#okay but the actual agoraphobia was so weird like what was going on there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rpbetter · 3 years

Note

I'm so tired of roleplaying with people who don't put half the commitment I do into our threads and muses. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm a weirdo or like I don't belong for that. Any other hobby and people wouldn't care if I took it seriously. Why is roleplaying different? How can I keep going like this if I'm getting rudeness from all sides? I can't even go outside my already tiny bubble and find more partners, because I always see people putting roleplayers like me down and it's exhausting.

"Why is roleplaying different?"

Well, Anon, I know that was a rhetorical question, but I have some thoughts on that. To the surprise of no one!

I strongly believe that this is an issue with how fandom has come to dominate roleplaying. As I've said before, it really wasn't always like that. Of course, you always had canon characters and almost all RPers were invested in a fandom or two. The difference was that online RP was once viewed much more like tabletop RPGs are.

When the RPC became a near-total offshoot of Fandom, a lot of shit changed and very rapidly...and within Fandom, a lot of shit was changing very rapidly as well at that time.

RP has always been something looked down on (though, at least no one ever accused written RP online of being literally demonic like they did DnD, or made correlations to murder sprees like they did LARPing, so there's that) as strange, not the good, understandable sort of dorky.

Part of that is almost certainly because of the difference in the way society views writing vs the way it views hobbies like gaming - writing is seen as an intellectual pursuit and a job, gaming, even at its most negative points of view in wider society, has been seen traditionally as a downtime activity only.

But. RP was not looked down upon from within Fandom or in roleplay communities themselves like it is now.

When the whole experience of fandoms themselves became extremely mainstream and open, it welcomed in a ton of shit ideas and behaviors that were not previously prevalent. It changed RP, too, along many of those same lines.

When your hobby is considered objectionably weird by people within the fandoms you love and RP in and that makes you a sort of lowest-tier fan, the viewpoint of RP to RPers becomes something lesser than a valid hobby. When RPers are the same people who engage with Fandom monetarily, anything not monetized is passively consumable content, including RP. And RPers are trying to both deflect shame and struggling with wider society's mixed messages, that now hit them everywhere online as well. Shit like, "you don't have to monetize your hobby, it's okay to just make really good cross stitches of memes for yourself" and "if you're not paying me, you have no control over me."

We seriously do not view RP as a proper hobby anymore, that's why. There are many factors to that, those are just few, but that's the ultimate answer. It's not seen that way because it's not valued in the same way.

I think much of the problem with muns losing their entire shit over anyone else approaching the hobby differently, dare I say...more seriously, is related to a lot of complex psychology about self-esteem, control, and anxiety. So many people here struggle with serious self-worth and confidence issues, and I think to many of them, whether they realize it or not, when they see serious RPers, they feel like that's an inherent judgment and a danger to their own enjoyment. Because RP, as writing, is a skilled hobby - the more you practice it, the more skilled you become with it. Meaning that someone who approaches the writing seriously is going to be at a higher skill level.

Enter the way we're training to think about writing again - when they see someone who is very practiced, skilled, and confident with their writing, the learned idea is that they're somehow superior in a nasty, personal way.

I most certainly do not think that makes it alright, it isn't, and I'm not very tolerant of it.

It's absolutely alright to engage with RP in any way you see fit. If that's extremely casual, it's a minor hobby for you, that's great! I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself, and I mean that in no facetious way. But not when that is the only form of it respected and accepted. It's just as alright to have RP as your primary, serious hobby!

The only way we can all enjoy a hobby with such great variance within it is by respecting each other's variables, not by vilifying them. It's recognizing that, no matter how much you enjoy the mun and/or muse, they're not engaging with the hobby in the way you are, it's not a good fit to write together. (Please, begging y'all to be friends with those who are different, not enemies, shit's sake. You've not got to write together to be friends!) Instead of labeling them and being hateful. Different =/= a threat.

And, to go off a bit lol y'all demonizing serious RPers really don't get that there are some intense tones of ableism and more going on in that narrative of yours, huh?

Not that anyone requires a reason to be serious about any hobby, but when people pick a hobby like RP as their primary one...you should probably have the maturity to consider why that is. Could it be that they focus on a hobby they can do from their homes and that requires low physical involvement, and has a degree of separation from direct socializing, for a reason?

Serious RPers tend to be limited in their ability to pursue other hobbies. Mental and physical health, region, finances, and ability to spend time outside of the home are all very common limits for those who "take RP too seriously/are addicted to RP."

Maybe take five seconds away from your own issues to consider that the person you're shitting on for something so minor as a difference of importance of a hobby might be the full-time caretaker of a special needs child, having to remain home and on a very small income. They might be chronically ill or suffer from agoraphobia. They might live in an area with no hobbies of interest, affordability, or at all...or they might live somewhere that is incredibly dangerous for them.

I honestly do not know where these people have been that they've been aggressed at by serious RPers, but that's usually the excuse. (I'm not saying it has never happened or does not happen, before anyone goes there.) The idea that serious RPers are extreme elitists who are demanding that other muns do what they do, how they do it. That they expect other muns to be online and RPing all the time, that they be "available for entertainment at all times" at the cost of real-life matters. Having the expectation that threads not be dropped constantly or that a writing partner not leave for months with no contact is neither of those things.

In over two decades of RPing across almost every platform type that has existed, I have literally never seen that be either a singular RPer-type problem or one that serious RPers are even more likely to deal in. I've seen the opposite, actually. Which is not a condemnation or a statement that all casual RPers do this, just what my experience has been. And one that actually stands to reason based on the way they view and engage with RP - quick replies, quick entertainment, and very low commitment to threads, muses, or other muns. Of course, it's annoying to them when a more serious RPer is unwilling to do rapid-fire style quick, short threads from an ask with them, but is writing the lengthy replies they already owed instead.

That's probably a factor as well, in here among a plethora of misunderstanding/unawareness of differences - for many serious RPers, it's not easier and more fun to write short, quick threads. So, what a casual RPer is seeing is that they're willing to put all this extraordinary effort into a massive reply to someone else while their easy, fun, quickly done thread is waiting in line.

Misunderstandings and unawareness breed hostility, period. And there is a hell of a lot of those things in the RPC.

What serious RPers are expressing are either boundaries/expectations or frustration. Not a demand that you be around all the time, but an expectation that you leave them alone if you're not also a serious RPer who will be committed to threads and muses. Not hostility and elitism, the frustration that it's already difficult to find muns who will work out before you add in the majority rule of casual RPers.

It's incredibly disheartening, frustrating, and honestly, a bit anxiety-inducing to constantly be the weird one, always have few choices, and to be at risk of being Problematic purely because you take the hobby seriously. You can't vent without someone jumping on your ass to remind you (even if you said numerous times that "real life comes first" and "people can do what they want") that omg, people have lives, people can do what makes them happy, it's just RP.

It's so upsetting when you think you might have found a good writing partner, then, you see a PSA they've reblogged about how it's a "hobby, not a jobby," and "no one owes anyone anything, ever." Excuse me, as that last one is a direct quote, let me redo it so it is verbatim: "no one owes anyone here anything - EVER !!!"

I said I wasn't very tolerant :)

But seriously, exactly what you've expressed is why I'm not...it's another form of controlling others instead of trying your best to control your own experience, and it's often extremely hateful. I'm not tolerant of anything like that, it's no longer supporting preferences at that point. When your preference is the only one that will be tolerated in the community, it's not a preference anymore.

It's something that makes others feel isolated, afraid of harassment, and depressed. It is a hobby and it isn't supposed to make you feel like that!

And, no, absolutely the fuck not lol the "answer" to this isn't that you're taking it too seriously and need to take a break. I'm so tired of seeing that shit tacked onto RPH responses and vents and PSAs. You're not saying that RP is making you feel this way, "just take a break and come back when you agree with everyone else" isn't a solution.

Of course, if you do feel like your time here has become so upsetting? Yeah, obviously, you should try to find some other things to supplement your downtime that make you feel happier again. Engage in some other forms of writing just meant for yourself, or that can be published as fics. Spend some more time on a game you enjoy for a while, or get invested in a new one. Learn to shape bonsai or make no-knead rolls. Whatever would make you happy as a hobby when you're not here.

