

You could literally see his muscles clench in anger as his dark gaze turned to Arkin, blazing.

“They have nothing to do with this.”

Arkin whirled and punched Asa in his gut – causing the seated figure to hunch in on himself with a grunt of pain.

Fingers twisted themselves in Asa’s hair as Arkin yanked his head to the side and leaned down.

“Maybe not, but they have something to do with you – and that’s good enough for me.”

Asa spat in Arkin’s face, looking like he was moments away from tearing the metal cuffs that held him apart and lunging at the smaller man.

Wiping spittle from his face, Arkin grabbed a nearby bucket and hoisted it high, letting the contents fall over Asa’s naked body.

Ice and water splashed over the cold cement floor as you gasped at the sudden turn of events.

The chill of the late winter air was prevalent in your mind as Asa began to shiver violently.

The basement stairs creaked as Arkin ascended, hitting light switches on his way up.

“Goodnight you crazy kids. See you in the morning.”

The door closed, and you were left in the bitter cold of the dark room, wondering what new horrors tomorrow would bring.

———————————————————————

You couldn’t recall falling into an uncomfortable slumber, but you must have. Pale slivers of sunlight threaded past the thick foam covering the small basement windows. You sickly realized that this must be for sound-proofing. Not a good sign.

The basement felt warmer than it had been last night. A small space heater in one corner was blowing warm air onto Asa, who was either asleep or unconscious – his head hung low on his chest, but he was no longer shivering.

A sound that had been your own personal torture through the long night.

He hadn’t said a word to you after Arkin left – not even responding to your inquiries after his health in the chill darkness. After several tries you’d given up – unsure if it was pride or if he was actually incapable of answering.

Soft sounds of movement from behind your chair brought you back to reality.

You were not alone down here.

“Arkin… please let us go. You aren’t a killer. You don’t want to do this…”

A deep chuckle met your statement.

Your eyes widened as a tall man with grey hair– looking to be in his late 50’s or early 60’s- strode into view.

“Hello there. How are you feeling this morning?”

The man dragged a chair out of the corner and sat down between your seat and Asa – casually crossing one leg over the other and setting an arm on his knee. Looking for all the world like he was sitting down at a coffee date rather than a drafty basement torture chamber.

Brows furrowing, you paused before answering.

“… I’ve been better…”

Your statement was met with a hum of amusement.

“I suppose you probably have. But all things considered, you could be worse.”

“… I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name?”

Another soft laugh – somehow familiar – was your only answer.

Any further questions were put on hold as Asa groaned and began to stir in his seat.

“Asa…”

Both of you watched – you with concern, the strange man with something like humor – as the bound and naked man shook his head as if clearing cobwebs, and raised his eyes to gaze around the room.

The black eyes you knew so well stopped at the strange man casually watching from the proverbial sidelines.

Asa’s face immediately drained of blood till he was white as a ghost, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The man laughed loudly at this, slapping his hand against his knee before rising and walking over to Asa.

Up to this point, you’d been more confused than upset by the elderly man’s presence in the basement; but that confusion quickly turned to fear as you watched Asa pull back and try to make himself as small as possible as the broad man approached.

“So… You’re the Collector, hmm? Interesting moniker. Mr. O’Brian gave me a brief overview of some of your exploits. I have to say, I’d be impressed if you hadn’t let a man like that get the better of you.”

A wrinkled hand rose to run through Asa’s hair – obsidian eyes pinched closed and if you didn’t know better, you’d think Asa was about to be sick from the expression on his face.

Quick as a flash, a loud SMACK sounded through the empty room as Asa was backhanded across his mouth.

“What have I told you about looking at someone when they’re talking to you?”

Asa’s gaze rose slowly to meet the man’s, who smiled down at the younger male.

“Much better. See? You haven’t forgotten everything.”

Your stomach sunk as you realized why this stranger looked so familiar. You’d seen him before, or rather, what he had been twenty years ago.

He turned to face you again.

“You’re not wrong my dear. Mr. O’Brian isn’t a killer; but I am. And I’d be more than happy to teach my son another lesson on the consequences of failure.”

Giles Emory walked over to the table Arkin had laid out with tools and instruments of pain - running his hand sensuously over each before selecting a hammer and several slender nails.

“That’s what fathers are for…”

#asa emory #the collector x reader #the collector (2009)#the collection (2012)#jessica writes #slasher fiction #horror movies #eeeeyyyy its almost 2020 we make up our own characters like men

77 notes · View notes

burnt-tomato · 4 years

Text

The Red String of Fate

The Red String of Fate links two soulmates together signifying that they are made for each other. This certain string can appear when you are born or when you and your soulmate finally meet. Though this string can be broken, whether because of arguments, long distance, any of the two meeting someone else they like, taking the two too long to meet, or when intentionally cut. If the string was accidentally cut, it would come back. But the string can be fixed if and only if one of the soulmates has enough energy or power to revive it.

warning: curse words, boy x boy

pairing: IwaOi ( Iwaizumi x Oikawa )

anime: Haikyuu!!

this is my first fanfic so I apologize for any grammar errors. it may also seem rushed and might not be pleasant to read and I also apologize for that. even if english is my second language, my vocab isn't as good as other writers

- - s n a p - - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . !!

That sound. The sound that sounds so painful yet so relieving. The sound that I can't decide whether if I like it or not. The sound that just might decide things for me. The sound that would me you feel ill and 'empty'. I t h u r t s b a d l y .

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

Crap. What time is it?

"Hajime! Are you awake yet? Get ready for school already. At this rate you'll be late for the first period. Tooru's waiting for you outside."

Oh. Shit. I overslept again. And how the fuck is that Shittykawa waiting for me? Most of the time he's the one who's late. Too late for that then.

I quickly got dressed and went downstairs. I didn't even bother eating breakfast. I dashed out of the door just to be greeted by Oikawa.

"Why isn't this a surprise, Iwa-chan! For the first time I'm the one waiting for you."

"Haha very funny Crappykawa"

"Can't you call me anything else other than Crappykawa?"

"So which do you prefer? Shittykawa or Trashykawa?"

"E-eh?? I'd go for Crappykawa then!" Oikawa pouted afterwards.

We both rushed to school and barely made it just in time. Teacher got mad at us though for arriving last minute.

Oikawa Tooru. He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember, although to this day I'm still wondering why I even agreed to being with him. It was more like a forced friendship because we were the only kids in the neighborhood of the same age. He's also the reason I got into volleyball. Well, sort of. He kinda forced me into learning how to play just so someone can spike his tosses. Actually, eversince he came, something's been going on with my life differently.

10 years ago, there was this family that has just moved in into our neighborhood. I was 7 or 8 at the time. Mom called me to come downstairs to greet the new people. When we opened the door, it revealed a tall woman with shoulder length brown hair with dark brown eyes. Beside her was a kid a few centimeters taller than me with brown hair and an ahoge, and seemed to he right at my age. After our greetings, mom invited them inside and in just a few seconds, this random kid was in my room.

"Uh... Tooru, do you want to do or play anything?"

He didn't answer, but he did go out and returned with a volleyball in his hands. He tugged my shoulder sleeve and took me outside. And then I just found myself playing with a kid I just met, although I didn't know how, but he did teach me.

When the sun came down, they said that they were going home.

"Bye Iwa-chan! See you tomorrow"

"Bye Tooru."

Just as he said, the next day we found ourselves playing with each other again. This has been going on for awhile now.

On a normal day, I woke up with a red string tied unto my pinky.

"W-why i-is there a r-red string tied unto m-me??" In panic, I fell down my bed. I debated in my head on whether mom should know about this or not, and came to the conclusion that I would tell her if she noticed. While eating breakfast, even if I tried giving her hints and putting my hand in the most open and obvious spot, she didn't seem to notice at all. Was this just my imagination? Maybe it doesn't actually exist.

I tried my best to just ignore it and just enjoy the rest of the day (Even if having this stupid red string tied unto me. And the fact that it's even going through the walls! Holy crap that's frikin weird.)

I stepped outside to play with Tooru again. Maybe if mom couldn't see it, maybe he can't too. Or should I confirm it with him and ask? Is this string even real? Is it even solid? Why does it look like it's just floating through air? Why is it-

"Iwa-chan! Do you want to play again?"

Why. Why is the damn string attached to him, to the same finger as mine. Why is it connecting the two of us. Should I just ignore it?

"Yeah sure"

I guess I decided to ignore it.

Ever since this string appeared, we seemed closer than usual. There are even times that I forgot it existed. Every time I woke up, it would just be there. It looks like it doesn't have a specific or permanent length, in fact whenever me and Tooru separate, it just extends.

So I decided that I'd cut it. I mean.. what's the harm?

- - s n i p - - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ! !

"*cough* *c-cough*...!!! I-I c-can't b-breathe...!! M-mom! H-help m-me..!!"

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt!!!

H-huh? Why am I on the floor? Did I fall asleep here? I don't remember much from last night... What happened??

I took a glance at my hand. Oh. It's gone.

Honestly though. I don't know if I feel relieved or... something else. My chest feels heavy, actually. Maybe if I go out and play with Tooru I'd feel better-

"Sorry. Tooru's not feeling well today. Just this morning when he woke up, he was sobbing and refused to tell me the reason. I'm sorry Hajime-kun. Maybe tomorrow."

What. Why? Does this have something to do with the string? Ah, don't be stupid Hajime, he probably felt ill. That's all.

I hope so.

When that string appeared, it reminded me of my friendship with Tooru. When we finally started playing as actual friends, that string appeared. It almost felt like a reminder or sign of our connection. Geez Hajime, when did you become so cheesy. Haha yeah I know. And when I cut that string, it felt like I cut my ties with him or in other words, broke away.

That's probably just my imagination though. I really have to stop overthinking things. Despite my arrogance and cold attitude, I do sometimes think about this thoroughly, even if it sounds cheesy and cliche.

"Hey Iwa-chan. Sorry I haven't gotten to play with you for a week. I know it was sudden, but I actually got a high fever, although before that I didn't even feel ill. But I'm okay now! We can finally play agai-! ... Iwa-chan?"

Oh. I didn't even notice that he was talking to me, or even that he was ok now. Eversince he got sick, I've been spacing out more frequently and felt really lonely.

"Ah. Sorry 'bout that Tooru. I'm fine. Are you sure you're not ill anymore? If not, sure let's play some volleyball."

We did. When he got better, even I felt better.

And just when I thought things were finally going to go smoothly...

Ah. It appeared again. The stupid red string. And without a doubt it's tied unto Tooru too. Sigh. What am I gonna do about this...

"Toor- I mean Oikawa. Can you set to me some of your tosses? I want to practice spiking."

From the benches, I could hear Matsukawa and Hanamaki snickering about how I almost called Shittykawa by his first name.

...

Up to this day this string is still tied unto our hands, mine and Oikawa's. Up until now, I've been constantly cutting that string, but it's not like I cut it because we had arguments or misunderstandings, it's just really... uncomfortable. And the fact that only we can see it, or perhaps, only I can. Oikawa's been spending more time in my house nowadays. We've been getting closer during these years of growing up together. Still, I wonder what this string means. Every time I cut it, after me and Oikawa hangout again, it just comes back. Freaky honestly.

"Alright everyone!! Practice is over! Go home already, it's getting late. Don't forget that next week we have a practice match, ok?"

We all separate ways, and me and Oikawa walk home together.

"Goodnight Iwa-chan. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. See you too."

. . .

Huhhhhhhhhhh. Oikawa just texted me.

"Hey Iwa-chan, some fangirl asked me to go out with her. You think I should??" Sent 8:52 PM

Huh...? Why did he ask me? And why do I feel like I got rejected...? Seriously, whenever he gets requests or confessions he always asks me first. It's not like I control him.. But honestly a part of me wants him to not go..

I wonder why...

"Idk. Do u even like her?" Sent 8:54 PM

"Mmm. Not rlly...." Sent 8:54 PM

"Then don't. Bye." Sent 8:55 PM

"Eh? Are you mad? Iwa-chan???" Sent 8:55 PM

"Iwa-chan??"

"IwA-cHan??"

I ignored him. He should just do what he wants.

Fuckkk. Why alarm clock's been ringing for 20 minutes already. It's past 7 AM already. First period starts at 7. Why am I still here..? Is it because I didn't want to see Oikawa hangout with that girl? Haha don't be silly Hajime. I just didn't feel like going.

Hmmm..? It's 5PM already? Fuck how long have I been here? Was I just staring into nothing. I'm hungry. I went down and ate. Then went back to my room.

I stopped. The scissors. The scissors I use to cut the string.. should I?

I grabbed the scissors then-

"IWA-CHAN!!! WHY didn't you go to school today??? Are you ill? I brought you your homewo-"

I stopped. When did he get here? Did my mom literally just let him in without letting me know? Well, this is just fucking awkward. I'm standing, a bit bent down, holding a pair of scissors against this red string that I don't know if he could see. Up 'till now, I don't know if he could see the string, nd I've been carelessly cutting it.

He dropped everything.

"I-iwa-c-chan... w-why...?? So you've b-been cutting t-he string? It was y-you?..."

Oikawa started sobbing and dropped to the floor. I dropped the scissors, causing a loud thud on the floor, and rushed to him.

"What do you mean? You could see it this entire time? Why didn't you tell me?

"Why have you been CUTTING IT?"

Fuck. I've never heard Oikawa raise his voice. Ever. His voice overlapped his sobs.

"Do y-you not want to be with me? I rejected the girl b-because..."

His voice softened. It got softer right after he shouted.

"W-what? What do you mean? Of course I-I d-do.."

I looked away, hiding my embarrassment.

"Then why have you been cutting it?"

I didn't even notice that we've been on the floor this entire time. His face I held on my chest, my shirt's wet from his tears. After his question, I was dead silent. It's true. Why did I cut the string?

"Iwa-chan, do you not even know what the string means?"

Oikawa muttered softly, his voice being overlapped by the broken sobs echoing in the room.

"Ah... No."

Right after I answered, Oikawa's hands gripped the back part of my shirt tighter. His sobbing got quieter, his face still buried on my chest.