Other than that, however, well...we're not going to be implying on this blog that you're too serious and need to take a hiatus until you have no emotional investment in your hobby. That's insane. I'd not say it about hiking, martial arts, dog obedience competitions, hobby farming, or painting either.

I wish I could think of some solutions as to where you could look that wasn't like this, but it's definitely the majority of the RPC. It doesn't help that, due to this, serious RPers have a tendency to quietly stick together and not venture out into the RPC. They're just not incredibly easy to find.

I will say that they tend to be:

novella - if you're not here for serious RP and sticking around for a while, you're not going to invest the time and energy into particularly lengthy writing

older RPers - I would say that twenty-five is probably the youngest, with early thirties to late forties being the majority

in fandoms with a large adult base of fans - even if it's a franchise friendly to, or even meant for, younger fans, if it has a particularly active adult fanbase, it's a better chance of finding serious RPers in it

as above, old fandoms - fandoms that have been around for a long time tend to have more serious RPers in them

fandomless OCs - tend to have a higher chance of being written by serious RPers than canons or heavily fandom-involved OCs

RPers who do not do a ton of advertising for their muse(s), but when they do, they don't advertise them based on activism points or trends

slightly more likely to not have an emphasis on highly aesthetic blogs, graphics, icons etc. - they use a modified basic tumblr theme, low on graphics, their aesthetics are not on-trend, for example

anti-content policing/"write what you want" style muns

muns with more extensive rules pages - they plan to be here for a while, they take writing, RP, and their muse(s) seriously, so, it's a bit more important to them to head off problems before they start

those with older characters/FCs - be that literally in age or the character being one that has existed for a long time

"stay in your lane" style muns - if they're opining on fandom or the RPC, they must really be angry about something

those with numerous and detailed headcanons - for example, their response to a HC meme ask like, "what's your muse's favorite ice cream flavor?" is going to be treated seriously, not simply answered with "mint chocolate chip because my bby is gross"

As usual, not a complete or perfect list. I don't fit some of the things on there! It could give you some things to look for when trying to find other serious RPers, though. It's based on observances from someone who was never a casual RPer, even as a minor (me, obviously), and maybe it could at least keep you from continuously running into hostility about your approach to RP.

I've honestly considered making a list of some sort expressly for RPers who are on the more serious end of the spectrum, but...in a RPC back when things were dominated by serious RPers, I did that sort of thing with a RPH I had, and it still got labeled as being a list for and by Elitists. I don't know that anyone would want to put themselves out there for potential harassment on tumblr, you know? It was a joke then, just having a group of RPers label you as an Elitist. Here, you get told to kill yourself, and none of us need more of that shit, right?

Try to hang in there, Anon, I know it's upsetting, and I'm so sorry that something fun has gotten to be like this.

Try to understand that these people are coming from a place of irrational defensiveness, often in response to bullying themselves at some point or feeling bad about themselves. That doesn't make it right, but it does make it easier to not take to heart.

And keep at it! In my experience here, once you find a group of people you fit into, it really is...A Group. Especially among RPers who are ostracized, they stick together, they promote each other, and they're very happy for their mutuals to become your mutuals. Once you find them, it unlocks so many opportunities for the interactions and type of RP you've been missing!

#answered #anonymous #serious rpers #rp problems #rp advice

16 notes · View notes

popatochisssp · 4 years

Note

I’m pretty curious since you explained it with the hs boys but how would the hsf boys make up after the big fight over Pitch going out to his fights? Would it take longer because Pitch is content doing his own thing? Would things stay tense for a while?

It’s different for the Horrorswapfell boys, and it’ll definitely take them longer to sort things out, if just because...

Well...their problem wasn’t really so much ‘not saying enough to each other’ as it became ‘saying too much.’

The big fight they had shortly after Pitch started boxing seriously on the Surface was really just a boil-over of everything the two of them had been pointedly not talking about their entire lives. Pitch taking on everything for the both of them, because Nemo was too weak (read: too soft) to do what needed to be done Underground, protecting him even when it was hard, even when it hurt him, even when Nemo didn’t always want it.

Pitch saw his injury as the end of that dynamic. Nemo stepped up, growing a little harder and a little colder, but more independent by leaps and bounds: he didn’t need Pitch to protect him anymore, and Pitch would get to figure out who he was outside of that protector role, and how the two of them would be brothers going forward.

Nemo saw his brother’s injury as a role reversal of that dynamic, the passing of the baton: it was his turn now to protect his brother who was too weak (read: too hurt) to protect himself. It’s a heavy responsibility, but it’s Pitch, so of course he’ll take it on, even if it’s hard, even if it hurts him, even if Pitch doesn’t seem to want it.

It’s his turn now to pay back that debt.

So when Pitch starts fighting and Nemo less asks and more tells him that he needs to stop, that’s the catalyst for the blowout--the lit fuse, so to speak, and there’s no stopping it once it starts burning.

Unfortunately...neither of them knows how to communicate very well. They have no talking strategies and their vocabulary for their emotions and perspectives is...lacking.

So what comes out of both of their mouths is a lot of poorly thought out, badly articulated grievances that maybe aren’t without substance, but just ending up hurting the other.

Nemo never seemed to have a problem when Pitch was out fighting Underground every day, when the stakes were actually life and death, it seems odd for him to care now when it’s on the Surface and for fun.

Just because it’s on the Surface doesn’t mean it’s totally safe, Pitch should know that, he was the one who told Nemo that for their whole lives. It seems weird that he should be having a sudden change of heart now, with unknown quantities and variables everywhere out there in the human world.

That’s the point of a fresh start, though, isn’t it? To start fresh? Nemo should be happy, peace on the Surface is everything he ever wanted, isn’t it?

Is that what this is? Because it seems like a lot more of the same--danger--just under the sky instead of a cave roof. Pitch should stay home, where it’s safe.

Like Nemo does? Too scared to even go outside to get the mail? He’ll pass, and you know, it’s starting to sound like maybe Nemo doesn’t approve of Pitch having a hobby for once, doing something for himself that doesn’t directly revolve around his brother.

That’s not true, that’s not it at all, it’s just a bad hobby, it’s dangerous!

Underground was dangerous, and Pitch handled that just fine!

Yeah, but Underground, he could see!

And that’s about the point where Pitch goes quiet...and Nemo keeps going.

Because Underground, things were different, Pitch knew his way around, he could take care of himself, he wasn’t--

“WASN’T WHAT?” Pitch demands to know. “WEAK? HELPLESS? BROKEN?”

“.........”

Nemo doesn’t answer that one, not because he wholly believes it, but because he doesn’t know a sensitive way to point out that...well... Pitch is more vulnerable now than he ever was. He lost a major sense, of course he is--and that’s why he’s supposed to stay home, where Nemo can protect him...

Pitch doesn’t take the silence that way.

The argument is over, right then and there, he’s done with it, and whenever his brother is ready to be reasonable again, he can say so.

He has no intention of setting himself on fire to keep Nemo warm, not this time.

So yes.

There’s the rift.

It’s tense and beyond awkward for a long while, Pitch feeling hurt that his brother thinks he’s too damaged to take care of himself and Nemo feeling guilty that he hurt him, and that he can’t seem to protect him the way his brother protected him all those years.

The onus is on Nemo--because it actually doesn’t take him long to start wanting to apologize, remembering how he’d felt when Pitch had overprotected him and realizing that...maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to just try to flip the script and expect it to work.

But how do you fix that? How do you apologize? How do you make things go back to normal when the old normal is impossible and...probably wasn’t working very well anyway?

Nemo doesn’t know.

Pitch was always the one who came to apologize or fix things when they argued before. This side of things is new to him.

The tension and distance lingers because of this and nothing really changes until Nemo starts working on his own issues.

Chiefly, the agoraphobia.

Because one of the recommendations for treatment is to gradually start spending time outside, to reduce anxiety--and if you can, to bring someone that you feel safe around with you.

There’s only one person that comes to Nemo’s mind, and that’s when he knows he has his olive branch.

As awkward as it is to broach the subject and explain it, the way Pitch seems to instantly go off the defensive makes it worth the pain of embarrassment.

Pitch (correctly) interprets the request for help as an unspoken apology for the things Nemo said, and more than that... if he’s a person that Nemo feels comfortable with, if he’s someone that makes Nemo feel safer when he’s around...

Well.

His brother must not think he’s completely helpless, after all.

And that goes a long way for soothing his hurt feelings ego.

It’s a gradual progression from there, the brothers spending more time together, talking more, learning how to talk to each other and not say the first thing that pops into their head.

The spoken apologies come in bits and pieces, not all at once, but...

“you’re not broken.”

“NEITHER ARE YOU.”

“you deserve to have your own things.”

“I UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT THIS ONE.”

“i wanted to protect you, but i think i would’ve just dragged you down with me...”

“ISN’T THAT WHAT I WAS DOING TO YOU...?”

It’s still awkward sometimes, especially early on, but eventually the inevitable truth remains: they both have enough love in them to forgive their brother, for everything, and just move forward.

The first time they can take an extended trip somewhere, Nemo nudges Pitch and says they’ve been doing this whole thing backwards-- it’s the dog that’s supposed to lead the blind guy around. Pitch barks out a laugh and tells Nemo he isn’t a guide dog... guide dogs are well-mannered.

They both laugh about it and it’s a dumb joke, but for the first time in awhile, both brothers are pretty sure that they’re gonna be okay.

#anonymous #headcanons #horrorswapfell #hsf!sans #hsf!papyrus #it's a slow-burn reconciliation for these two #lots of introspection #things unspoken but communicated anyway

102 notes · View notes

awilddreamermain · 3 years

Note

Hi, Chels! Congratulations!! I'm so happy for you! You deserve every follower and more! That is a threat, I'm holding everyone hostage 🔪

I would love to get a MHA matchup, I wanna see who you'd match me with! Got me so curious! SFW & NSFW if you'd be willing!

My name is Chloe but I prefer May, nicknames include May-May, Maybell or Chlo.

I'm 25, pronouns are she/he, Cancer Moon, Aries Sun and Virgo Rising. Quite the weird mash of zodiacs, huh?

My favorite colors are pink (that soft pastel kinda baby pink), red (especially blood/garnet red) and...can I add pink again? Any shade of pink this time. Bubblegum or hot pink.

Favorite AU's include A/B/O, Mafia, Historical, Fantasy and does Mythical Creatures count?

Oh...oh boy, I gotta look deep for some fun facts that aren't just...facts but I'll do my best!

1) My sneezes are so short and high pitched I go "chu".

2) I have vitiligo, makes me look like a dog because it's mostly around my mouth and my right eye so I have a spot!

3) I have atrocious balance, my knees and shins are always banged up because I cannot for the life of me walk correctly.

4) I have a stutter, on top of speaking so quickly it turns into a jumbled mess. So good luck understanding what I said because I have no idea either.

5) I have a growing unicorn plush collection. My favorite is Cupcake, one that's actually taller than I am. Big chunk.

My likes are pretty simple. Cute & soft sweaters, blankets, warm coffee and strawberry milk, pastries and the cold! Winter is my favorite season. History, particularly the Medieval and Victorian times.

My interests revolve around creativity and you could say they're my hobbies as well. Drawing in particular, I used to do digital but I'm stuck with traditional pencil and paper at the moment. I'm dipping my toes into painting and its very fun! Obviously writing and reading and if I'm not doing of those listed then I'm definitely playing video games.

Personality I might say I'm quite split down the middle. At first, to a complete stranger I might come across as cold, stoic, with a resting bitch face, that just wants to get whatever I'm outside for done so I can leave. I'd create a witty or sarcastic comeback if I was given sass by a Karen but with my speech issues? I'd be lucky to get one coherent word out at her...and spend the rest of the day fantasizing what could've happened. So I'm rather quiet, agoraphobia hits hard in large or crowded places so I'm an anxiety riddled mess on the verge of a panic attack. In private or with people that I'm comfortable with? Complete opposite. Happy, bubbly, cracking puns and jokes so get those groan worthy reactions. I try to be the "mom friend" and get over my issues if someone is having it worse, I'll march up to a counter and ask for ketchup if someone wanted it but was too scared to do it themselves. The shoulder to lean and cry on, I'm highly empathetic and understanding, compassionate at times. But I have to actively try and keep myself positive and say good things about myself because I do fall into the pit of self-loathing and hate.

For appearance I'd say I'm average height, pale with white splotches that are inching larger due to my vitiligo, chubby, ashy blonde, blue eyes, button nose. I'd say I'm decently cute? I don't know if I can rate myself.

Okay I know I said I'd be looking into Zodiac compatibility for this but— I literally just screamed internally "KIRISHIMA" when I was reading this. You two would be perfect omg. This Libra king would do anything for you. For this you're an artist and the daughter of a mafia boss :) I like to think of ship names sometimes so like, yours would either be like Eijmay or Mayjirou or Kiriloe— that last one and first are awful I know so lets go with the second? I can't write a proper stutter for the life of me so I tried to keep your dialogue to the minimum.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AU: Mafia

⠀Theme Song: You're The One That I Want - Alex & Sierra

How you meet (his point of view):

⠀⠀The gallery was full of black and white suits, tight, floor length dresses with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses meeting his ears. It was a joyous evening, celebrating the wonderful art work created by the boss's daughter. He had never met her before but he had heard whispers, all good as no one would dare slander the name of their leader's precious little girl. You were the boss's pride and joy, thus he kept you as far away from the darker side of the family business as possible.

⠀⠀Kirishima was still a new hire, a bodyguard of sorts and would consider this his first gig. He had an idea of who he was looking for as he walked further into the mass of people admiring your work but didn't expect what he would eventually come across. You were as far away from the crowd as you possibly could be, guzzling glasses of wine and over all appearing to be a deer in headlights. He couldn't fugure out for the life of him why you seemed so frightened until he watched people approach you to talk, noticing the stutter in your voice when you replied to questions and greetings,your body language telling people to stear clear of you.

⠀⠀So, he did what he was hired to do. "Kindly step away from the lady." He said with a smile, approaching with his large arms crossing over his broad chest as he towered over the guests. They looked at him as if he were a giant shark looking to devour them before scurrying away, leaving the two of you alone. He stood quietly, listening to the voices on the other side of his ear piece as his ruby eyes scanned the area around you. He made sure to not stand so close and avoided in letting his gaze wander.

⠀⠀He couldn't help but admire your skin in quick glances, finding the spot over your eye to be quite adorable. Your silky, ask blonde hair was all dolled up for the event, light make up on your face but not enough to cover the vitiligo. You were stunning and his heart hammered against his chest. So the rumors were true.

⠀⠀You thanked him, voice quiet and careful as you set down your wine glass and clasped your hands together. Out of the corner of his eye he watched you twiddle your thumbs. You didn't want to be here, did you? This obviously wasn't your idea, how could it be? A girl like you, timid as a mouse, didn't want to be surrounded by strangers. "Miss..." He began, thinking carefully because the last thing he wanted to do was piss off the boss and likely get himself killed. But this was his job wasn't it? Making sure you were happy and safe? "Would you like to leave here for a bit? We'll come back of course, but you look like you need some air."

Extra.

He ended up taking you to a drive thru restaurant and got you whatever you wanted, letting you talk about whatever you wanted or sat quietly if you chose not to talk at all If it was quiet in the suv then that was fine too, he just wanted to help you in any way he could. Eventually the silence becomes small talk and then leads to a rather deep conversation about whatever the hell was going on inside that beautiful brain of yours. Kirishima wasn't the smartest man but he wasn't stupid, he wasn't as clueless as most thought he was. You told him how your father made you do this as an attempt to get you out there, to socialize and possibly find a suitor. This was the mafia after all.

The Confession:

⠀⠀It was a tradition now, every Sunday you and Eijirou would go to your favorite café to have coffee and enjoy the early day weather before it got too hot. You sit at the same table, in the same chairs with him facing the door. You get the same drinks and food and just overall enjoy each others company. After that night at the gallery you two became fast friends, which your father obviously had to approve of but thankfully he did. Kirishima was a good man, he's trustworthy and puts you before himself.