"Iwa... It meant that we were soulmates. The red string signifies that we were meant to stay together, to be there for each other. Eversince I moved into this neighborhood, I had a strong feeling when I first saw you. And I was right. The string appeared after we settled with eachother."

"I... I didn't know that..... Tooru im-!"

"I like you Hajime... I always have... but honestly I never thought about how I could tell you... I was scared that you'd reject me and find it weird that a guy likes a guy..."

He looked down, gripping tighter unto my back.

How could I have been so stupid. I've been cutting that string without a reason, and worst, I never even told him. If I had told him sooner, maybe I could've at least prevented hurting him...

"Hajime...I like you... I love you..."

"Tooru I-"

He gripped my shirt tighther, burying his face deeper unto my chest. He breathed softly, and I could hear his heart beats thumping fast.

"Hajime..."

Oikawa jolted as i wrapped one arm around him and pulled his body closer to mine.

I'm sure he got my answer.

"EH?? Are you serious, Iwaizumi-san???!!!"

"IWAIZUMI SENPAIIII!!!"

"Why tho"

I held Shittykawa's hand tighter.

"Haha... yeah. We are."

Im sososososo sorry this looks sooo bad. I tried to make it as good as I can and literally failed lmao. If you have request, u can ask away <3333

-♤

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfic #iwaoi #iwaizumi #Oikawa #ship fanfic #lmao what is this garbage #♤

6 notes · View notes

atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Broken Wings, pt. 8

08: Love the way you lie

Summary: Ethan and Grayson are both trying to say goodbye to her, just in case everything goes awry.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing

Word Count: ~ 3000

Broken Wings (Angel AU - G.D.) Masterlist

She laid with her head in his lap, her Y/H/C hair sprawled over his inked thighs as he propped himself up on his elbows. Grayson had spent every waking minute with her, terrified of what's to come once the therapist she called for arrives. He didn't want her risking her current life for a slim possibility of living it until the end only to lose her forever after. Sure, having her die in his arms for centuries has been a living hell, but he always he she'd come back to him after. He always felt her soul is still present. Grayson feared should she change the coarse of her destiny, she'd find peace and her soul would be laid to rest and that...facing a forever without her – the biggest heartache of his existence...that would surely be enough to kill him.

„Whatcu' thinkin' about, angel eyes?“ She teased, her tone playful and airy, so much giddiness hiding behind every letter of every word that Grayson felt his heart die little by little at the thought of losing her. It was a painful ache, a pinch at the core of his being, one that he couldn't fight nor deny.

„You do realize that silence usually means you're back in your broody mood and the bad thoughts are eating away at you?“ She deducts, sitting up to properly look at him, her hair falling all around her beautiful face, framing it in a heavenly manor. Out of all the faces she had in the past, there was never one Grayson couldn't love.

„I'm not broody!“ Grayson defended, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing, as if the words itself was an insult when he really just wanted to throw her off his scent. He refused to burden her with his gloominess.

„You're as broody as they come.“ She giggled in his face, throwing a leg over his lap, allowing herself a straddling position as her hands came up to his face, holding it as if it's the Sun...and it is. It is a small piece of sunshine in the palm of her hand – beauty and flames, all together. „But I still love you just the same.“ She smiled, her eyes giving off intense longing and aching neediness he knew he couldn't indulge in.

But she was reckless. As always.

It nearly stopped Grayson's heart when he saw her face coming closer to his, her lips pursed and nearly on his lips. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the soft plush of her lips brush the tip of his nose, his hands premature with their action as they were not only on her hips, but already pushing her off in a rough manor she despised.

„Seriously?!“ She exclaimed, her face one of anger and disappointment, a brewing fight just under the surface. „STOP THROWING ME INTO THE SAND LIKE I'M A RAGDOLL!“ She huffed, getting up on her own as Grayson tried to help, which she ignored completely....Of course. She's as stubborn as they get – one of the traits nearly all her previous reincarnations possessed.

„I'm sorry. I just didn't want to risk it.“ Grayson put his hands in his front pockets, managing to keep eye contact with the stormy eyes of his forevermore, wondering how dead he'd be if looks could kill because she had the deadliest eyes he has ever seen. No one, not Y/N, not Amara, absolutely not one had the same fury in their eyes as Caroline. She was unpredictable and perhaps that was the part of why she's different and why she might end the cycle....or it was because of years of mental torture her past lives had subjected her to.

„It's not just about that, Grayson! Okay?!“ And there it is, the avalanche he knew would come. She had been bottling everything in...if you could call it that, but despite her being openly discontent in the past, Grayson knew the look she held in her eyes wasn't a look of someone who simply shows their unhappiness, rather a look of a woman who's keeping in a storm – an enraged look she let out.

„Hey, guys! Darren is here!“ Ethan called out, his voice getting lost in the sound of crashing waves, but they heard him fine.

„NOT NOW!“ They both screamed in unison, allowing Caroline to spew fire.

„You keep saying you want to protect me, but every little bit of protection you provide only hurt me more! YOU FUCKING TOLD ME TO BE WITH ETHAN! And to make matters worse...I actually think I could survive the kiss. I don't think I'm going to die in this life and while I'm not particularly eager to die a horrible death, I'd still try because that's how much confidence I have in us.“ She stopped to draw in a breath, her cheeks flushed a darker pink, one Grayson would usually run his fingertip over, but he feared losing a finger if he tried at all.

„And then you tell me not to try this hypnosis thing? Literally the only thing that would let us be together?!“ She huffed, smacking her hair back against the wind.

„You...do you not want me?“ Her tone finally returned to normal, but it wasn't the normal Grayson had hoped for as he remained silent, allowing her this chance to blow off some steam. He had wanted the cheery, playful Caroline, not the defeated, vulnerable one.

„Is that what this is about? Do you not like this body? Or this personality?“ She began to list, making his eyes bulge and for the first time since she started this rant, Grayson had opened his mouth to speak against her.

„Absolutely not! I love you – all of you!“ He stepped toward her in his attempt to prove it so, but she stepped back at the same time, not wanting the contact because this is when her illness came to collect, convincing her she's not good enough...not for him. Convincing her he didn't want her. Not this version, at least.

„Then why do I feel like I don't measure up? Huh? How can you ever claim to love me, when I'm never the same woman you met in the past life? I'm never the same in any way, so how can you love me so unconditionally? Maybe it's just a pattern – a habit of sorts. Because I don't think any of us could ever fill the giant hole Y/N left in your heart and I may be mistaken but“, a choked sob stopped her mid sentence, not allowing her to continue as she looked away with tears in her eyes...those beautiful eyes, her lips thinning as they set in a firm line.

„But I don't think I am...She was the original and I...all of us were merely fading copies of the masterpiece you always wished to have. And as all copies tend to do, we're nothing like the original...no one can paint the same image thousands of times.“ She shrugged, taking note of his stunned silence and near desperation as a confirmation of sorts, one she knew he wouldn't utter but lingered deep in his subconsciousness.

She turned on her heel, walking back to meet with Darren. If she got lost in time, at least she'll make it worth something. Perhaps her breaking the curse at the beginning will give Y/N and Grayson the happy ending they deserved. Perhaps Ethan will be happier without ever knowing or losing Amara. Perhaps Cameron will be happier without chaperoning her brothers across the world and a new copy of herself who was probably the least favorite part of her immortality.

Wiping her tears away, she took in a deep breath – one that filled her lungs and set a bundle of oxygen running through her body and to her brain, clearing her troubled thoughts enough to make herself seem presentable for Darren. Otherwise, he wouldn't help her – any sign of instability and her plan is gone.

And then she saw the older man, her legs taking her to him faster and faster until she had her arms wrapped around him. She had the only man who believed she wasn't insane with her again and it did give her some solid ground to build herself back up again.

„You needed me?“ He chuckled, noticing the difference on her already, but remaining quiet about it.

„There's so much to tell.“

They spent hours talking, enough to explain everything, but not nearly enough for him to wrap his mind around it – especially when the fallen angel she spoke of was nowhere to be found.

„What if you can't come back from it?“ Darren questioned, his previously cheerful persona replaced with a worried man.

„Then I don't...Better than spending the rest of my life fighting visions of the past, alone.“ She bit on the inside of her bottom lip, gnawing on it as he eyed her carefully.

„Caroline...“ Darren tried, but he knew she made her mind up already. Anything he says will fall on deaf ears.

„Please. I'm ready. Just do it. Now.“ She pleaded, her hand atop of his, tightly holding onto him.

Reluctantly, he agreed, but not immediately. „Tomorrow.“ He said.

„Okay.“ She whispered, giving the man time to recuperate and put himself back together. She needed some time too.

Caroline sat on her bed, looking at her bare feet in thought. She could still see flashes of her previous lives whenever she shut her eyes close or with eyes wide open if she concentrated hard enough.

„Care?“ Ethan's voice broke her focus, stopping her from delving deeper into her mind.

„Yeah?“ Her voice is small, her tone weak. She's on edge and he sees it. He's gotten too good at spotting people's weaknesses and exploiting them for his own gain. But he also knew she'd appreciate him not commenting on it, so he didn't, even if he felt the itch to do so.

„Can I ask you something?“ He licks his bottom lip, coming closer to her only to sit on the bed across from hers...where her roommate used to sleep before jumping to her death.

„Always.“ She offered a reassuring smile, despite not knowing if she had anything left to offer to anyone. Ethan seemed to take it to heart, giving her a small smile in return, the best one he could afford to give without it looking forced.

„Do I stand a chance? If you come back and the curse isn't lifted, would you be mine?“ Ethan decided to put it all out there, make sure she knows she has choices and Grayson isn't the only one. And perhaps she was right, he did see Amara in her and it drew him in for she was so much alike her in too many ways for it to be a coincidence – more than any other version of her ever was. But Ethan found he loves the debris of Caroline's essence as well, even if those debris longed for his brother more than they'll ever long for him.

„I...I don't know.“ She was honest. A part of her was screaming no, because how could she ever love someone that wasn't Grayson? How could she love a man who looked like him, but wasn't him? How could she love a man she knew loved another that lived deep within her? But another part of her was wistful and it wanted Ethan and the easy love he brought with him. It was so effortless with him – no looming curses, no death caused by a simple kiss...he was kind and understanding, beautiful and thrilling and sexy as the hell he belonged in. But he wasn't Grayson...even if he would have made her life an unforgettable adventure.

„At least it's not a no.“ Ethan chuckles dryly, moving over to sit beside her, his weight shifting the mattress, tipping Y/N into him.

„I gotcha!“ He held onto her, his eyes immersed in hers as the panic of possibly falling fled her and he couldn't help but think how he wished Grayson wasn't around anymore. How he wished his brother was gone and he could have this chance with this incredible girl who would surely drive him insane five times a day, but he'd still be happy. He'd still count his lucky stars for having her in his life.

„I really want to kiss you right now.“ Ethan admitted, making her mouth go dry. She couldn't lie, she wanted to kiss him too. Just once, simply to know how it feels, to let him have that one kiss that would give him a piece of Amara back. She didn't want him to be miserable and she didn't want to be the reason why. So yes, she wanted to kiss him. But every fiber of her being told her not to.

„Ditto.“ She whispered, smiling as he frowned because he knew that if she hadn't replied with actions, but only words, she wouldn't do it. He knew her enough to know she's a wild one and considering her lips weren't on his, they won't be. Not for a while, at least.

„Look...whatever you see or hear tomorrow, make sure you come back in time, okay? If you can't convince any of us to bring you up, disappear. Don't let us touch you until you find a way out. Okay?“ Ethan repeated, swallowing thickly because he still remembered the horror of Y/N's death. It was gruesome and he never wanted for Caroline to feel it nor see it.

„I'll do my best, Mr. Bossy!“ She embraced him, her hands wrapped around him, hooked at the back of his neck as he buried his face in hers, inhaling her – all of her.

„Got time for one more?“ Another voice, one that sends chills down her back spoke, her eyes opening at the sound. She'd know his voice anywhere.

„I don't think it's the best idea.“ She detached herself from her favorite demon, a title she'd ever tell him about, only to wrap her arms around herself, needing an extra layer of protection despite the fact the hurt he causes is from the inside and there's not shield for those kinds of injuries.

„Please.“ Grayson's plea was the hardest thing she could ever hear right now, because he never just asked – he poured every human emotion into it, giving it weight of a hundred collapsing stars, wrecking her defenses.

With a nod, Ethan had decided to place a kiss on her forehead before heading out, respecting her choice. He didn't give up completely, but he respected her primary choice is Grayson at this particular time.

„You do know all those things you said on the beach are just a figment of your untamed imagination mixed with insecurities, right?“ He began, making her scoff.

„That's not an apology I hear, rather a start up for a new fight.“ She sent him a glare, one that meant he better stay in his position because if he came closer, she'd let her evil out.

„No. What I mean is, none of what you said is true. I never fell in love with your face, Caroline, although it's a very beautiful one. I never looked for body shapes – you've had them all. And yes, sometimes your personality is difficult to deal with, but I still loved you. I loved you because your soul is pure light that calls to me like a siren. If your soul hurts, I hurt. If your soul is happy, I'm happy. If you're feeling lost, I'm desperate. It's like two magnets, pushing and pulling in the need to be as one. Your beauty lies in the unchanging goodness of your soul and heart that can be a stubborn nightmare at times, but it never lessened the beauty. It never stopped calling out to me. I never stopped running to it when it did.“ Grayson sighed, deciding to be brave and step closer, brushing his knuckles over her cheekbone as she turned away from him.

But then she turned back, her eyes shooting up and connecting with his, her heart jumping out her chest with their proximity.

„I can't help but be insecure. You've known every dark, twisted, dusty part of my soul and you have so many memories with...me! But I don't remember most of them! It's like...Imagine if I dated a thousand versions of you and you didn't remember...It's silly, but I'm jealous and I'm bitter about not remembering. And I'm so pissed for being put in a position to be jealous and bitter about my own damn self.“ She stood up, stopping Grayson's breathing for the second time in a day, but this time she didn't try to kiss him anywhere close to his face. She just wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her head on his chest.