⠀⠀The day he approached your father and asked to speak in private was the day he knew he was likely to get thrown in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. He has confessed his feelings for you to your old man, who listened intently with a blank face behind his desk. "Sir, I'm in love with your daughter, and with your blessing I'd like to... court her." He was utterly terrified when your father cleared his throat and sighed, shifting where he sat so he could stand and move around the desk. He reached out for a handshake which Kirishima looked up at him with a questioning look.

⠀⠀Your father gave his blessing and now... He just had to tell you, his best friend, that he loved you. God he loved you so much— "Kiri," you interrupted his thoughts, bringing him crashing back to reality," a-are you alright? You seem nervous." He swallowed hard in response but cleared his throat, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

⠀⠀"Oh yeah— definitely." He breathed with a laugh, moving a hand to the back of his neck to scratch. How was he going to say it? "So, uh—" he licked his lips, adjusting himself in his seat multiple times until he groaned and leaned forward. "Fuck, I'm just gonna say it— Maybell, I love you. I have for a long time now and I talked to your father and he said—"

⠀⠀"Said what, Eijirou?" Your eyes widened at his confession and he felt like a complete idiot. Should he had said something to you first? Was this a mistake? What if you didn't feel the same way? God his mind was going to explode—

⠀⠀"That I could... court you. With your permission." You were quick to nod and smile to his surprise, which prompted a grin if his own.

Extra.

Kirishima HAS to be facing the door in any public place you go to. I don't make the rules.

He never let's you walk close to the road, he has to be between you and it at all times when you're walking.

He oders your food and drinks for you when you can't but is there for moral support when you do. He wants you comfortable and happy. He wouldn't ever dare get in your way though, you're a lot stronger and braver than most may think you are.

The Relationship:

⠀⠀On days like this, Kirishima can't help but admire you. He catches himself staring wuite often but he just can't help it. What did he do to deserve such a beautiful partner? He looks at you and all he can think about is how much he loves you and wants to see you smile. He watched you from the kitchen island, leaning against it as you waltz around the kitchen in your pinky fuzzy slippers and one of his shirts that's much, much too big on you. He remembers your surprise when you found his clothing was actually too big on you and how happy you were.

⠀⠀"Maybell?" He hums, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms on the counter. He listened for you to him back in response, a smile on his lips. "You look so cute in my clothes.

⠀⠀You giggled, shaking your head and continued putting the dishes away until Eijirou appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and his forehead coming down on your shoulder. "Need somethin' baby?" You turned your head just slightly, a brow cocked inquisitively. He squeezed you in response, swiftly lifting you and making you squeal. Thankfully you didn't have anything in your hands at the moment. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face, setting you down only to lift you again bridal style.

⠀⠀"I've got all I need right here in my arms." He chuckled and you playfully smacked his chest, letting him carry you to your shared bedroom.

Extra.

TICKLE FIGHTS.

He thinks your sneezes are the cutest thing in the world.

He loves your god awful puns, they crack him up every time.

Adores the fact you're a nurturer, especially with your friends. He thinks you'd make a great mother but if that's something you don't want he respects that.

You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you? Eijirou is always there to be your shoulder to lean and cry on, he's your sound board and is always happy to let you talk about your feelings with him. You're allowed to not be happy and bubbly all the time, he realizes how staying positive all the time can actually do more damage than goof, especially if you bottle everything up.

If on a particular day you're struggling with your speech he's happy to be your voice as well. He understands you better than anyone, even your own father.

Speaking of your father, he can't wait to make Eijirou his son-in-law! He's a good man with a good heart and treats you right, what's not to like?

He has trouble saying no to you and spoils you quite a bit.

The Fights:

...

Extra.

There's nothing, what you say goes and all he can say is "yes dear". He knows better than to argue with you, however when he's right and he knows he is, he finds a way to prove it without making you mad.

The Sex:

⠀⠀"Fuck baby—" he hissed, hands finding your hips and guiding you as you rub yourself on his cock. Your hands are on his thighs and your head is tossed back, giving him the perfect view of your tits. God he loves them, he loves the plush skin of your stomach and your thighs, your ass too, he loved seeing all of you. He was so happy that you allow him this privilege of seeing you, granted you've been dating a while now but still. Your sounds are music to his ears and all he wants is to make more, make you feel so good you're calling his name and making a mess.

He wanted— no, needed, to feel you, to feel inside your warm and wet cunt, to feel it squeeze him and milk him dry. He was quick to flip the two of you over, careful to not hurt you as he did. You gasped and giggled, reaching up to hold his face as he smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He loved your taste, he could go on and on about all the things he loved about you all day if he could. "You want it baby?" You nodded excitedly, lip caught between your teeth. He smirked and reached between the two of you, thick fingers tracing a line between your lips and slipping inside your soaked pussy.

"D-Daddy—" you whine, a slight pout on your lips as your face morphs into one of pleasure. He chuckled, pumping his fingers in and out a few times before removing them and grabbing his cock. He coated it more in your slick, guiding it between tge lips of your cunt before slowly pushing inside, groaning at how tight you are. You squeal of course, gasping for breath because Kirishima is an impressive size, you still struggled to take him sometimes but like a good girl you always managed.

"That's my good girl." He cooed, moving so his forearms were on either side of your head. He gave a couple test thrusts, waiting for you to adjust u til you nodded for him to continue.

Extra.

Terrified of activating his quirk while he's fucking you, but he keeps himself under control.

He loves his hair pulled and he loves to be bitten, he especially likes it when you scratch his back when he hits that good spot.

Eats you out for his pleasure mostly, but for yours as well. He loves when you grind on his face and moan his name when you do it. Speaking of, please sit on his face, he loves that shit. He knows how to be careful of his teeth!

If you have pets they CANNOT be in the same roon when you're doing the do, it's just weird.

He'd happily bend you over in the kitchen and do you right there. Hell, he'll fuck you anywhere you deem suitable.

He likes to do a mixture if praise and degradation with you, and edging and overstimulation is a big go-to. He just loves seeing you squirm under him, hr loves hearing you beg and say you need him.

#dreamer's 800 follower event

8 notes · View notes

friesian · 3 years

Note

sorry if these have been talked about before, im not the most caught up on Aesymir's lore! does Aesymir have any pets? if not, anything he'd want as a pet, or just any kind of favorite creature in general? Does he write much, and if he does what kind of tools does he prefer (quill, pencil, pen)? how physically active is he? like, on a scale of "enjoys long strolls" to "you'll have to chase me at knife-point to get me to walk", if that makes sense. and finally what's his hair like? Is it thick or thin, soft or wirey? srry if these are weird I just love figuring out obscure details abt characters!

OHHH ANON you strike me with weakness. i LOVE LOVE LOVE this ask especially about tiny little things about aesymir bless your heart.

FIRST: pets!! unless you count his attending dredger (named dingleberry, usually shortened to berry) or his muscle, a stoneborne named gerard. he doesn't have any pets since them running amok in the library would be generally not good for the conditions of his archives and books.

HOWEVER, if he was to have a pet it would certainly be a rodent or mustelid of some sort. i lean towards rat or ferret, maybe even a squirrel. (my gf made the comment of him having a bird once, but he actually REALLY REALLY does not like birds. he doesn't interact well with her arrakoa character lmao) his rat would probably be albinistic (and im not saying that biasedly as someone who owned 15 albinistic rats /s). as for ferrets i feel like he'd have any of the fur varieties. definitely a red squirrel or shadowlands similar variant if he were to have a little squirrel friend.

SECOND: WRITING! OKAY SO he's actually a small time author, usually known for his cheesy romance novels specifically catering to the fantasy of rags to riches and slow burn with any sort of royalty. those are his claim to fame. most of the time, aesymir writes with a quill before, during his editing phase, where he swaps to a typewriter he brought from a broker at a hefty cost. he'll do this multiple times if he feels like he needs to add notes in the margins, strike things out, ect. he's actually very good at historical fiction too, and wrote a small novel about it once or twice, however he finds more enjoyment from writing about kissing royalty.