„Just know I love you. Whatever happens, that can't change.“ She whispered, feeling him shift their weight as he laid her down on the bed, half his weight pinning her under but she didn't complain. She enjoyed feeling him on top of her, wanting not only a kiss anymore...she wanted him in every sinful way possible. She wanted to feel him around her, inside her, enveloping her entirely. She wanted to be his, just once in this damned life she was given. Just once.

However, without even knowing, she fell asleep to the sound beat of his heart, her mind in the gutter, but still on him.

The morning came too soon.

„Wake up, love birds. Time to do some time traveling! Curse breaking!“ Cameron clapped, ignoring the groans and grunts and their cutesy snuggling closer together. But even they knew it couldn't last, slowly getting up in silence, simply looking at one another. While Caroline was still convinced half the things Grayson told her last night were lies to make her feel better, she didn't care. She loved the way he lied, just as she loved him.

And she would fight for him.

Tags: @dancerwriter @peacedolantwins @heeydolan @accalialionheart @graydolan12 @xalayx @fallinginlove-16 @deeteeeeevee @heyits-claire @riverdalesserpent @dolandolll

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan x reader #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan angel au #grayson dolan au #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan demon au #ethan dolan au

37 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 6 years

Text

The Deli Diaries [10]

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 [Finale]

➜ Words: 2k

➜ Genres: Fluff & Cuteness, That good ol’ slow burn, Slice of Life

➜ Summary: Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.

➜ Warnings: Mundane-ness that might make you bored to death

➜ Notes: FINALLLLLLYYYY!!! and also the finale is next chapter, gonna make it a bit longer and worth the slow burn. enjoy!!!

Life is cooking you one of the worst recipes yet. It is a terrible concoction to be both sick and working. Every time you speak too loudly, coughs are wheezing from your lungs. Your apron pockets are full of tissues since snot is literally dripping every other minute, but even then, you still have a stuffy nose that makes it hard to breathe. Your voice is thick and nasally, sounding as if you just woke up from a four-hour nap. You’re sneezing as well, covering your mouth and nose with a bent elbow and into your sleeve. Needless to say, you’re one slimy and gross mess. But you garner little sympathy from your coworkers and supervisors. They still make you work — the only way to excuse yourself from it was if you broke your damn leg, but even then you wouldn’t be surprised if they got you a chair in front of the sink and told you to wash dishes. But not wanting to taint the company’s clean image and god forbid, spread your cold to customers, they’re making you change your gloves as frequently as possible and you’re forbidden to serve customers. So maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be ill and stuck working an eight-hour shift. Sure, you were trapped stocking the deli shelves of macaroni and washing whatever bowl that needed to be washed. Everyone also treated you like you had the black plague, staying away and repulsed at the sight of you, but at least you were spared from having to deal with irritating and demanding customers. There’s always a bright side...right? “Woah. What happened to you?” “Thanks.” You push the boy aside, swiping your nametag on the side of the machine and clocking out for the night. “That really helps the situation.” “Wow, someone’s Miss Grumpy Pants.” The produce boy clocks out as well and follows behind you, waving goodbye to the manager on duty as you both slip out the front door. “Maybe because you made me sick.” To emphasize your condition, you sniffle and your airways don’t clear with the small effort. You’ve been feeling unwell ever since the Christmas party and he dragged you outside. The little coughs and sneezes have now morphed into your back throat being clogged with mucus and that same mucus dripping from your nostrils. But now that your dirty apron was stuffed in your bag and you got to wash your hands, you were feeling better. The frigid temperature of the air was also doing wonders to cool down your cheeks, even if it made your eyes more watery. “Sorry,” Jimin murmurs, peeking at your face, genuinely apologetic. You sigh, not wanting to blame him or wrongfully redirect the irritation of your sickness onto the poor boy. “It’s okay,” you reassure, “really, it’s not that bad. I didn’t have to serve customers at all today, except for the very end, so that was pretty nice.” The boy stops in his tracks, making you pause from walking too. “Here. Wait a second.” He pulls his red plaid scarf from his neck and you put out a hand. “No, it’s okay, Jimin. You don’t have to.” “Tch!” — Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance. His eyes are playfully stern, telling you to stay where you are. “It’s cold outside. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll get even worse.” He takes the scarf and carefully wraps it around you three times, tying the end of it. The boy is gentle, eyes half lidded and brows furrowed in concentration, making you stare a bit too hard. “Thanks.” You dig your nose into the soft fabric. It smells like him, slightly fruity and clinging onto the scent of fresh laundry. You end up mumbling, “I’ll wash it and give it back to you.” “No. Just keep it. I didn’t get you a Christmas gift anyway.” You steal a glance at him before looking straight ahead. It’s dark out and cold. Every breath you exhale makes a cloud of condensation. Yet, even with the temperature low, your hand slips out of the warm confines of your jacket pocket without thought. You’re still walking alongside Jimin and he matches your pace, steps synchronized together. The back of your hand grazes against his. Your skin skims each other’s and with bated breath and calculated moves, Jimin slowly but surely touches your wrist before sliding down to your palm. He timidly snakes his way down before he’s holding your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your cheeks heat up even more and this time, the cold air does nothing to help. “I’m contagious, you know,” you whisper quietly as to not disturb the peace surrounding you both. “It’s okay.” The corner of his lip twitches, being pulled upwards. “What if you can get sick too?” Jimin squeezes your hand. By the second, he becomes more self-assured. “Then we can be sick together.” All day people have been distancing themselves from you, from your supervisor to even Yuna and Amber. They practically only talked to you from a meter’s distance or poked you with a ten-foot long pole to get you to do something. Everyone was scared that your cold is infectious and you’ve been pushed away, fended off like a snot monster, having no sympathy from the healthy. But Jimin doesn’t care. And you realize that you’ve been craving physical contact. Not just from anyone either…. “Don’t I smell bad?” You’re certain that sanitizer and the scent of deli meat is still clinging onto your oily skin that pours of sweat from each of your pores. If you felt disgusting on a regular work day, now it was ten times worse. “No,” he muses with pouty lips, cheeks puffed out and rounded. “Not really.” You glance at him. “Really?” “Really.” The boy smiles as if placating a baby and one word from him has your worries dispelling away. His fingers move slightly against the back of your hand and you find his natural movements comforting. His head tips to the side as he stares at you. “Was work hard today?” “Not too bad. They didn’t want me to do any customer service or any production, so I basically cleaned, panned, and shelved things. How about you?” “It was okay. There was a new shipment of apples and grapes and I cut watermelon before packaging them.” “Does anyone even eat watermelon when it’s this cold out?” His eyes crinkle into half-moons when he smiles, cute teeth peeking from the seams of his lips. “You’d be surprised.” “How does it even taste?” You frown, considering that you’ve never tried watermelon during winter before since it’s more of a summer snack. “It’s not really watermelon season.” “Well, I had some.” His brown irises twinkle of mischief and you know you’ve rubbed off on him in your slightly kleptomaniac ways. “And it was decent. A bit less juicy than normal.” “I bet.” You lightly scoff and the conversation dies off. From where you are, you can see your house coming up at the end of the block. Your feet begin to slow down and you hope he doesn’t notice. “Hey, Jimin….” “Hmm?” Your hands are a bit cold, but you like it when he holds it like this. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Are you working this Friday?” “I am,” he says and immediately, you become dejected, shoulders hunching, eyes falling downwards. But then— “It’s an early shift, so I’m done at three. Why?” Oh. “I-..uh...have you watched that movie we were talking about?” You smile, approaching it at a more casual angle to lessen the awkwardness that was threatening to barge between you two and just in case you get rejected, you can play this off. “When Spring Meets Autumn. It had pretty okay reviews.” Jimin smiles. “You want to go?” “If you want to.” You shrug nonchalantly, wondering if you’re too casual about it. “I mean...I can get us free tickets since I have this voucher from another time and I have no one else to go with and it’ll expire soon. You can invite your friends if you want—” “No. Just the two of us is fine.” Jimin grins, mouth expanding and pulling into his rosy cheeks once more. “I’m happy to go with you.” “Oh. Okay. Sounds good.” The pair of you stop in front of your house, lingering right in front of the driveway. Usually, you’d run up to your doorstep and fish out your keys, wave one last time and bolt to the shower so you can strip off your sticky clothes. But today, you still haven’t let go. “It’s a plan then.” “It’s a date,” Jimin confirms out of the blue. Your mind reels, wondering what he means, but you don’t disagree or make any signs of disapproval. Instead, you’re too focused on the way the yellow glow of the streetlamp casts down its faint light and paints his skin in warm hues. “Y-yeah, sure.” Your face feels like a literal furnace and it’s not from your cold. “Uh- thanks for the scarf.” “No problem.” The produce boy smiles again and again, unable to repress it. But he’s made a bit more shy than before. There’s silence where he stares down to the ground, then at your held hands and then traveling up into your eyes, finding it a bit embarrassing that he can’t hide how giddy he’s feeling. “I should...probably go now…” You hitch a thumb over your shoulder. Jimin blinks, breaking his gaze away from your eyes. “Y-Yeah. See you tomorrow?” “Yes. See you.” You finally let go of him, turning around right in time for your grin to spread into your cheeks. You’re struggling to hold down a squeal and you know for a fact that you’ll be kicking your blankets tonight in excitement, marking down Friday several times on your calendar and putting tens of alarms on your phone. Finally. A date with Jimin. Oh god. You’re already freaking out — none of your pillows were going to survive after being screamed into later. In the meanwhile, Jimin stares at your backside that walks off all too slowly. His mind races. Before it’s too late, he inhales a sharp breath. He takes a step forward. There’s one thing he just has to do, one thing he’s been waiting so long for, one of the things he’s been dreaming about... “He, deli girl! Wait!” “What, produce boy?” You twist around, unable to resist your smile. And your gasp is smothered. A tiny squeak leaves your throat. You can’t breathe and this time it’s not because of your clogged nose. Jimin’s leaning down, kissing you. His lips are soft and the scent of the scarf surrounds your entire frame, though it doesn’t come from the cotton fabric anymore. His lips barely graze against yours. It can hardly be defined as a peck with how chaste and delicate, fast and hesitant it is. You don’t even have time to close your eyes or savour how soft it feels to have his mouth on yours before he’s moved away. Your fingers automatically lift to your lips, surprised and caught off guard. He is left breathless, chest hyperventilating, big eyes locked into yours. Then, the boy blinks and realizes what he’s done. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears and you don’t know what to say. He’s the one who speaks — “Okay. Goodnight!” Park Jimin runs away. Like his tail is caught between his legs, he stumbles and books it down the block, feet scrambling and eyes now refusing to look at yours. You watch him, giggles bubbling from you and spilling out into the night from sheer disbelief. More importantly, you catch him jumping up and cutely fist pumping the air, shouting an energetic ‘yes!’. God. Not even one date and you’re already such a sucker for him. You dig your nose into his scarf, warming up and surrounding yourself in Jimin again, replaying the little moment over and over again until it feels like his sweetness is rotting your teeth. It dawns on you that your lips now taste like vanilla chapstick.

#bts scenario #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bts deli!AU #WOO-HOO #LET'S GOOO #this shit is so cute my god #great way to start off 2019!

441 notes · View notes

adorabledonutunicorn · 6 years

Text

Dealing with Depression

International lifelines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

Resources in he US and things I’ve used:

Crisis Text Line: https://www.crisistextline.org/

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 or https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/talk-to-someone-now/

Wysa (also an app): https://www.wysa.io/

7cupsoftea (also now an app): https://www.7cups.com/

Stop, breathe, and think: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=org.stopbreathethink.app or https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/stop-breathe-think/id778848692?mt=8

BetterHelp: https://www.betterhelp.com/

No one is probably going to see this lol, but just in case someone does, I’ll put this out there. I am by no means an expert or completely better, and what has worked for me so far may not work for you, but hopefully the few things I have to say is still helpful.

So, last year was by far the hardest to get through. From about Late April to probably mid-September I was at my lowest, often dealing with suicidal thoughts and ideations. I would also like to point out a few informational things: Am I clinically diagnosed with depression? No. Am I depressed? Yes, and I might also have social anxiety. Do I take medication? Yes. Do I have a psychiatrist? Yes. Do I go to therapy? Yes. Am I judgmental about anyone with mental illness? Absolutely not.

First and foremost, I encourage you to seek help and reach out. I know it is NOT AT ALL EASY, and it hurts that I say those stereotypical words because I know it’s easier said than done. But I care, so I encourage you to reach out in any means whether it be to a trusted human, doggo or pupper, teddy bear (I mean...your teddy will listen, not judge you, and give you hugs), crisis center, or hotline. If I’m being quite honest, it took me more than a year to reach out because I realized I was not okay. But the first and most important person I told, is one of the main reasons why I am still here. I could be all dramatic and be like “she saved my life” and that would not be a lie, but what’s more true is that she has provided me with a safe space emotionally and physically, support, encouragement, and resources. I’m sure it also helped that she works in the mental health field but hey, I am extremely lucky to have her in my life either way.

On some of the hardest most overwhelming days, her and her husband were kind enough to let me stay overnight with them. They also just let me hang out and watch Netflix when I really need to get away. I’ve never really had such a close deep friendship with anyone before them, but let me tell you, it feels good to be loved and cared for. They are like my new and improved family (I mean, they are a lot older than me too). I’ve known what it’s like to feel desperately alone and like no one cares, but there ARE people out there who do. I would say you should go out there and find them but ummm, it almost feels like those friends came to me hahaha. I guess “finding” in this context moreso means that if they aren’t a part of your present, they WILL be a part of your future.

Those also aren’t the only friends I’ve told. I happen to have a few friends irl and online *wow, I have friends?* and it took all the guts in my compromised digestive system to tell them. Just having people around me who know, won’t judge, and are there feels like an extra cushion. I can’t have only one other person carry my burdens, the load becomes lighter with more people. And obviously we’re not gonna have an infinite amount of people we trust enough to reveal such a seemingly dark part of our life with, but if you have more than one person, reach out. Take it one step at a time and you will eventually get there.