THIRD: ACTIVITY! you cannot get this man to move an inch out his library. he's incredibly secluded and has really bad agoraphobia. getting him to go for a jog outside of the library is unheard of, and i like to think after everything happens with denathrius-- he gets invited to a lot of parties, but never shows up due to his anxiety despite renathal enjoying conversations with him. he also actually deeply WANTS to attend venthyr parties, but gets VERY freaked out at the notion of actually having to show up and be seen by people. let alone having to dance and communicate.

however his activity in the library is unmatched. if he's not writing up archives, he's sorting books, if he's not sorting books, he's rechecking his shelves, if he's not doing that, he's running around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to keep the place clean despite it all being run down. if you keep aesymir in his library he'll work and even do things with you for ages, but if you try to take him out of his comfort zone, he won't move an inch.

lastly, HAIR! his hair is thick as hell, it's partly why he has it shaved on one side. it used to almost be a like a thick mane, but after he got tired of it getting into his face while he was writing, he chopped a lot of it off. it's still pretty heavy, but he thinks it makes him look nice so he's not going to touch it.

it's also silky smooth, and he probably over conditions the hell out of it if im gonna be honest with you.......

#long post #aesymir ravenlocke #aesymir #world of warcraft oc #venthyr

3 notes · View notes

skelebonecentral · 3 years

Text

Hothouse Rose chapter 6

Gotta get that last Fell boy into shape!

(words under cut) And remember, the pictures for the Lust boys are all six up on my main undertale blog.

Whip stared at his brother.

“AND TELL ME AGAIN WHY YOU’RE IN MY ROOM, GLARING LIKE I MELTED YOUR WHOLE SHOP?”

“cause ya ain’t actin’ like part of the family anymore and I wanna know why.” Spice was leaning back against Whip’s door, blocking all exit. “ever since baby doll came, you’ve been sulkin’ and hidin’ from’em and I don’t appreciate it. I know ya ain’t a coward, so what is it?”

Whip’s skull began to color in anger, standing to his full height, “BECAUSE THAT HUMAN IS NOT GOING TO LAST. I’VE SEEN THE HUMANS AROUND HERE, AND NONE OF THEM WOULD ACCEPT US IF THEY KNEW THE FULL EXTENT OF WHO AND WHAT WE ARE. THEIR URGES ARE TAMPED DOWN WITH IRON RODS AND CLOSED OFF EXCEPT FOR THE MOST TABOO AND PRIVATE MOMENTS. OR IN OPEN DISPLAYS IN THE SEEDY UNDERBELLY OF THEIR WORLD AND THOSE WHO PARTICIPATE OFTEN END UP DEAD.”

“I know that.” Spice was unmoved by this aggressive display. He was not afraid of his baby brother. “I’ve done my research on what gettin’ my shop going up here would entail, an’ it wasn’t pretty. but bro, just cause it’s private for them don’t mean they ain’t capable of openin’ up. just gotta work harder for it.”

Whip’s hands were gripped into fists, and even though he was looking down, Spice noticed his gaze was on the floor next to him, not on himself, “AND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ONE OF THOSE FRIVOLOUS OTHERS FALLS FOR THEM? OR GETS THE INTEREST FOR A ROMP, HM? WHAT THEN?”

“apparently that already happened today. Boa. Baby doll got embarrassed but they’re still pals.”

Whip flinched hearing that, his glare getting more intense, “SO YOU’RE SAYING THEY AREN’T GOING TO TURN ON US? THAT I’M BEING RIDICULOUS?”

“no, I’m sayin’ you don’t need to try an’ protect yourself so hard.” Spice sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, “bro, you usually aren’t closed off like this with people you don’t trust. You’re good at making them think you like’em so they slip up. why are ya actin’ like a frightened cat? All puffed up and angry?”

Whip’s sockets were filling with red magic, “BECAUSE AT LEAST IF I KEEP THEM AWAY IT WON’T HURT HAVING TO LEAVE.”

“there’s the issue,” Spice walked over to where Whip was shaking in place, quickly putting his arms around him, “ya do like ‘em, then?”

“YES.” The answer was wet and miserable, “THEY’RE EVERYTHING PAPYRUS SAID, AND EVEN WITH SUGAR BEING CAUTIOUS, I CAN’T FIND A REASON NOT TO. SANS…” Whip slowly collapsed to his knees and held Spice tight, “I’ve…I’ve never been so close to someone who actually met my standards. They’re kind, and they care about our alternates, and they’re smart, and funny and beautiful and…Sans, I’m so scared to let myself go because we’re going to lose them.”

Spice rubbed his back gently, “I know, bro. but that’s why we gotta try an’ enjoy it, right? when we’re back in that shithole, we gotta have memories to get us through. Cause what good is it pushin’ away good things just cause they won’t last? Just means you spend more time bein’ sad than ya had ta.”

“I don’t know if my soul can take it, though,” Whip whined, hiding his sockets against Spice’s shoulder. “You know how lonesome it was at home and finding someone like y/n here…it’s not fair. It’s not fair that I found an angel and have to give them up.”

“y’know I understand that, probably better than most,” Spice gave his back a pat, making him let loose so he could sit down, “bro, I get it, but like I said, enjoy it while we can. cause once it’s gone, we ain’t gettin’ another chance.”

Whip sat next to him on the bed and leaned over, head on his shoulder, “You’re right, as usual, brother. I just…I’m used to causing pain, not feeling it. It’s difficult to manage.”

“yeah. but you can do it. I know ya can. cause I’ll be right with ya the whole time.”

After a while, just the slow hum of Whip’s computer and the breeze outside, Whip asked, “What did it feel like when you got to hold them, Sans?”

“real nice,” Spice purred a bit, “their whole body is soft, bro. hair, skin, hands, all pillows. Ehehe, they’d be mad if I said that to’em, though. they’re workin’ with their buddies and pap to get in shape. Spend half an hour outside every afternoon with’em in their leggings and sport top. Nice ta watch.”

Whip nodded, “And do they mind flirtations too much?”

“they’re gettin’ better about it, but you still have ta be careful how far ya go. don’t get all out explicit, but suggestive is fine. They actually shot one back at Sugar yesterday, even if it was kinda weak.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath and sighed as he let it out, “I’m going to try to amend my mistake of avoiding them, but it’ll take some time. Please keep me from making an ass of myself anymore.”

“I’ll try, but I dunno much about donkeys,” Spice quipped, only to get pushed onto the bed as Whip got up in irritation. “ehehehe, sorry, bro, but you walked inta that one.”

“I DID AND I HATE IT.”

You were in the kitchen, eating breakfast after waking up late on a rare Friday holiday when Whip walked in. Normally, he’d instantly walk back out looking frustrated, but today he stayed.

It was weird, and you watched as he walked to the fridge, got a bottle of a chocolate protein drink, and sat down near you.

“HUMAN, I….HMGH,” he started, picking at the wrapper on the outside of his drink till he could get the lit loose, “Y/N. I’VE BEEN…COLD TO YOU, TO SAY THE LEAST.”

“Yes.” Where is he going with this?

“I THOUGHT…WELL, I SHOULD EXPLAIN WHY. OR AT LEAST APOLOGIZE FOR IT.” He grimaced while he searched for the words, “I SIMPLY WAS AFRAID OF GETTING HURT WHEN OR IF WE SHOULD EVER PART WAYS. BECAUSE I HONESTLY…I’VE WANTED TO MEET SOMEONE LIKE YOU FOR A VERY LONG TIME AND IT MADE ME FEEL PANICKED. LIKE…FINALLY GETTING TO MEET YOUR FAVORITE CELEBRITY BUT AS YOU NEAR THE STAGE DOOR YOU BOLT. YOU’RE AFRAID THE REALITY WON’T LIVE UP TO THE DREAM AND IF IT DOES THEN YOU FEAR THE PAIN OF THE MEETING BEING OVER.”

That was not what you expected as his reasoning. Pride, specist thoughts, a general dislike of new people, something like that, but not…this. “I do understand your reference, but I’m still kind of shocked you’re even talking to me at all right now.”

“I UNDERSTAND.” He sighed, taking a long drink from his bottle. “I JUST WANTED TO…WELL, TO TRY AND FIX THINGS. I HAD TO ADMIT WHAT I WAS THINKING TO MY BROTHER AND THAT FINALLY GOT ME THINKING ABOUT…HOW UNFAIR IT WAS TO BE ANGRY WITH YOU FOR BEING YOURSELF. I HAD NO RIGHT, AND IT’S KIND OF STUPID NOW THAT I PUT IT IN WORDS. GOOD GRIEF.”

“How about,” you hold out your hand, smiling, “we start over? Hi, my name is Y/n. I’m Sans and Papyrus’ datemate and I’d like to stay in the house for the foreseeable future.”

He looked at your hand, then his shoulders relaxed and his sharp smile turned soft, “MY NAME IS WHIP, IT’S A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU AT LAST.” He shook your hand, “I’D BE HAPPY TO HAVE SOMEONE SO BELOVED BY MY COUSINS STAY WITH US.”

A pool of warmth dropped into your chest at the relief you knew was a mutual experience. You no longer had an enemy in your home, and the comfortable silence as you both enjoyed your respective sustenance was very rewarding.

“Sugar, please,” Charm rubbed his sockets, “I’m trying to plan a fun night out for us all, and your pessimism is ruining it.”

“no, I’m seriously worried. Have you not felt the energy change? Somebody’s doing something and it’s none of us.”

“I felt it and I know exactly what happened, but I’m not telling you because it’s none of your business.” Charm kept clicking from one page to another, looking at options.

“what?”

“You heard me. You do realize there is a loving trio in this house, yes? That it’s not just us and the others from similar universes?” Charm swiveled his chair and looked fully at his brother, “Sans, sometimes your anxiety makes you act like a prick.”

Sugar winced, deflating. “oh. yeah. guess I overstepped again.”

“Yes, you did.” Charm pushed his chair over and poked Sugar in the chest, “but I will remind you again. I love you. I want what is best for everyone here. And I am not some babybones who is naïve about the complexities of relationships. It’s just things are tilted differently here, and yes, that was hard to get used to, but it can be done. And besides,” He smiled, “We’re all going out for Halloween. I need to make sure we go somewhere fun since it’s Y/n’s favorite holiday and Papyrus’ birthday.”

Sugar sighed, “okay. okay, maybe you’re right. and sansy’s been trying to get me to lighten up too, so…” He sat on the floor before laying out like a star, “if sweet-pea can trust them enough to cuddle again, I guess I can try to, too.”

“Bully for you!” Charm smiled, going back to his computer. “And Sweet-pea will be here at the house with our candy bowl, so he will get a costume as well.”

“he’s actually going to greet the trick or treaters?”

“Yes! He’s been doing very well since he started opening up more.” Charm double clicked something and absently scanned the text that popped up, “He’s started sitting on the deck with us while we do our yoga and Sansy is seeing if he can set up video chat conferences with a therapist for him. Apparently, humans get this kind of anxiety too. It’s called agoraphobia.”

Sugar nodded, kind of surprised. Sweet-pea was going outside? Willingly? That was definitely a good thing, no arguing that, and…well, he was getting tired of being jumpy about the human all the time, if he was being honest.

You were a little shy about it, but Boa and Sweet-pea were both bustling around you in Sweet-pea’s room. They were re-taking your measurements to make sure they were accurate for your costume. You hadn’t had a good idea for a costume, but Papyrus had proposed it being a surprise that they chose for you. Sweet-pea had volunteered to make the design, and you’d been excited to see what he’d do. So far, he’d made you a nightgown that made you feel very ethereal any time you wore it, but he’d been too busy with commissions and orders to do anything else till now.

“I take a break every October,” he told you, sketching away, “it lets me have down time to recover and do whatever things I’d like otherwise.”

Boa was very fast with the measuring tape, barely touching it to your body as you stood in a shirt and shorts.

You felt the goosebumps going over your scalp as they worked, just like at the doctor’s office, and felt that strange far away feeling that went with them.

“Pumpkin,” Boa spoke, standing with his tape, “have you ever been fitted properly for your foundations?” He seemed puzzled as he looked you over. “I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. Bad support can cause back pain, you know.”

You hadn’t known. “No, I haven’t. What would you have to do?”

Sweet-pea looked up, “just measure around your chest do some more close measurements of your pelvis area. It doesn’t take long. Last time he fitted someone it only took him two and a half minutes. But…uh… you will have to undress. Dunno if you’re up to that or not.”

Boa blushed, but nodded, looking away. “It’s up to you. You’re going to look ravishing either way, but it’s just been bugging me since we went shopping that first day. You deserve to be comfortable…”

It took a moment, as you thought it out. Two and a half minutes, hm? And you trusted them both, at least as much as you trusted the classmates you’d changed in the bathrooms with at choir competitions in high school. Quite a bit more, now that you’re thinking about it, “I think we can do it. It would be nice to know for my next shopping trip.”

Both of them perked up, and you steeled yourself as you undressed down to nothing. Boa’s eye lights shone bright and wide, and you saw the glow start at his throat, but he shook his head and smiled, “I’ll be quick. Thank you for letting me help you!”

True to his word, Boa went fast, around your chest, from your collar to your nipple, and around the area under your breasts. “That’s that, thirty-four triple d, Sweet-pea.”

“thought so.” The younger brother wrote it down somewhere on his sketch pad, but he was still going, “I know someone who would kill for that size for her bleach cosplays.”

You tilted your head and he smiled, “Somebody I know at home. She’s almost as bad as Alphys about anime, but likes JUMP stuff more.”

“Ah, okay.” You were focusing on anything other than Boa being between your legs with his tape, going quickly over your thighs, around your butt, and gently pressing the end of the tape to your core and going up a ways before snapping back and listing off his findings. “Well, that was fast.”

“three minutes. A little slower, but we’ve never measured a human before.”

Boa nodded and handed you your things, “We have everything we need to make you the best costume and find the best things on our shopping trips now.” There was blush on his cheekbones, and his smile was very soft, making your own cheeks heat more.

“Thank you for being fast with it. I’m not exactly used to being naked in front of other people.” You hurry to get your clothes back on, even as you hear something in an almost electronic voice. “Huh?”

Boa blushed, “Um, sorry. I slipped into Wingdings for a moment. I ah…I was saying we were lucky to get a glimpse at such a rare treasure as your body.”

Sweet-pea snorted and giggled, “that’s what he said literally, but wingdings is a monster language, so you don’t get any of the cute undertones and intents that went with it in English. you do look nice, though.”

“You boys are going to be the death of me. I’m going to die of flattery,” You had scrunched up your face from how hot it got, and huffed as you pulled your shirt back on, “and then Papy and Sans will be widowers.”

“You’d have to marry them for that,” Boa smirked a bit.

“smartaleck” you stuck your tongue out at him and walked to the door, “You’re both lucky I love you.”

“we love you, too, y/n.” Sweet-pea poked Boa, who just waved at you.

You shake your head and leave.

As soon as the door shut, Boa’s whole skull exploded in color and he jerked his scarf off as the jewel below burst into brilliant light. “Oh my stars, I’m going to keel over! Humans smell so different and it’s GOOD and they’re so amazing already and then just! Naked right in front of me! ack!”

Sweet-pea chuckled, blushing a bit, “they were lovely. And those hips….gosh, I know kids aren’t the end all be all up here but they look like they could carry so well…”

“I know!” Boa groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands into his closed sockets, “How does Papyrus just have them as his datemate and not keep them in the bedroom all day?”

“He’s just not turned like us, bro,” Sweet-pea sighed, “but I’m glad they’re at least happy with each other. You could smell him on them as soon as the layers came off.”

Boa finally seemed to calm down as the glow in his gem dimmed, “That was reassuring. Now we’re sure they’re not hurting themselves with repression or anything.”

“pretty sure it’s only us that need that regular release for health,” Sweet-pea mumbled. “humans don’t get heats, much less be in one all the time.”

“That still is amazing to me. And there’s so many of them even so! But then again, they are mammals that care for their young a long time. it’s only natural most of their offspring live.”

Sweet-pea laughed, “you should never have dropped out of zoology, bro. you’d have been a great professor.”