Even after telling the first person about my struggles, it took months to get further help. Eventually I reached out to the University’s Counseling Center—yes, I know I am lucky to have had all these resources available to me...for the low low cost of my tuition and fees. Ok but seriously though I really am lucky—and I met with a counselor for some amount of weeks who was not a good fit for me, and transitioned to group therapy. I can go more into detail some other time, but it has been helpful to have people I am accountable to and connect with.

This past September I was able to start antidepressants thanks to my friend who literally called in for me to make sure it would actually happen. Even still, I just started noticing that I’ve been improving and it’s taken me from August until now to feel marginally functional. Now that I say that I could slip back tomorrow but you know, that’s how it goes. Healing is NOT a linear positive function. And who is to say I won’t struggle with this for the rest of my life? It may be depressing (oh what a terrible pun) but that’s depression for ya. Some other things I started doing to help include occasional social media detoxes, writing letters, journals, or probably-extremely-bad poems, following and reading blogs from AFSP and TWLOHA, prioritizing sleep, trying to not stay in my room all day, being patient with myself, writing a list of things to live for, and practicing gratitude. The first few are pretty self-explanatory, but I found prioritizing sleep a good start to self-care. I might prioritize it a little too much sometimes lol but I need more sleep than the average person. If you’re depressed, then you probably do too. And on top of that, going outside and seeing the sun or clouds or whatever your most common weather is, is important. It forces me to try not to isolate myself and stay in my black hole of a room all day. Even on days where I don’t want to get out of bed, I somehow do because I’m apparently a pretty high-functioning person and/or my stomach makes me sometimes. That might not be the case for you but that’s okay because sometimes you just need to be patient with yourself. There are some days where leaving your bed is an accomplishment. And believe me when I say it IS an accomplishment. No one said staying alive is easy. Somehow my body maintains homeostasis minus serotonin and probably other hormones, but if you’re heart is beating, you’re alive. It might hurt to be aware of that fact, but I hope you can take it as a sign. A sign that there are things at work you can’t control, and these things are trying to tell you to stay alive. You are more than your thoughts, and your reality is more than the lies in your head. And I guess this kind of leads into reasons to be alive and gratitude. It probably sounds dumb in theory, but making a list of all the reasons to stay alive has reminded me of all the things I am so grateful to have. Personally, this list mostly involves people in my life...but hey these people are the best humans I know. Some of them have depression too and that doesn’t make them any less great. In fact, their stories give me hope which is incredibly important. Let me say that louder for the people in the back, HOPE IS IMPORTANT. Hopelessness feeds depression, and while sometimes you might be able to stumble upon something that gives you temporary hope, the real hope that sends out a life ring when you need it most has to be created. In other words you need to put in the effort to find a light that won’t fade away. But spoiler alert, that’s not easy either and I can’t tell you how or where to find that. For me, what helps is gratitude. It helps me be present in the moment, observe my surroundings, and notice that I have many things to be thankful for. Sometimes it’s the sun on a cold day, sometimes the calm snow at night, yummy food in my dorm, or small moments of seeing someone being kind to someone else. When you are grateful the small things, they really start to matter. It’s like saving pennies, it adds up. For me, seeing the seasons change can be quite beautiful, so I should stay alive to see my own seasons change too. The weather might not always be desirable, but if you look in the right direction, you might see a rainbow—or even a double rainbow all the way across the sky. So I hope you decide to stay, to live another day, and find something worth living for. For my last thought which is kind of unrelated but I still wanna put it here...You might not be like me and like simplicity and silence, but sometimes I get the most fulfilling feelings when no one is around, it’s quiet, and I just listen ;) .

#dealing with depression #depression #hope #suicide prevention #depression tips #Suicide is never the answer #you are beautiful #you are loved #you are irreplaceable

1 note · View note

ofatheva-archive · 6 years

Text

oh boy, did you get natalie dormer for an eight a.m.? wait no, that’s poppy bryant. i heard the thirty-five year old is a professor who gives a pretty tough lecture in law. she tries to be effervescent and incisive but on the stressful days, they are erratic and disputatious. when they get a chance to relax, catch them at the local bar listening to drops of jupiter by train.

poppy turning up to her 8am: hey kids, you ever had a wine hangover?

is holly holliday

or more hedonistic pepper potts

in every conceivable situation, she is the dark kermit

student: this class makes me wanna die

poppy: bitch me too tf

wins every argument with it’s the law, i know this, as a lawyer

the first daughter, born poppy marie bryant, was raised in all the security and wealth expected of a greenwich trust fund baby. attended gala’s, gallery openings, charity dinners and just about every other get together the upper class of connecticut’s most cultured could come up with. an environment she’s always been at ease in, poppy flourished and from a young age was very aware of just how far a few well placed connections could get you. names she stashed away for a later date, a time where she might cast some thought toward her future, consider anything beyond giggling behind champagne flutes with her sister or ill advised trysts in gallery coat rooms.

after years of having everything provided, all her problems solved for her, the first big decision of her life had the eldest bryant packing up all those gucci shoes and heading not far at all to new york to study architecture at columbia. not meant to be, the ever unpredictable student chopped and changed her major four times before truly finding a fit. after spending the entirety of her life soaking up the arts, and convinced she’d follow the footsteps of her parents, poppy bryant graduated top of her class in politics. the surprises kept on coming. she went on to do her j.d., passed the bar, got her l.l.m. and finally got her first job as an attorney.

years of hard work it may have been, but it didn’t slow her down one bit. stress had always rolled right off her, brushed off with an apathetic shrug and a healthy dose of gin. in between the many late nights and thousands of essays, poppy easily rose to the social queen too. her carefree ways and it’ll be fine tomorrow attitude won her plenty of friends and ensured she moved in plenty of the new york circles. and this, fortunately ( or unfortunately depending on how you chose to see it ), was how she met her future husband.

though she’d had partners in abundance, poppy fell hard and fell fast. deeply in love, she found herself saying yes to proposals and a big white wedding to boot. it was only after the honeymoon dust had settled, that the pair broached the subject of children. his enthusiasm for a baby was met with a firm no from her, and thus the first crack was formed. she was desparate to hold onto a blooming career, one that was only on it’s way up. she had plans, for her own firm, for fortunes of her own, for christmas’ in bahamas. not taking nine months off to return to her replacement taking her promotion, not nappies and bickering with in laws. arguments became daily, but their love was just as strong. foolishly, poppy had thought that would be enough to make it.

the pregnancy had come as a shock. always so careful, a surprise baby had been the last thing on her mind for the sudden sickness. and yet, her first thought hadn’t been to get rid of it. she’d been overjoyed. excited even. everything was different, they began to plan, they were going to make this work. but before the paint had time to dry on the nursery, it soon became apparent that it wasn’t meant to be. just shy off her second trimester, they were faced with the tragic truth that there would be no baby. so the clothes were thrown into storage and the nursery was rapidly converted back into the office. desks thrown up against walls where mocking giraffe stickers once were.

at thirty, poppy had been confronted with the tragic news that there would never be a baby. she’d laughed at it, laughed until she’d sobbed because, really, a hostile uterus they’d said. an environment that was supposed to be perfect, was instead something that had killed their child. and would take the life of any others they managed to conceive after it. news that broke her heart, was not shared with her husband. how could she tell the man that longed for children so much, that she couldn’t give them to him? that it was all her fault, that she’d failed in the one thing she was supposed to be able to do. she couldn’t, the thought was too painful, and she couldn’t keep that dream from him either. no, not even she was that selfish.

so when the time came that he suggest they try again ( they’d been so excited before, afterall ), rather than share what she knew, she told him she’d meant what she’d said before. she didn’t want kids, didn’t want to be some brainless soccer mom that handed over her career to raise some thankless life. argument after argument, and she lit the flame to them all. kept pushing until there was no where left to go, until she’d backed them into a corner with no other option left to them. the papers were signed, she moved out and that was that. years spent together, over after vicious negotiations.

returning to work after that should have been easy, she was good at shutting that part off and getting on with it. but after struggling on with it for three months, she was urged onto sabbatical. empty, and with nothing left to give, she disappeared for a year. went completely off the map as she slept her way through most of europe before returning to the states at thirty-three. in three years, she’d lost it all. husband, home, future. after it all, going back to work felt soulless to her. with no urge to get back to the rush of the city, it was poppy who followed her sister for once. followed her all the way to her new life in georgia where she accepted the offer for law professor. someone of her formidable experience had won the role easily enough.

it’s her second year teaching at riverbank and she’s now settling in. her classes have learned not to snigger at the name poppy on their timetable, and expect a gruelling lecture when she’s in the mood. she’s a pusher if she sees something in a student, and isn’t likely to let something drop until she’s satisfied with the results. with her firm pleading for her back, she’s no longer sure what her purpose is anymore. has she just been running for five years, or has she found a new place to belong? was this always to be her next step? to fill the emptiness her old life had left her with.

honestly, poppy is super fun

she’s literally a riot at parties

knows all the best anecdotes, always has incredible stories to tell, usually of her travels

thinks pink gin is the greatest invention of the 21st century

is pretty hedonistic but charitable af

donates to a lot of causes, has probably twelve benches and a fountain named after her by now

uses humour to cover up the fact that she’s highkey drifting

after such a rigorous lifestyle in new york, she’s found herself at thirty-five with really no idea what she’s supposed to be doing in life

mid life crisis 100%

chaotic good

could be slytherin, could be gryffindor, but is definitely reckless af

doesn’t matter how chaotic life is, she always looks a million dollars

even for the inevitable walk of shame every monday morning for her 8am

comes in hungover for most early classes

usually sticks on a powerpoint and kicks back with a litre of coffee

is really fucking charming, would flirt with a mop tbh

when she’s Not Suffering she actually plans some pretty tough lessons and expects you to keep up or fall behind

out of office hours are strict

try and catch her outside of them? she’s gonna straight up mariah carey you

i don’t know her

if you’re not turning up then she’s not about to chase you, just fail, not her problem, she’ll get paid either way

owns way too many black dresses

has not worn a flat shoe in twenty five years

will be your pal if you’re not boring

divorced, hot and ready to mingle

#riverbank.intro #tw miscarriage #tw infertility #i didn't proof read this and i need you all to know this #anyw yeets this before replies #its a disaster #yw

6 notes · View notes

stomachflu · 7 years

Note

prompt for T /// A /// Z: carey is an emetophile and gets a stomach bug, so she's miserable but sooo turned on. could be solo or carey/killian? OR with any other characters, really.

Could you write a fic where character A is puking while character B is holding her belly and masturbating her ? Thanks

tip jar!

🚫don’t rb/share to non-emeto/sickfic/kink blogs, thanks!🚫

first anon, are we the same person?? because i was literally thinking about this exact concept when you messaged me. hope that you don’t mind that i, uh, took your prompt and ran with it!! (sidenote: i know none of the physiology hcs i put in here are anywhere near canon!)

anyways this fic is very long (nearly 5k) and very nsfw, and has an excessive amount of buildup even for me.

Carey feels it when she first wakes up: this slow, sickly ache in her stomach, her insides churning sluggishly. It’s not bad enough to tell whether she’s truly sick or just suffering from a bit of indigestion, so she rolls over to the empty space on the bed where –

Her girlfriend isn’t there. Right. Killian’s on an important-save-the-world mission, or maybe also the kind where she just has to kill some dudes. It’s unclear, but she’s been gone for the past few days, and Carey misses her like hell, but she’s supposed to be back tonight.

So she just lays there on her back, pulling up her shirt to expose her soft underbelly, where her scales just sort of… trail off, and then stop, leaving an expanse of warm, velvety flesh. Killian loves this, has spent many times kissing her belly or slipping her hands under Carey’s shirt to feel it or sometimes just admiring it, and godsdoes it feel good to be admired by someone like Killian.

She can’t tell, but it feels like her stomach is slightly bloated. Then again, it’s early, artificial grey pre-dawn light trickling in through her window, so she just lazily rubs her belly, trailing two claws gently over the exposed flesh, enjoying the thought of what Killian would do if she was here.

It’s enough to make her wet by the time her alarm goes off, but Carey isn’t sick enough (or turned on enough) to skip training, so she reluctantly scrambles out of bed, pulling her uniform on one piece at a time. Her limbs ache, and getting dressed is actually a slow process for once, like her arms are encased in molasses. Could be that she’s sick, but then again, could be that she just trained too hard yesterday. Which she did, so.

She thinks about when Killian comes home tonight – telling her, my stomach hurt this morning, I almost thought that I was sick, and Killian’s strong arms coming around to encircle her middle and maybe saying, I wish I was there, and, maybe: them making something of it.

Then again, it’s not like her stomach hurts, more like she just feels… weird, and off. And then again,it’s fifteen minutes past her alarm and she’s sitting there thinking about the passionate kinky scenes she could be playing out with her girlfriend, and she is definitely gonna be late for training if she keeps this up.

The cafeteria is oddly empty for this time of morning, but then again, it seems to be built for far more members than are currently employed here, so it’s always a little empty. Carey is actually never in here this morning, but she figures that some food might be a good idea right now (her stomach gurgles obnoxiously, as if to agree), so she grabs something that’ll be easy to digest – a plate of fruit, as it turns out, and takes a seat next to… Taako, actually.

Dude’s sitting alone, which is both weird and par for the course for him. Par for the course, because she knows a loner when she sees one. Weird, because she’s never seen him without his group to back him up, no matter how hard he tries to lose them.

“Hey,” she says, thumping her tray down. “Where’s Magnus? And Merle? Aren’t your buddies coming to breakfast?”

Taako shrugs, cutting off a section of pancakes. “Dunno. Actually I do know, but, like.” He stabs a forkful and shoves it in his mouth before responding. “Magnus is really fucking sick, he’s been puking all night ‘n shit. And I’ve been dealing with that for long enough –” he stabs his fork in the air for emphasis “–so Merle’s looking after him while I get the fuck outta dodge.”

“Oh. Jeez, poor guy. I hope he’s okay.” Carey stabs a piece of fruit with her fork and swallows it down. She’s not as hungry today as she is usually.