“I’ll be a better guardsman slash radio host!” Boa shot back, getting up. “Now, as soon as you have the design ready, bring it to me. We’re going to make the others drop their jaws to the floor.”

“and all in a human-friendly fashion. Gonna be fun,” Sweet-pea waved his brother off, and got down to work. He was going to make the rest of the world see exactly what Y/n was to their household.

Whip was uncomfortable. Not because he didn’t participate in the pillow cuddling normally, because he had before the human had come. No, it was because said human had chosen to sit beside him in the pile. He was still jumpy around them, even if he knew they were on much better terms after his apology.

It didn’t help that Spice was on their other side and snoring so loud he could hardly hear.

“MAY I PLEASE WAKE HIM UP TO STOP THAT RACKET?”

“No, Whip, don’t wake him. He’s actually not trying to fluster me when he’s sleeping,” says the human, looking fondly at Spice. Well, they did have a point. “Here, let me try shifting him a bit.”

Interested, he watched as you gently shifted Spice’s head back, and his brother’s raucous snores quieted to gentle, soft vibrations.

“HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

“Snoring in humans is caused by some weird blockages in the throat. I figured, if he’s snoring because of his ecto always being on, maybe doing what helps a human would help him.” You continue to intrigue him in the most unexpected ways.

Boa had been almost giddy in his sexy nurse costume when he handed you a bundle on Halloween at noon, “Here, Pumpkin, it’s your costume. Go put it on, hurry!”

Sweet-pea was behind him, a very normal looking scarecrow costume decorating his form, beaming in pride, “if you need help, just holler.”

Curious, you went to back into your room (you’d been leaving it to ask about just this) and opened the bundle. A beautiful Grecian dress, creamy white with golden clasps, lay in a cloud of feathers with a set of very soft, cottony underwear. The ease with which those went on surprised you, and the lifting of the weight of your chest from your back made your eyes widen. “Oh.” Boa had been incredibly accurate in that the wrong underthings could make you hurt.

The dress slipped on, as did a pair of delicate sheer white hose, and some golden sandals. The feathers, you realize, are wings that loop onto the clasps on your shoulders and attach to the golden rope around your waist. You actually get them on yourself, and when you pick up the little harp and halo that were hidden underneath, you grin. “An angel, huh?”

Everything fit like a glove, comfortable but flattering as you exited and came down the stairs. Charm saw you first and gasped, “Oh! Sweetheart, that’s gorgeous, but here, come with me.” He had that sneaky look when he was going to try and goad you or Sans and Papyrus into doing something romantic, but instead of taking you to them, he took you to a room under the stairs that you’d never bothered to investigate. It was like a dressing room in a theater, with lights and make up and wigs of all kinds.

“Welcome to my studio! On of the things I learned from my bestie underground is that half of an outfit is made by your make-up. Let me take you from a ten to an eleven.” He sat you down and gently removed the golden circlet of your halo, setting it down on the vanity. “Now, monster make-up is a lot different than human in that it doesn’t take five hours to do! So, I’m going to turn you around, and in thirty minutes you’ll be the belle of the Halloween ball.”

You only had a brief glimpse of your reflection (thankfully) before the chair was turned and Charm got to work. Smooth, cool creams were dabbed onto your face by his clearly practiced hands, having taken of his gloves to do this. It was kind of hard to keep from laughing, as he’d already made himself up and was wearing a rainbow afro and a red nose on top of his pure white face, blue eye circles, and big red mouth decorations. He was a very colorful clown, and the first clown you’d ever been happy to see.

Charm had his tongue stuck out while he worked, and you just couldn’t help yourself. You reached up and poked it with your finger. “Boop.”

He squinted his sockets and made a short noise that sounded like laughter, then gently told you off, “Don’t boop the beautician, sweet thing. It’s not polite.”

“But you’re my bestie first,” you point out, and his smile grows.

“I know.” He brushes his teeth against your forehead gently, “Now let me work my magic, quite literally.”

You giggle quietly, and he hums, using a puff to place powder over the creams.

He then goes around you and gently begins coming through your hair, adding some things to it as well, “When this is done, sweetie, it’s going to just be you with some polish. You’re always this lovely to us, it’ll just be enough magic to let others and you see what we see every day.”

“Are you sure?” Yes, you’d been pleased with the little bit of change you’d seen in your clothes since starting your daily yoga, but you still felt…gross.

“Oh, I’d put my soul on it.” He squeezed your shoulder gently before returning to his work on your hair, “Papyrus and Sans think you hung the moon, Y/n. And I’d put money on Boa thinking the same. Sweet-pea trusts you more than he’s trusted anyone outside the family, ever. Whip even let his pride go and started to get to know you. That means something.”

“And you and Sugar? Spice?”

“Oh Y/n, I can’t even put into words what you mean to me.” His voice was so soft and full of love, you couldn’t even imagine what his expression was, “and my brother is slowly letting go of his fears. He’ll understand your magnificence when he does. “ A snort of wry laughter, “And Spice would have you be his own private teddy bear if it was up to him.”

You giggle thinking about that. Since he’d gotten over your mutual miscommunication, Spice had been the ultimate cuddlebug when he felt he could be. Which was most of the time. Not that you minded, he was warm, and the thick ecto he always wore was soft and comfy. Plus, you liked his voice. It was different than the others, like Whip’s in that it was gravelly, but smoother underneath, carrying a sweetness you liked.

“Let me paint your nails, and then we’ll be done.” Charm squatted in front of you and took a bottle of what looked like clear nail polish out. He thought for a moment, then nodded, a zap of pink magic infusing the bottle and turning the polish inside gold. “That should be the right color. A touch of Midas, hm?” He beamed at his reference, and you nodded.

You used the time to talk about a movie you saw once, of people trying to gain an item related to King Midas, and Charm suggested you find it online and the family could watch it next weekend. After all, after your group returned from the Halloween carnival, you all would be watching Halloween themed cartoons and family movies (because Papyrus, Sweet-pea, and Boa preferred not to watch horror films) while eating whatever candy remained after the trick-or-treaters.

Looking at your fingernails, not only were they shimmering as if they were covered in liquid gold, but they were perfectly shaped and the cuticles that were normally rough were smoothed down. “Wow! How did you do that with just polish?”

“It’s the magic in the polish.” Charm finished your toes and returned the brush to the bottle, “The polish is just there to change color according to my intent. I needed it gold, and I wanted your nails to be healthy and beautiful, so the magic did the rest. Even after we take the polish off, you’ll still keep the healthy nails underneath. Also, it’s instant dry, too.”

He looked you over one last time and nodded, “Alright, are you ready?”

When you said yes, he placed the halo back on your head and turned you around. You almost burst into tears right there. Your hair was laying around your face in elegant waves, framing it perfectly and without frizz for the first time in your life. And your face, it was exactly what Charm had said. It was you, but your skin was evenly colored instead of blotchy, the texture was smooth and uniform, every pore was clean and tiny. Your eyelashes and brows were present instead of faded out like they usually were, and all signs of the flaky dermatitis that had plagued you since your teenage years was gone from them.

“I’m…..Charm, you did…” you just looked over at him, the water dripping out of your eyes without you even blinking to free it. “It’s wonderful.”

“Just a little MTT Beauty Butter and the intent to clean and heal. The rest is all how your body naturally wants to be. It loves you, just as we do, and wants you to be happy and healthy. It just needed a little boost, now and again, is all.” He helps you to your feet, taking a nearby box of tissues and using them to gently dry your tears. “Now you can see yourself as the angel we know you are.”

You just hug him, far beyond words.

He strokes your head gently, waiting for you to recover before saying, “Now, we should get to the living room to meet up with the others and head for the carnival.”

You felt like you were walking on air as he led you out of the make up room and down the hall to the living room.

The banter had started already, “SANS, WHY DO YOU INSIST ON LAZINESS? IT’S OUR FIRST HALLOWEEN WITH Y/N IN THE HOUSE AND YOU JUST….THAT?!”

Entering, you saw Papyrus dressed as Superman, cape and spandex in red, blue, and yellow, and Sans was wearing a black, cat-ear headband taped to his skull, with black whiskers drawn on his cheekbones sloppily, all with his normal clothes.