“Yeah.” Taako looks tired, but sits up in his seat a little. “Apparently, there’s a flu going around the Bureau? So, like, be careful, I guess.”

“I will. I mean, I will, but Dragonborns can’t get sick, so…” Carey squirms in her seat a little bit. The idea of a flu going around is… enticing, to say the least.

“What, like in an elves-don’t-get-sick-but-actually-we-do kinda deal? Or some other fucked-up bit if physiology that you’ve got going on?”

“The latter. Physically? We don’t, our stomachs are like… We’re meant to keep food down? So Dragonborn can’t actually puke. Like, almost never. All that happens is we just feel kinda gross for a bit.”

Carey has, as a matter of fact, thrown up once in her life, when she took a blow from an enemy’s axe that was so bad she’d collapsed to her knees, retching up bile and blood. She still has that scar, and Killian loves it. Between the two of them, her girlfriend’s only been able to make her gag once, after half an hour of trying with her fingers and any object available. It would be a good skill to have, if she had certain… inclinations.

Other than that, she just gets super fucking nauseous, and she and Killian have plenty of fun with that.

“Jeez. That’s… really weird, actually. Fucked up.” Taako’s actually really quiet after that, playing with his food rather than eating it, and throws away his tray before breakfast ends.

For her part, once she’s alone, Carey realizes that the fruit hasn’t helped her stomach much, which feels like it’s bubbling under her fingers. What if I did get sick, she thinks to herself, and the resulting arousal is almost enough that she sneaks to the bathroom to take care of matters, but she’s saving her libido for when Killian comes home tonight. Sick or not, they can have fun then, so she just goes up for seconds.

Training starts off easy, with some stretches (Carey can’t help but notice how many absent spaces there are in today’s lineup) and then some light boxing, which she’s grateful for, because ever since breakfast, her stomach’s felt weirdly tight, her gym shorts creating an uncomfortable band of pressure around her middle.

Then everybody splits off to do their own style of training – Carey sees Taako pairing off an instructor for spellwork and guesses that Angus must be an unfortunate victim of today’s flu. She’s not sure who she feels more sorry for, Angus or the instructor.

Carey practices some half-hearted flips, but her mind isn’t really on it. She feels dizzy and distracted, and halfway through a particularly tricky maneuver, there’s a sudden sharp pain in her belly. She curls in on herself instinctually, missing her foothold and crashing to the ground.

She lands wrong, knows she’s landed wrong before she has the chance to catch her breath, one arm folded awkwardly under her, the other wrapped around her middle. Carey opens her eyes to a crowd gathered around her and swears quietly, quickly removing the hand that’s on her stomach. She tries to sit up, but the pain racing down her arm from her shoulder tells her that putting weight on it isn’t a good idea.

“Okay, everybody clear out, go back to your routines,” says the instructor, a middle-aged halfling woman. “Carey, are you alright?”

There’s another pain in her middle, more dull this time, and Carey nods. “I’m fine, just… kinda sore from yesterday, I guess? Think I hurt my shoulder, though.”

Stupid, stupid move. She’s usually the best at this, and she can’t afford to be outta commission the way a long-term injury would make her. The instructor just shakes her head and sends her to the infirmary to get ice and come back tomorrow.

She ducks into the bathrooms on the way, stopping at the sinks to splash water on her face and change. The dull cramps in her stomach are coming on and off again, with no discernible rhythm, just a sickly ache. She’d worn a sports bra to training, and her underbelly is showing signs of bloating. To anybody else, it wouldn’t be visible, but Carey knows what to look for.

She stands there for a moment, rubbing her hand up and down the bulge of her stomach before changing and leaning in close to the mirror. Nobody can tell she’s ill, thank goodness – Dragonborn run much, much cooler than humans, and although Carey realizes once she’s back in uniform that she’s been shivering slightly not from being underdressed but from fever, she’s probably still cold to the touch, enough that nobody will notice. A little-known fact is that Dragonborn can blush, and a faint flush is spreading across the scales on her face right now, nearly invisible except to those who specifically look for it.

Carey touches a slightly-shaking hand to her forehead as her stomach does a slow, oily flip. This is probably the sickest she’s ever been, exempting the time she and Killian’d both got food poisoning from a shitty inn in Phandolin (may its residents rest in peace) and had made a night out of it – Killian vomiting while Carey fucked her brains out, nearly ill enough to gag herself.

The infirmary is packed. There’s healers moving every which way, bustling between beds, and the sound of retching seems to come from all directions. A nurse leads her to an empty cot, placing a basin on the bedside table, and Carey shakes her head. “Oh, no, I’m not gonna throw up! I just hurt my shoulder.”

I think. Her stomach isn’t doing too hot, actually, and she’s starting to feel the beginnings of nausea in the pit of her belly. The experience is as hot as it is sickening, and she shifts uncomfortably in the cot, aware of the warmth between her legs. Later, she tells herself.

The nurse heads off to grab some ice, and the figure in the bed next to her draws aside the curtain. It’s Johann, of all people, looking even more pale and sickly than usual.

“Oh…” he says miserably. “I was just wondering… if you’re not sick…. if I could have your basin?”

“Sure thing!” Carey passes it over, briefly entertaining the thought of being sick in a basin with Killian watching. “You’re sick too?”

“Yeah… I’ve been throwing up all morning… and the healers took my basin to clean it… and I’m feeling – urk!” He claps a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late: liquid sprays through the cracks between his fingers, and Carey watches, fascinated, as he retches water and bile into the bowl.

“You okay, dude?” she asks, and he gives her a shaky thumbs-up as a harried-looking healer hands her an icepack and a sling and informs her that the slight sprain should heal in a few days’ time, thanks to her body’s healing properties.

“No clerics?” she asks, and the healer shakes her head.

“They’re all out making rounds. With this bug and all, we’re spread so thin…”

Carey nods in understanding. Her shoulder isn’t anything a hot water bottle and a good massage can’t fix, so she thanks the healer and steps out of the infirmary. Briefly, she considers retiring to her quarters for the day, but it’s nearly lunchtime, and does she –

She does.

Carey is definitely sick and definitely queasy and she is definitely going to pack away an entire plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She thinks about how nauseous she’s gonna feel, how her body isn’t digesting any food right now, how her lunch is just gonna sit in her stomach, churning away, and a pulse of excitement shoots through her.

She has to force herself to eat, though it’s with more gusto this time. Taako doesn’t comment on the sling, just picks at his own meal, so it’s just Carey, forcing herself to swallow down small bites of spaghetti even as her throats keeps trying to close up, until he abruptly pushes back his chair and stands up.

“What are you –” she manages to ask before he vomits all over himself, the table, and his lunch. There’s no warning except for a quiet hiccup the first time, but he retches and brings up a second, equally large wave. Carey can only stare, but Avi grabs him by the shoulders and escorts him away once he finished gagging.

Several employees stop by to clean up the mess on the floor, and Carey’s not prepared for the sudden wave of nausea that washes through her, nor for the arousal that follows. She has to excuse herself quickly, taking off to the bathroom at full speed. Once there, she slams the stall door shut, taking hitching breaths as she rubs her churning belly with one hand.

As a general rule, she’s not into guys, so it’s not Taako or Johann puking exactly that gets her, it’s just – thinking about it being Killian vomiting that much, or maybe what it must have felt like –

Unconsciously, she slips her other hand into her pants, playing with herself as she presses on her lower stomach, enjoying the low gurgles and dull bursts of pain from each push. Despite herself, she manages to get off twice, and as she climaxes a second time, her stomach honest-to-god lurches, and she tastes bile in the back of her throat, and this alone is able to tip her over the edge for round three.

She’d promised to save her libido for Killian, and she has; even after shakily emerging from the bathroom, she’s still well aware of the throbbing between her legs – her nausea is doing a good job of that, especially once she returns to the cafeteria, orders a second plate of meatballs, and tries not to think what the sauce would look like if she vomited it up.

Afternoons are reserved for paperwork, which is good, because Carey is quickly becoming too nauseous to handle more than anything else. It’s a bit exciting – she’s queasy, nauseated, and nobody else knows that she wants to throw up so fucking bad. Her stomach is churning, gurgling so loudly that at one point Avi asks her if she’s feeling okay.

It seems like everybody is ill – even though she’s trying to concentrate, both on her work and on her sick stomach, Carey keeps catching bits and pieces of conversation about who else is down with the flu. Supposedly even the Director is sick, unable to leave her quarters.

At some point after lunch, she starts hiccuping, a process that upsets both her stomach and her shoulder. Hiccups aren’t impossible for someone like her, just rare, but she’s never experienced them as a product of nausea.

The dull cramps are near-constant now and increasing in strength; Carey can’t wait to go home and massage her aching stomach. As is, she slips a hand under her shirt to press on a particularly painful spot and surprised herself when the pressure forces up a small, squeaky burp.

“Wow,” Avi says from two desks down. “I didn’t know that Dragonborn could burp.”

“Me neither!” Carey says. Then: “Actually, I’m not feeling so hot. Mind if I scoot early?” This is part selfish desire on her part, part honest truth: she’s quickly feeling too ill to even stand upright, chills and fever taking her over by turns.

Avi agrees to do the last of her paperwork, and Carey starts the slow trek back to her quarters, both arms wrapped around her sloshing stomach.

The first thing Carey does when she gets home is strip. She’s kind of a no-shirt gal in the first place – she doesn’t even have breasts, there’s nothing to hide – but rules are rules, and “no shirt, no shoes, no service” applies on the moon.

Underneath her uniform, her stomach is massively bloated, distended over her waistband. Carey can’t get pregnant, but if she could, this is what she imagines it would look like. She runs a gentle but firm claw over the curve and is rewarded with another burp, this one longer and louder. A firm press yields a wetter belch and the beginning of a heave, and Carey abruptly stops, clapping a hand over her mouth in surprise.

She waits like that for a moment, expecting more nausea, but her stomach just cramps harder. Face growing hot, she changes into a pair of lace panties that Killian’s partial to, fetches a hot water bottle, and waits.

Thirty minutes later, she’s drenched in sweat, swallowing down increasing waves of nausea, and pressing the hot water bottle to her stomach when the door opens. Arousal courses through her, a pulsating warmth, and she’s swallowing down burps that taste of her last meal, choosing to nurse a bottle of water in the vain hopes that it’ll relieve some of the churning pressure in her belly.

Despite all this, she finds the strength in her to limp to the door, leaving the hot water bottle behind. Her girlfriend is covered in blood and sweat, but her eyes light up when she sees Carey, and she scoops her up and tosses her in the air the way they always do when one of them arrives home.

It’s a bad idea with the state of things, though, and Carey cries out as her stomach heaves and pain shoots through her bad arm. Killian quickly sets her on the floor, holding her at arms’ length.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

Carey keeps her mouth closed until she’s sure that her throat will stop spasming with half-suppressed heaves, one hand pressed to the front of her snout. “I’m… not feeling so hot,” she confesses. “There’s a flu going around.” She shifts so that the bulge of her belly is visible to Killian, placing one hand on it suggestively. “Actually, I’m feeling really sick.”

“Holy shit,” Killian breathes, reaching out a blood-covered hand and quickly yanking it back, like Carey is too precious to touch like this. “Do you wanna…”

“Yes,” Carey breathes, taking Killian’s offered hand and standing up. “I’ve been waiting all fucking day, are you kidding me?”

“Okay! Okay, uh, lemme…” Killian rubs the back of her neck with one hand, thinking. “Lemme shower first, if you can wait that long? I’ll, um. Leave the bathroom door open if you need it.”

That must be a testament to how bad she looks, and a bolt of desire runs through Carey. “Okay, sounds good!”

Carey sits on the edge of the couch, twitching with nervous energy, but five minutes after the shower turns on, nausea swells in her belly again, and the way her throat tightens in an almost-gag makes her feel like the bathroom is genuinely the better option. She stumbles into a spot by the toilet, kneeling like she’s seen Killian do, staring into the water below. Saliva is pooling beneath her tongue, and she spits.

The shower turns off, and Killian steps out. “What are y– oh,” she says, expression softening. “Oh, jeez.”

“’M'okay,” Carey slurs, spitting again. “Kinda felt like I was gonna hurl for a second there.”

“Okay, can you – Are you good?”

Carey nods, not trusting herself to open her mouth.

“So do you wanna do this here or go to bed?” Killian asks

“Bed,” Carey says, but when Killian makes a motion to scoop her up again, she pushes her away. “No, no, I – think I’m gonna hmk! puke, don’t… I can walk.” She can, sorta, leaning against Killian, both arms wrapped around her heaving belly.

Usually, when they do this sorta thing on the rare occasions that Carey is sick, they wind up fooling around a bit, Killian soothing away the aches and pains, then collapsing into a heap to sleep. She assumes the position that she usually does, cross-legged on the bed, propped up against the headboard.

“So,” Killian says slowly. “You’re still feeling sick.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question, but Carey nods anyways. “What do you want to do?”

In response, Carey shifts over so that Killian can comfortably sit next to her. “Whatever – whatever you want,” she says, hiccuping slightly at the end of the sentence.

Killian leans in and swiftly kisses her. It’s always an awkward affair, considering the snout and the tusks, but they make it work, and by the end of it, Carey is giggling, which isn’t doing her stomach any favors.

“You should tell me about how you’re feeling,” she says, voice low.

“I’m – I’m really nauseous,” Carey says, voice wobbling a bit. “Like, I woke up, and my stomach felt off? Like kind of bubbly and gross, and I was already a little bit bloated?”

Killian slides a hand over Carey’s soft belly, fingers splayed out. The width of her hand is large enough that it covers her entire stomach, and Carey sighs as she feels the bubbles and churning under Killian’s hand. “Like that.”

Killian’s touch is enough to bring up one of the burps Carey’s been trying to hold down, and she lets out a muffled “Urp!”

A blush spreads across Killian’s face. “Jeez, babe.”

“Yeah, and then there’s – BRUUURP! that,” Carey says. “Been holding them in for you.”

“Let ‘em out,” Killian says, pressing in a little on Carey’s stomach and visibly enjoying the resulting gurgles.

“Yeah, so, get this – I hurt my arm in training 'cause my stomach was cramping super bad, and you’ll never believe what the infirmary was like…” Carey started telling her about her day, the story intermingled with belches and moans as the pressure in her stomach grows more, not less, painful. At one point, she has to stop completely and muffle a series of burps into the crook of Killian’s neck, each one bringing her closer and closer to gagging.

Killian kisses her again, and then she does gag against her girlfriend’s lips, her tongue arching against the roof of her mouth as the nausea washes over her.

When Killian pulls back with a self-satisfied smile, there are thick strands of saliva connecting their mouths. “Hot.”

“I – I know, right?” Carey’s throat keeps hitching with tiny half-gags, and when Killian shifts, helps her so that she’s lying on her back, facing the ceiling, she thinks, maybe now she’ll help me bring something up, but, much to her surprise, Killian starts with her injured shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to the throbbing joint. Her strong hands press against the bruise, soothing away the ache that Carey hasn’t even noticed over the pain in her stomach.

Still, she squirms uncomfortably, mindful of the way her stomach sloshes. “Babe,” she moans. “I’m… feelin’ really sick. Please –”

Carey breaks off with a gasp as Killian kisses a path from her throat down to her underbelly, drawing a few light burps from her lips. She slips a hand between Carey’s legs, pausing to marvel at how wet she is already, and uses her other hand to rub her belly.

“I’m – hrmf!” Carey’s stomach lurches, and she dry-heaves. “I’m real close.”

To vomiting or coming, she doesn’t know, but Killian nods, shifting Carey so that she’s sitting in her lap, resting her chin between the horns on either side of her head. She keeps one hand on her belly still, and Carey’s slick enough that she easily can slip two fingers inside her with little testing.

Killian quickly establishes a rhythm – not fast and not slow – and Carey shivers as she ghosts the pad of her thumb over her clit, pressing light kisses to the back of Carey’s sweaty neck. “Is this okay?” she asks, massaging her stomach with her free hand.

“Y-yeah, I just –mmMURP! – Can you press harder, mayb–” Carey is cut off by another sickening retch, and she lets her mouth hang open, drooling over the soft swell of her distended belly.

Killian doesn’t need to be told twice, increasing the pressure on Carey’s stomach, causing her to gag several times, tasting bile in the back of her throat. She’s shaking with fever and quivering under Killian’s affections, her legs trembling as Killian picks up speed.

Killian pushes on her stomach, and Carey barely has any warning before she climaxes, head snapping back and keening as a wave of nausea washes over her. She doesn’t even have time to take a breath before Killian pushes again, harder this time, and she retches hard, a torrent of vomit splattering onto the bedspread.

“Holy shit,” Killian breathes, and Carey chokes on another retch. The second wave brings up even more than the first, but she’s too weak to even lift her head, so she just vomits onto herself, sending a wave of chunky puke down her front, forming a warm pile in her lap.

Killian’s pressing soft kisses to the back of her neck and she stays like that for a moment, head bowed, gurgling retches issuing from her throat, spitting threads of thick saliva into her lap. She’s shaking still, Killian teasing her through the fabric of her underwear, drawing tiny aftershocks out of her.

“Think you have any more in you?” Killian asks after a moment, removing her hand from Carey’s belly.

“I – yeah. Yeah,” she breathes, replacing Killian’s hand with her own. Her stomach is still churning and gurgling, whatever food she has left sitting too heavily to be comfortable. She grits her teeth as another cramp runs through her.

“Wanna – y'know. Puke on me?” Killian asks breathlessly. In response, Carey shifts so that she’s facing her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips but drawing back almost immediately as vomit rises in her throat.

It’s more difficult this time without any pressure on her bloated, aching belly, and she barely manages to bring up a small mouthful of vomit before a series of dry retches scrape her throat.

Killian reaches towards her, presumably to help out, but Carey shakes her head miserably. She wants to get it all up and she wants to do it herself, so she pushes Killian into a lying position, leveraging herself above her on shaky arms.

Her stomach really doesn’t like that, and Carey urps up a few more mouthfuls of vomit. She closes her eyes, lets nausea wash over her in sickening waves, and then gags once, twice, and barely has time to part her lips before her belly lurches and a massive gush of puke splatters onto Killian’s chest.

She retches a few more times, bringing up thinner, more watery streams as Killian gasps, and then collapses next to her girlfriend, panting.

“Done?” Killian asks, pressing her hand to Carey’s belly suggestively.

Carey burps, not even bothering to raise her head. “I… I don’t know. I think so?”

“Wanna shower and find out?”

To no one’s surprise, Carey finds that she’s very partial to that idea.

Under the warm water, Killian teases another orgasm out of Carey, and is well on her way to another when the nausea returns. Carey’s leaning against her girlfriend, face pressed into the crook of her neck – her legs are too shaky to hold her up, and when she’d tried to slip a hand between Killian’s legs to return the favor, Killian just shook her head, saying that tonight was about her.

She barely has time to warn, “Gonna puke,” when her throat contracts and she retches up a wave of watery vomit all down Killian’s back. Her stomach heaves against Killian’s, slippery and wet, and she finds herself emptily gagging and burping again and again until she tilts her head up and drinks deeply from the showerhead.

The water barely has time to slosh uncomfortably inside her stomach before Carey burps wetly and it comes gushing out in two massive waves.

“There,” she says once her stomach finally feels empty, pressing herself up against Killian. “Now I’m done.”

#emetophilia #emeto #3 ///#4 ///#5 ///#this is like.... 5 kinks in one #yall i don't even KNOW show to explain half the stuff i'm writing but like. anyways #Please Allow Me To Wildly Make Shit Up About Fantasy Races #my writing #my fic

207 notes · View notes

elleberquist6 · 6 years

Text

Stray Cat - chapter fifteen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1775 Warnings: Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut Summary: Phil Lester believes that if he does good things then good things will happen to him, so on one of the worst days of his life he invites a rain-soaked Neko boy named Dan into his home. Phil has never met a Neko before and he knows nothing about the dark system that has molded Dan. Dan is part of a repressed population with few rights, and as Phil gets to know him he can’t understand why – Dan is the most amazing person he has ever met. —

Phil woke with a smile on his face. He felt the Neko shift at his side, so he stretched and said, “Morning, you.”

Dan sighed, sounding like he had been hovering on the edge of sleep. He seemed to struggle closer to awareness, shifting again so that he was facing Phil with his cheek pressed against a pillow. He had taken a shower before bed and his hair dried in an adorably tousled mass of curls. His cheeks were pink and he looked lovely as he smiled back. “Hello, you. What time is it?”

“Um, not sure.” He hadn’t set his alarm since they had decided to sleep in. Phil grabbed his glasses, more out of a desire to bring Dan’s face into perfect focus – he could see Dan’s freckles and the flecks of darker brown in his irises now – and then he grabbed his phone to check the time. “Just after 12, so time to get up. I really want to film something.”

Dan’s smile broadened. “That sounds good to me.”

They got up and after dressing and taking turns getting ready in the bathroom, they then met in the kitchen for cereal. While eating, Dan asked, “So, do you know what you want to talk about in your video?”

“I think so,” Phil nodded. “I don’t like to script my videos because then what I say doesn’t come across as natural. So, I just decide what I have to say, maybe note some talking points, and then I just decide the rest while I’m filming.” Phil squirmed slightly in his seat at the thought of Dan watching him while he filmed; he had never let someone watch him film a video before. No one had ever asked to watch before. “It probably won’t make much sense to you while you’re watching. I’m going to be filming it in a few parts since I want to play another character. It won’t all make sense until I bring it together in editing.”

Dan seemed to be even more excited to hear this. “Could I watched how you edit it, too? You know, if that’s okay…”

Phil nodded, his nervousness vanishing as he saw how eager Dan was to learn, and it made Phil happy to teach him. While Phil had always loved sharing his passion with people – the various friends he had pushed away with his Buffy obsession could attest to that – he had never had anyone ask him about YouTube before. YouTube was a passion he had almost forgotten, but he felt the flame of it rekindle as he saw Dan’s eyes light up talking about it. Dan’s enthusiasm was contagious.

Dan glanced at the notebook that Phil placed on the table when he came into the kitchen. It was black and said ‘Death Note’ on the cover. There was a second notebook underneath of it. “What’s that? Is that where you wrote your talking points?”

“Yup. This one is where I put my video ideas, although since I wrote them in a Death Note the ideas will probably die,” he said, pointing to the Death Note. Then he handed the second notebook to Dan. “This one is blank. It’s for your video ideas.”

Dan accepted the notebook in stunned silence. Then he saw the funky turtle on the cover, which was covered with sparkles and he arched an eyebrow.

Phil laughed and he felt his tongue stick out of the corner of his mouth. “I work in a stationary store. I get free stuff sometimes when it doesn’t sell.”

“I wonder why no one wanted to buy it.” Dan flipped through it though, admiring the quality of the paper. He closed it and smiled. “Thank you. Can I see yours?”

Phil shifted, feeling his nervousness returning. “Maybe later. Spoilers, you know?”

Dan nodded. “You don’t want to tell me what the video is about?”

“Actually, I already told you all about it. I’m filming a story-time video about a strange person I met. I have a series on my channel all about weird people who come up to me and say or do odd things. It’s all thanks to the Lester Family Curse,” he tried to infuse the last few words with a dramatic flair.

“Curse?” Dan seemed to be suppressing a smirk and he went on, feigning concern, “That sounds quite serious. Is this the sort of thing I should have been informed about before moving in here?”

“Only if you have an aversion to strangers coming up to you in the street, and that won’t happen unless you’re with me. The Lester Family Curse only affects the men in my family. We attract oddness. I can give you some examples. I had a woman come knock on my door once who wanted me to join a cult. A man fell in my popcorn once at the cinema. I went to a gym once where a man forced me to lift a tire.”

Dan’s body was vibrating with the laughter that he was holding in. “Don’t take this personally, but I’m a skeptic. I’m not going to believe in a curse until I see it happening for myself… although, if you attract odd people, then I guess I qualify.”

Phil couldn’t deny it. “True, but you’re the good kind of odd.” Dan’s skepticism seemed to increase, so Phil said, “You’re different and everyone else is the same. That’s why I like you.”

Dan followed Phil to his bedroom after breakfast and watched as Phil set up his camera, which he pointed at the bed. “Anything I can do to help?”

Phil shook his head after he made sure that the camera was working properly. “No, I just need to get my costume for the character I want to play. Oh! You can do something. Get me an orange from the kitchen please?”

By the time Dan returned with the fruit, Phil was dressed in his preppy-est jacket and he was tying a scarf around his neck. Dan looked at the orange in his hand and grinned. “I just figured out what you’re filming.”

Phil nodded and sat on the bed. He took the orange from Dan, placed it out of sight then looked at the camera. There was no red light. “Oh! Dan, I forgot to start recording. Can you start filming for me? Yeah, hit that button, and then you can go back to standing where you were.”

He waited until Dan returned to leaning against the wall by the doorway, so that the sound of his footsteps wouldn’t be recorded in case this first take was the one that he wanted to use. Then Phil entered the mindset of the angry customer who threw the chocolate orange at his head. He was able to forget that someone was watching him as he hurled insults at the camera and then he ultimately threw a literal orange.

Phil wanted to make sure that the scene looked good, so he watched it back on his camera, but he decided that he had thrown the orange too quickly and it didn’t look good. He re-filmed the action a few more times before he was satisfied with it. Then Phil removed the jacket, scarf, and also the persona of the angry customer. He glanced self-consciously at Dan. “I’m going to do my intro now.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen your videos. Go for it.”

“Oh, right.” Phil laughed at himself for being weird about this, shook off the last of his awkwardness, and turned to the camera with a wave. “Hey guys.” He launched into the story about work, describing what happened and pointing to his fading black eye. He stuck a ‘Hi, my name is: Phil’ nametag to his shirt as he acted out the exchange with the customer from his perspective. He wrapped by announcing Draw Phil Naked waving in the air where he would be placing the art in the video, at which point Dan lost his composure in a fit of giggles.

“Shut up or I’ll kick you out,” Phil said as he started laughing, too. Once they had both quieted, Phil reshot the last part that Dan had laughed over. He quickly looked over what he had filmed, decided it was good, and said, “Okay, I think we have what we need.”

Phil shut his laptop around 10:00PM and rubbed his eyes. “I might want to do some more to it tomorrow before posting it.”

“It’s perfect, though. I think it’s one of the best videos you’ve ever made.” Dan yawned. He was almost as tired as Phil; he had been attentive during the editing process and made notes in his turtle notebook, but his heat started bothering him again. He had to get up at one point to be sick, but then settled back down on the sofa beside Phil under a blanket, seeming mesmerized by the video that came together on the screen of his laptop.

Phil shrugged and placed the laptop on the coffee table. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I want to watch it tomorrow again once I’ve got some distance from it. You know, kind of see it with fresh eyes? Then if I’m happy with it I’ll post it.”

Dan nodded in understanding.

“Hey, thanks for helping me today. I don’t think I would have filmed this if you hadn’t talked me into it. Today made me really happy.”

“I’m happy, too.”

Phil looked closely at the Neko, assessing him for signs of illness, but his skin was a normal healthy tan and he was no longer sweating. Just to be sure, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m great. I feel perfect. Kind of hungry maybe.” He glanced at the kitchen, seeming to be contemplating a late-night snack. He looked back to Phil. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just worried since you got sick a couple hours ago. The heat?”

Dan shook his head. “That was it. The last of it. Phil, it’s been 3 days since it started. It’s over. I’m fine now.”

“Oh,” he said, the realization sinking in. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Phil flung himself at Dan and wrapped his arms around the Neko.

Dan laughed as he was startled, and then he hugged Phil back. It took them both a moment to notice the position that they were now in: Phil was lying slightly on top of Dan and they were both breathing heavily. Their faces were inches apart and they both seemed to be remembering the conversation they had at the beginning of Dan’s heat.

“Yes,” Dan said. “I do like you.”

#phan #phandom #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #dan x phil #neko

3 notes · View notes

looselucy · 7 years

Photo

November

One of the joys of studying English, was the absolute rants we all got into every Tuesday afternoon. They were the best lectures by far, where we would literally all sit down, a group of around 100, and simply talk about whatever came naturally. People would come in raving about books, about something they’d read online, about articles and art and text conversations and literally anything that involved the written word.

They were the lectures I lived for. They were the lectures that helped me to actually enjoy my course; the kind of thing I wanted when I decided to go to university. And for the past half an hour or so, we had been having the fun conversation about ‘sexting’ which, admittedly, was something I was a virgin to. But it didn’t make the conversation any less fun. One girl in particular, was having a real outburst. “Sexting is a one-sided affair.” She spat. “It’s always the boys who want it, but the girls put in all the effort. I’ve never once gotten off to sexting, because I put in all the effort and say everything he wants to hear, and he’ll just reply like ‘fuck’ or ‘what else’ and he wants me to get steamy over that? No. Boys put in zero effort. It’s all take take take.” “Well what about boys sexting?” A lad looked over his shoulder to see the girl. “What?” “Boys sexting boys. If they put in zero effort, how do you think that works? You can’t put all guys under one umbrella when a lot of boys... like other boys?” “Well obviously... I can’t really talk about that. Never experienced it, being a girl. Do you sext boys?” “No.” He acted as though he was defending himself, which puzzled me a little. “Of course I don’t. I’m straight. But not everyone is.” A girl raised her hand to grab the rooms attention, before she went straight in and made her comment. “I sext my girlfriend all the time. And it’s intense. We both go for it. I have heard straight boys can’t really commit, and I can’t say I’m surprised.” She shrugged. “That must be it! Maybe it’s a straight guy thing. A masculinity thing.” The original girl nodded in agreement. “I don’t think it’s fair to generalize.” The boy spoke again. “For the sake of the discussion, we have to. We can’t go up to every boy in the world to determine their sexuality and how good they are at sexting.” “This is stupid.” He scoffed. “You’re too protective of your masculinity!” I finally spoke up myself. “The second there was an insinuation of you being gay, you bit back. Like it’s a bad thing, something to be offended by. You want to sext, but even though it’s the lads who usually want it more, you can’t open up and just do it because you’re scared. And you beg for these texts. But then, if anything bad happens with the girl, you probably call her a slag to all your friends, and tell them she was sexting you. Have you done that before?” He quite literally, bit his tongue, really not wanting to admit that was something he most certainly had done, but it was coming to these moments in these lectures that made them so brilliant, and so interesting. He knew that. Reluctantly, he owned up. “I have. Yeah.” “Exactly.” I sighed. “But I feel bad for you.” “What?” A few people laughed, mainly girls. “It’s really drummed into lads from an early age, y’know? No emotions. No tears. Be a man. Grow a pair. Like any sign of vulnerability is a bad thing. Of course these idiots don’t know how to sext, it’s being completely naked to the girl, via words. It’s a lot more terrifying than actually being naked with someone.” ”I have to say, I think you might be onto something there.” Darren, our lecturer, nodded. It was only then that we all seemed to spot a group of people waiting outside the room, and then we realised we were running around ten minutes late, and the next lecture was due to start. Darren thanked us for another interesting week, as all those Tuesday lectures had been over our two months there, and we all raised to our feet, beginning to make our way out of the hall. Silently, I was beaming that I’d more or less gotten the last word. It had set my day off to a really good start, meaning that I exited with a little spring in my step. At the bottom of the stairs, I felt someone jog downwards to catch up with me, turning around to see Ed, who had rocked up late thanks to his hangover, and missed out on his chance of sitting next to me, which was obviously a massive shame for him. “I’m glad you feel sorry for me.” He mumbled giddily in my ear as we walked out together. “Sorry?” I chuckled. “This is a man’s world, and even the men aren’t good enough for it.” I laughed and nodded, unable to disagree because it was absolutely true. All that lecture had done was made me realise the whole world was full of high standards and expectations, and none of us were living up to them. I buttoned my coat up and snuggled into its warmth as we stepped outside. I’d made a few friends in my lectures, but none of them were sustainable outside of lessons together, apart from Ed, who was adorably cute and spectacularly ginger, and completely, through and through, my kind of person. “I love Tuesdays.” I smiled up to the sun. “I know how I can make your Tuesday even better.” I turned to hear his tale, but instead of saying anything he moved the grotty rucksack from his back and routed through it quickly, before pulling out a bright orange leaflet and handing it to me. “What’s this?” “I finally got a little acoustic gig. It’s at this bar in town.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “Oh yeah, Jax, I know that place! Oh well done!” “Thanks! You gunna come?” “Yeah definitely. It’s an excuse to drink, but, early enough that I won’t miss my lecture tomorrow morning. Win win.” “Is that it?” “Oh, and to see you sing. Obviously.” He hit my shoulder relatively hard, the two of us laughing sweetly as I tucked the flier into my bag. In all honesty, I was worried, straight away. The number of friends I’d had over the years who formed bands with anyone who could even pick up a guitar was shocking, and for that reason I had seen an unfortunate amount of terrible bands, who I had to rave about to save face and feelings. I was hoping Ed would be different, praying, because it seemed with age I was just getting worse at lying. “Will you bring some people?” Ed asked coyly. “I’m a bit worried no one will come.” ”Yeah, definitely. I’ll bring the people from my flat. Don’t worry!” “Sound!” Ed hollowed his throat. “You’re the best.” “I know.” Ed began to skewer off in the direction of his accommodation, some of the grottiest ones that our university had to offer, but he loved them all the same. “See you tonight then, yeah?” He yelled to me. “Yep.” “BRING GIRLS!” He had to yell louder as we distanced. “OF COURSE!” “WEAR LITTLE TO NO CLOTHES TO BRING IN A CROWD.” “FUCK OFF, ED!” “LOVE YOU, PIPPA!” He laughed at himself yet again and jogged off down the correct path, unable to see I was chuckling and shaking my head, but I’m sure he predicted nothing less. I was thankful our campus was so small, at least compared to a lot of universities I’d visited on their open days. All the lectures halls, the library, shops and cafes and study areas, even a few student bars, were in the centre, and all the student halls surrounded them. It wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk to get to where you needed to be, and I was fortunate enough to be placed in halls where I could literally fall out of bed and be in my lecture. Apart from the times where I wanted to skip a lecture, because it then meant I was trapped in my flat all day, and maybe even the day after, in the hopes a lecturer wouldn’t see me, which they often had. Not that they said anything, I was sure they’d had students worse than me in their time. As I stumbled round the corner to get into our flat, Zayn and Harry were there, Zayn with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, Harry staring glumly onto him from the doorway. “Hey.” I mumbled uneasily. I hadn’t even spoke to Harry since our run in in the bathroom on Sunday evening, and it was a good thing. I hadn’t raised my voice the whole time and I hadn’t had a headache once, and it was beautiful, just like the olden days, before he moved in. He looked down to the floor as soon as I was there, not wanting to say much. Not wanting to say anything at all, really. “Pip, we need your help.” Zayn sighed. Harry rolled his eyes and took a step even further indoors, obviously not really wanting my help. But this was my perfect opportunity. If I offered my help, that would wind him up, but he couldn’t get mad at me or say anything, because I was actually being super nice and helping. The perfect scenario. “With what?” “This photography thing for Harry. They want to see something other than the topless pictures, today, in around forty-five minutes... and he has nothing.” ”Pretty ill-prepared.” I stuck my bottom lip out to him. There were real life daggers in his eyes, his bottom jaw clenched and tightened, but he just about held himself together. Just about. “Any ideas?” Zayn ignored my comment. “Is there like... a theme?” “No,” Harry eventually spoke. “Which kind of makes it even harder. No guidelines.” I genuinely did try to put my mind to it for a minute. For some reason, I wanted to think of something he could do and some way we could help him, but my head, as usual, was not coming up with anything even slightly creative. I felt awful because of it. I should have known. I should have been able to think of something, because I’d loved photography at college, and I had only gone a few months without it. I guess I’d been blocking it out as a way of coping with how much I missed being creative like that. We all stood in silence for a few minutes. I could tell Zayn felt really badly. But it wasn’t just a case of, let’s think of any idea, anything we could. It was his first assignment, we were at uni. I may not have liked Harry but I didn’t want to see him fuck up something like that. After our silence, Harry flipped. “FUCK!” He cursed, gripping at an invisible force in front of him. “Can you fucking believe this? I’m tearing my hair out over some tits? Tits were never made to make me feel this shit!” Zayn laughed loud, and I buried a smile, kind of liking that he was the type of person to crack a little joke even when he was furious. But everything else about him was pure chaos. “Oh god.” Zayn chuckled lowly, stomping out his cigarette. “I do seriously feel for you. Pip, I looked at the photos, they’re seriously good.” “It’s just nipples. That’s all it is.” Harry gawped. “I don’t understand.” Hearing him say that, made something click in my mind. Literally, it just clicked, and the photographer in me came out so quickly. It was also the little bitch inside me, who lived deep within my soul and was ready to kick off at any opportunity. My eyes widened, and I darted my gaze to Harry. “Can I see them?” “What?” He quizzed. “The pictures you took. Can I see them?” He shrugged as a way of saying yes, before turning inside and we followed. In the elevator going up, Zayn had asked what was going on, but I just brushed him off, too excited, too ready to bring my plan to life. Pretty soon after, I saw Harry’s room for the first time. It was pretty simplistic, minimalistic. There was a giant Fleetwood Mac poster on the wall above his bed, a couple of Polaroid camera shots of himself and predictably friends from home beside his TV, and a few items of clothing on the floor. I also spotted an array of different cameras upon his desk by the window, and honestly, I just wanted to pick them up and study them all. But it wasn’t really the time. Harry pulled out a file from one his drawers and found the pictures quite quickly, passing all ten of them to me. I wanted to hate them, to think they were sleazy and there was a good reason they had been rejected. But really, they were quite beautiful. I understood his rage a little more after seeing them, because they were so well done, so tasteful and mature. “Can I...” I awkwardly began. “Do you need these?” “What are you doing?” Harry seemed suspicious. “Do you need these? Do you need them to… stay like this?” I watched him glance over my shoulder to Zayn who was still in the doorway, and he just shrugged, still completely unaware of my plans. Harry looked back to me, and for once, he had to trust me. I wasn’t expecting us to ever have a moment like that again. “No.” He sighed eventually. “Do what you need to do.” I then scurried into Zayn’s room, which was completely different to Harry’s. The walls were as covered in pictures and posters as his right arm was in tattoos. Not a single bit of the wall was left unloved. The floor was covered in clothes, his desk was covered in art and pens and paper, and everything expected from an art student. “Just give me a second.” I requested. They stayed stood in the hall as the door automatically closed itself, and I found a black sharpie and did what I had imagined in my head. I drew thick black crosses over the nipples. As soon as they featured on every single one, I slowly, and certainly with fear, walked into the hall, handing Harry the pictures straight away. His face was hard to read as he skimmed through them, Zayn looking over his shoulder to study them too. Harry’s eyebrows were low, but nothing else gave me any sign or hint of emotion. Regardless of how much I hated him, I wanted him to be happy with what I’d done. “Pip,” Zayn spoke quietly. “These are-” “Genius.” Harry interrupted. “Yeah?” I waited on edge. “They’re a massive fuck you to my lecturer, and the fact he turned them down before. There’s literally nothing wrong with them now the nipples are covered, apparently, even though that whole concept makes no sense. But that’s why this works! The whole idea of it. Why are they okay now? Why weren’t they before? Why is it nipples are unacceptable? It’s created this… theme! Seriously, this is sick. I’m going to go and throw these onto his desk right now.” Zayn gave him a quick slap on the back as Harry literally ran out of our flat as quickly as he could, a new spring in his step. I was so glad he was happy with them, I was beaming. He was still a dickhead. Zayn gave me a soft smile. “That was really nice of you. Considering it was Harry.” “Yeah, well. He brings out the worst in me, and photography brings out the best in me. Combine the two, and you’ll find Harry handing in ten photos which basically give his lecturer the middle finger.” He stretched one arm around me and tucked me into his body, giving me a kiss on the forehead. As always, Zayn appreciated my efforts, no matter how little effort I had actually put in. And I appreciated Zayn. Everything about him. + + + I sat on the floor in front of my bedroom door, doing my makeup in the mirror, slowly preparing for the evening. I was hoping there would be a good number of people there to see Ed play, he deserved as much. For the two short months I had known him, all he had spoken about was how he was trying to get a gig, and how much he loved performing. I asked him why he hadn’t taken music as a degree, only to learn his love for poetry, how he couldn’t write a song without the novels and words he had read over the years. I thought that, in itself, was quite poetic. There was a small knock on my bedroom door, nervous. I think I knew it was Harry. “Come in!” The door opened gradually, but he didn’t come in. He remained stood in the small gap he had created, not looking me in the eye. He was pretty good at making situations uncomfortable. “Just wanted to say thanks.” He mumbled. “My lecturer looked like he was going to pass out when he first saw them. But then came up to me at the end of the lecture, saying they’re his favourite ones this year. So... Yeah. Thanks.” I was super proud of myself; probably too proud of myself. I kind of started taking credit for all of it. I started to ignore the fact it was Harry who had taken the amazing photos and I gave myself all the glory. “You’re welcome.” “Good move, Pip-Squeak.” He smirked arrogantly as he shut the door again, and I cursed loud to myself, knowing he just had to get that stupid name in, just to piss me off, just to make sure it hadn’t been an entirely positive interaction. I blew a raspberry again as I completed my look for the evening, shaking my head at him. I knew he was going to be tagging along with us that night, since he had actually started making an effort with everyone instead of predicting whatever we did wasn’t his scene, much to my dismay. But I figured after that afternoons blip, we could easily go back to staying out of one another’s way. At least that was the hope. I raised to my feet and tugged down on my Arctic Monkeys t-shirt, figuring the band T and denim shorts was a good look for a small gig. I tugged on my door handle, swinging it open to see someone stood with their fist clenched in the air, waiting to knock. Louis. “Hi.” I breathed uneasily. “Alright.” He greeted. “What-” “Zayn invited me to tag along tonight.” Reminder to hug Zayn and tell him how fantastic he is later. I couldn’t help but grin, which I hated because he could probably see how happy I was to have him there, and that was not good because my main aim with Louis was to learn how to flirt, and become slightly alluring. It was pretty hard to do that when the muscles in my face wanted to prove the pure glee I was feeling thanks to the fact I would be able to see his face all evening. “Good.” I lowered my face down to the floor so he couldn’t see. “You wanna go?” He asked kindly. “Yeah, I just need to ring a taxi.” “I’m gunna drive, it’s all good.” “Oh. I didn’t know you drove!” “You don’t know much about me. Yet.” Louis had probably taken some sort of masterclass in flirting at some point in his life because bloody hell, he was good at it. I steadily stepped out of my room, locking it behind me, only because I had been the victim of leaving it open before and the rest of those bellends throwing twelve packets of plastic forks all over the place. Idiots. “C’MON TROOPS, LETS GO!” Louis yelled. Pretty quickly, everyone retreated from their rooms, all being wise enough to lock up too. Tally looked beautiful, dressed for a night out rather than a gig, but she looked fantastic because of it. Mike looked... Tall. Harry’s outfit was simple, a white t-shirt and black jeans, but the black hat on his head seemed to complete the look. Zayn looked amazing, as always, the sleeves cut off his T, docs and skinny jeans. Louis was the best though. Never before has one person suited a denim jacket the way he did. “One sec.” I mumbled. I jogged up to Ringo’s door and knocked a few times, half expecting to be ignored, but happy when she popped her head out of the gap. “What’s up?” She asked shyly. “We’re going to a gig tonight. Do you wanna come?” She glanced down the hall and saw everyone waiting to hear her answer, giving her encouraging smiles. But I think it made it worse. “No, thank you.” “Okay, well if you change your-” Before I could even finish my sentence she’d shut the door in my face. I looked down to everyone, spotting Louis close to bursting straight away. ”Well she was rude!” He chortled. I shook my head, feeling disappointed, and nothing more was said about it. We all walked out, unfortunately opting for the stairs this time, hurrying downwards. We were all in pretty high spirits, because it was nice to be doing something a little different, rather than just going out and getting wasted. Even so, I was sure drinking would still be involved. Louis stayed close to me as walked over to the car-park, nudging me with his arm once so he could get my attention, but all he did was give me smile, with low eyes. I blushed down to the floor as soon as I could. Louis unlocked his car as we all neared it, and I was not the first to notice how tiny it was. “How the hell are we all going to get in there, Tommo?” Zayn huffed. “Well you either get a lift, or you walk. So, squish in.” Louis shrugged. “SHOTGUN!” Zayn yelled too quickly. “Fuck sake.” Mike mumbled. “Alright, guys, enjoy getting in the back with a six-foot-five guy.” All at once, we stopped outside the car, and shot Zayn a really dirty look, kind of saying, c’mon, let that giant get in the front. Zayn gave Mike a demon gaze, sad he was going to have to squish in the back with us, but he accepted it, nudging his head towards the front door. “YES!” Mike celebrated. “Have fun in the back, losers.” Louis and Mike clambered in the front as the rest of us stood debating the best way to go about getting in the back. Louis’ car was excruciatingly tiny; there probably wasn’t even enough room to cram three people in there, never mind four. “Who’s the smallest?” Zayn asked. “Pip-Squeak.” Harry answered instantly. ”Fuck off!” I spat. “Alright, you’re going on someone’s knee.” Zayn nodded. “Well it’s definitely going to be yours, Malik.” “For fuck sake. Okay.” We walked around to the other side of the car as Tally got in and Harry followed. Zayn got in on our side, and we quickly realised that we couldn’t even have Tally in the middle, there was no way it was going to happen. “Alright, Tally. On my knee you go.” Harry smirked. He was probably relatively happy about that, especially thanks to her short dress. All I can say is that he definitely didn’t seem distressed by the new state of affairs. So there we all were as the car pulled out; Louis and Mike snug in the front, Tally on Harry’s knee and me on Zayn’s, bending forward a little so our heads didn’t crash against the roof. Mike turned around and eyed us all up, smug as anything. “Well, don’t you guys look comfortable.” “Fuck off.” I seethed. “I’m actually loving it.” Harry twiddled his eyebrows. ”Harry!” Tally squealed, giggling and wriggling. I turned and gave Zayn and alarmed look, because they were definitely flirting. I was no expert, but nor was I blind. Zayn gave me the same look, spotting the same thing. I had no idea what Harry was like when it came to sleeping with girls, even though I could take a good guess, but I knew Tally was all for sleeping with anyone she wanted, and she did it often. I couldn’t help but predict how their night was going to end. “How come you have a car?” Mike asked Louis. “Isn’t it a waste of money, being a student?” “I drive home most weekends, so it’s handy. My mum chips to with petrol.” “What about your dad?” Harry asked. “Haven’t seen him since I was three, so it would be weird if he gave me petrol money.” Louis laughed it off. Harry glanced to me, which I knew he would, so I looked right back, my face incredibly low, waiting for his snotty comment. “Look at that, Pip-Squeak, another fucked up family to add to the list.” Before I even had the chance to argue back with him, which I was more than willing to do, especially since he was seeming to ignore the deal we had come up with, Louis took my chance away from me. “OI!” He yelled, glancing at Harry in the rear-view mirror. “Just ‘cause my dad isn’t around, doesn’t mean my family is fucked up, mate. She never needed a man to create a family for me and my brother. We’re a better family without him. So don’t say we’re fucked up. It would be more fucked up if he was around.” The more I saw of Louis, the more I liked him. I smirked to myself in the back of the car as Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. Even though Louis was more proof of the argument Harry put forward about families, it didn’t mean the family that Louis had wasn’t strong and brilliant in its own way. I felt happy for Louis, being able to acknowledge and embrace that. Conversation remained pretty low until we finally arrived at the venue, awkwardly climbing out of the tiny vehicle. I’d never been in Jax before, but I was excited to pay my first visit. I’d heard people speak about it, but it seemed more of a place where third year students went. I felt like we were all going to look pretty young in there. But it wasn’t the case. I was expecting turned up noses when we went in, but it wasn’t what we got. Everyone was kind and nice and it only got me more excited. It seemed like quite a mature joint, the perfect place for a gig. There were giant framed pictures of famous British singers on the walls, like Morrissey and Mick Jagger. It was sick. “You want a drink?” Louis asked me. “If you don’t mind.” I blushed, again. “My pleasure. Anything goes?” “Anything goes.” I confirmed. He scurried over to the bar as I turned to the stage, and saw Ed coming out from behind a thick black curtain. Just as I was about to excitedly jog over to him, in the hope of introducing him to everyone, I heard Harry say something which made my stomach drop. “Oh shit!” He cried, like he recognized him. “Oh shit!” Ed pointed, and I knew. “Oh shit.” I mumbled grumpily as the penny dropped. Before Ed even acknowledged me, he ran over and to Harry and the two of them hugged each other tight, like a proper embrace, both grinning and stupidly happy. “No way, man!” Ed beamed as he pulled out of the hug. “I thought you were going to London for uni?” “I had a change of heart. I completely forgot you said you were coming here!” I took a few steps closer, needing to find out what the hell was going on and why yet another one of my friends was fond of this total twat. “What’s going on here?” I interrupted their reunion. “Pip! You came!” “Do you two know each other?” I asked. “Yeah. Do you two know each other?” He lowered his brows. “Unfortunately, I have to live with him.” “NO WAY! Me and Harry met each other over summer in Ibiza!” I gave a fake smile and a nod, pretending this was great news and I was absolutely thrilled the two of them were mates, but that definitely wasn’t the case. It also just made me think that Harry was actually nice with other people, just not with me. I knew we weren’t exactly compatible, everything he did annoyed me and everything I did drove him mad, but I found myself confused how he got on with literally all my friends, but not me. Even bloody Ed. “Well. I’ll leave you both to it then...” They basically ignored me as I wandered over to the rest of the gang, spotting Tally eyeing Harry up from behind, and I rolled my eyes. It was the makings for an interesting evening. + + + Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones played, and Zayn, Ed and Louis were all in the middle, doing the greatest kind of Northern Soul dancing they possibly could. They were throwing all the shapes, and to be fair, they looked pretty cool. Especially Zayn. I had to roll my eyes at Tally pulling on Harry’s t-shirt and taking the hat off his head and putting it on her own. “Eww.” I grimaced to myself. They had been like that all evening. I doubted they even listened to Ed play. He was amazing, which had been a massive weight off my shoulders, because when I smothered him with compliments once the gig was over, not one of them was a lie. Everyone in the centre cheered as the song came to an epic close, to be quickly followed by Love Really Hurts Without You, and they all started going mad again. Zayn danced his way over to me, a cheeky look on his face. “Come dance, Pippa.” “Eurgh.” “What’s up with you?” He came to a standstill. “I can’t do Northern Soul dancing.” ”No one can, really. That’s the beauty of the dance.” “Suppose.” I murmured. “Is it ‘cause you’re scared ‘cause you know Louis is going to try and kiss you?” He asked, I cringed. “I KNEW IT!” “He’s well out of my league, Zayn. Like, twenty million miles out of my league.” “But he wants to kiss you. And you want to kiss him. So... like... I don’t know why you’re not over there just doing it?” It was a fair question. I glanced over Zayn’s shoulder to see Louis looking our way, and I had to wonder what the hell I was doing stood alone like a total pillock when he was over there literally waiting for me attach my lips to his. To be honest, I think it was the thought of kissing someone sober. It had been a long time, and even though I was a few drinks in, I definitely wasn’t drunk. But I decided to get over myself, and get over there. Honestly, I did the dad dance over to the dancefloor. It was awful. The mere memory makes me want to slap myself. I scooted on over, clicking my fingers, getting more and more into it as I got into the centre, and even though Zayn was behind me, I could feel that fact that he was cringing on my behalf. I tried to get my Northern Soul groove on, staying close to Louis. He grinned with his bottom lip trapped in his teeth, moving freely along to the music, grabbing hold of one of my hands so I could move with him. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he nodded behind me. I turned around to see Tally and Harry, finally after a long evenings work, with their tongues stuck down each other’s throats. I turned back to Louis. “Bloody hell.” I groaned. “Wanna give it a try?” My face dropped and I stood completely still, not saying or doing anything, just looking onto him with the most distressed look on my face. Thankfully, he didn’t cower away with fear, which he probably should have done, he just laughed, taking one calm step to close the gap before placing his hands on the back of my head, tangled in my hair, and kissing me, soft and lovely and just about enough to make me forgot that legs were even a thing. + + + I bent down as Louis wound down his window, the rest of the idiots already running back to our flat at the end of a good night. He remained in the front seat, giving me another quick peck to the lips. “You wanna come in?” I asked nervously. I hadn’t had sex with anyone since I started uni. There had been one guy, Finn, who had spent the night in my bed, and there had been kisses and wandering hands and maybe a little blowjob (which he praised me highly for) but that was it. Judging by how fantastic the kisses were, and how much I needed sex, this seemed like a smart move. But I soon realised, the embarrassment I should have felt asking the question, was about to hit me face first thanks to the rejection. “I’d love to but... it’s probably not the best idea. Another time, alright?” “Oh. Okay.” I was just about to run away and hide under a rock somewhere before he pulled me back in for another intense kiss, and I really wanted to pounce on him even though he had just slapped my offer of sex right in my face. I pulled away a little breathlessly, giggling when Louis tapped my nose with his finger. “See you soon.” I smiled. “Very soon.” I began jogging away, unable to ignore how cold the night was, before I realised I had another question I really wanted to ask him. “Shit!” I cried, before jogging back. “I forgot to ask. Y’know that guy? The one who Harry beat up? In your building?” “Yeah?” “How bad was it?” I could tell he was confused why I was asking about that, but he did eventually answer the question. “It was... bad. Really bad. I mean, I know the guy, he’s a prick... but, I heard he had a broken nose and a couple of teeth missing. I saw him a few weeks after and his face was a mess.” “When did it happen?” The more I was hearing, the more confused I was. “In like... the first week or so.” “How come Harry only moved into ours last week then?” “I know the guy wanted to take it to court. Apparently, Harry threatened him, so he dropped it. Did manage to get him kicked out though.” Louis informed me. I knew my impressions of Harry were right. It seemed I was the only one who could see it, but I knew in myself and that was enough. The guy was bad, through and through. I needed to do more than stay away from him, I needed to make sure he never got to the point where he could hurt one of my friends. “Alright.” I groaned. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.” Our hands slipped from one another as I ran back to our flat, hating the thought of Harry with Tally but knowing I could hardly go in and break them up. I was just scared that Harry had this side where he could flip at people for no reason and hurt them. I had seen it once, and I didn’t want to see it again. I ran up the stairs, ignoring the elevator, feeling far too awake and fired up, and pushed through our door. “Oh god! Really?” I squealed as soon as I opened the door. Harry had Tally up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips, both of them just about stopping as I stood trying not to throw up. Tally dropped to the floor and Harry unlocked his bedroom door, slapping her arse as she slipped inside. But for some reason, he stayed out in the hall with me. “Jealous?” He cocked his eyebrows. “Are you fucking kidding?” I spat, moving to unlock my door. “You’re horrific.” “I mean about the fact I’m gunna get laid. And your pal Louis is nowhere in sight.” “I thought we were going to leave each other alone?” “I was just asking.” ”Yeah well, don’t.” “You sure you don’t want a threesome?” He continued to wind me up. “You are literally the most disgusting person I know.” I stormed into my bedroom and locked the door behind myself, wanting to scream and yell and possibly hit him, so I just threw myself under the sheets and tucked them over my head and screamed into my pillow. And for around half an hour, I had to cope with the noises coming from the room next door. I squirmed myself to sleep.

#BB5 #okay #it's getting to the points of the story #I think #where things pick up #send thoughts and all that #thank you #1dff #Harry Styles

96 notes · View notes