Sugar, as a sexy witch, is standing with his broom in a corner, laughing behind his hand next to pirate-captain Spice, long coat sweeping his brown boots and black hat sporting a big maroon feather. Whip was dressed as a classic Devil, though he’d exchanged the red onesie for a bright red business suit. Boa and Sweet-pea were on the couch, chatting.

Charm cleared his throat and that got everyone’s attention, and you were feeling quite small as they all looked at you.

Whip’s eye lights went out, and you noticed a bright glow in the left leg of his pants. Oh no…oh no you’d made him uncomfortable. “I-I didn’t pick this out but…I’m sorry.”

Spice came over, taking your hands in his (where did he find all those rings?), “don’t apologize, baby doll. You’re beautiful. Sweet-pea an’ Boa done good. you too, charm, cause I know baby doll don’t do make-up like that.”

“Bu-but-“

“no buts,” Sans shortcutted next to you and beamed, “you look perfect. We’re going to be the envy of everybody. Though, as an angel, you probably don’t like that, do you?” He winked and you smiled. You couldn’t help yourself if Sans was making jokes.

Papyrus strode over and knelt in front of you, making everyone step aside for him, “AS A SUPERHERO, I WILL WORK VERY HARD TO DO GOOD, SO THAT I MAY GET VISITS FROM THIS UNEARTHLY VISION OF LOVELINESS AGAIN!” He was sparkling -literally-, cheeks flushed orange, as he looked up at you.

“Papyrus, you can see me anytime.”

“I KNOW, BUT YOU LOOK EXACTLY LIKE A MESSENGER FROM HEAVEN RIGHT NOW! THE PICTURE OF THE DELTARUNE’S PREDICTED SAVIOR!” He frowned and got up, “THOUGH, THAT ACTUALLY TURNED OUT TO BE FRISK, SO YOU’RE THEIR COUSIN. BUT STILL!”

Sugar flounced over in the short skirt and tights that were wrapped around his bones, “ooh, our little y/n has graduated from pretty to gorgeous.”

Charm rolled his eye lights, but Boa and Sweet-pea rushed over before he could fire back at his brother.

“Oh, Y/n, it’s absolutely perfect. I was worried about the top of the dress but it’s laying fabulously,” Boa cooed, proud of his work.

“you look just like I thought you would,” Sweet-pea gave a small laugh, “though, turns out real life is better than imagination in this case. Thanks, charm, for finishing off the look.”

“Oh it was my pleasure, believe me,” Charm actually honked his nose, revealing it to be a prop horn, “I might be a clown tonight, but I am a chivalrous guard first and helping our dear Y/n shine their brightest is the least I could do.”

You were blushing so hard, but Papyrus gently scooped you out of the crowd, “NOW LET’S GET GOING TO THE CARNIVAL. I WANT EVERYONE TO ADMIRE OUR ANGEL BEFORE THEY GET TOO FLUSTERED AND MUSS THEIR MAKE-UP!”

There was a murmur of agreement, and as you left the house, you waved goodbye to Sweet-pea, who was beaming as he closed the door.

#suggestive #reader x papyrus #reader x sans #underlust #lustfell #lustswap #undertale fic

11 notes · View notes

dear--charlie · 3 years

Text

Dear Charlie,

It hurts. The more I think about it, the more I try to figure it out, the more that it hurts.

I’m not the kind of person that he wants. I don’t know if I’m the kind of person that anybody wants, not really. So, maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be loved in return, but it’s enough to know how it feels to really love someone. There are a lot of moments where I wonder if I’m the kind of person that’s meant for love, I wonder that about life sometimes too. It’s not about me deserving it or not, it’s about compatibility. I know what I want and I don’t want to compromise it for someone else. I want to live where I want to and live how I want to, I don’t need another person to sway that. Who knows, though? Maybe this is just my attempt at trying not to care that Jack doesn’t want me too, that my own best friend can’t love me.

And the thing is, I’m not mad at him. I don’t hold it against him. I couldn’t do either of those things if I tried. I just understand, and wish it was different. I really thought I was over him, and I don’t know what to do about any of this. I’m not really sure what it’s going to be like when I hang out with him next. He was supposed to come over tonight to watch more of our show, but ended up not being able to make it. I’m kind of glad, I feel like I’d act really weird around him right now. Everyone’s supposed to go to the beach at some point this week too, and I think I’m probably gonna stay home. One, because it’s probably going to be Tuesday and I have a much needed therapy appointment in the middle of the day. And two, because I can’t stand the thought of getting into a car for more than an hour or withstanding a day where people can actually see me.

In case I didn’t mention it, the agoraphobia is getting worse. My therapist says it’s a problem now. I haven’t left the house in probably two months, and that was just to go grocery shopping. The trip to Trader Joe’s was overwhelming enough to make me decide not to go again. Not to mention, getting in the car makes me feel like I’m gonna throw up. Ever since the accident we got into in February, my car anxiety has gotten worse. Needless to say, I’m still not gonna get my license any time soon — maybe ever, if I can find a way to live like that. We have to go to a restaurant tonight for my sister’s birthday and I really, really don’t wanna go. I’m gonna try and see if I can stay home. I know that’s not the healthy option, but sue me. I’ve been having a rough time.

That’s not the point right now. Jack has a few days off of work this week, so he’ll be over eventually and I’ll have to figure out how to act like my latest crisis involves me probably still being in love with him. I’ve been trying to ask for his advice without actually telling him the situation. So far, he just thinks that I’m second guessing my feelings for Lani and I’m trying to deal with an incident from a few years ago. I was vague when I explained it, I mostly focused on the girlfriend part of it all.

The thing is, I’ve been really tempted to just tell him the truth. There have been more than a few times in the past two days that I’ve almost texted him out of nowhere and been like: hey, I might probably kind of definitely sorta totally still love you. It’s been getting harder to reign in impulses like that, and I don’t want the consequences that’ll follow if I end up acting on them. I don’t want things to get awkward, I don’t want him to get distant, I don’t want things to change.

I said once, in an old letter, that things would be easier if I knew I didn’t have a chance with him, that way I could move on. I’m gonna come out right now and say that I was dead fucking wrong. It’s so much harder to know that I don’t have a chance with him. My mind will wander to what if’s and hopeful daydreams, and I have to remind myself that it’s literally never gonna happen. He’s interested in his coworker and she’s interested in him. If he’s happy, what else can I ask for? If he’s happy, I can suffer in silence for as long as it takes to get over him. I shouldn’t be selfish by feeling jealous or mopey.

Maybe I should tell him. Is that really stupid? On the one hand, I don’t want him to get suspicious about how weird I am and figure it out. On the other hand, I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable around me if he knows. Mom asked if I told him how I felt and I told her that I did years ago, but not this time. I told Bella about my predicament and she said pretty much the same things as Nikki.

I wish that he’d be mean to me. I wish he’d make me cry or break my heart or do something that could make me get over him. The little slivers of hope that I get from the “nothing’s off the table” comment is enough to keep me going apparently, and I still wish he’d told me that hell would freeze over before he’d feel the same way. What if he did feel that way about me and never said anything? What if he thought I’d gotten over him and didn’t wanna start me back up again? What if there was a chance and I missed it?

I talked to my mom about the whole situation for like two hours and I think it just really set in that this might never go away. She said that, based on how I’ve been talking about Lani, it doesn’t seem like the relationship will go anywhere. She also said that I shouldn’t ruin my friendship with Jack even if he somehow felt the same. She talked a lot about meeting new people and I made it really clear that doing that is one of the last things I want.

I came to a kind of realization, and it really hurts. I don’t want love if it doesn’t make me feel the way he makes me feel, and I'll probably never find a connection like that again. Even Mom said it, that I'll never be able to find a person that makes me feel the same. She said I might find someone who makes me feel different, but still good, and I don’t want that. I don’t fucking want different. I know how loving someone feels, I don't want that to change.

It'd just be easier to be alone. I don’t wanna meet new people and feel uncomfortable for months or years before really getting to know them, before they really get to know me. I don’t wanna put that work in if they won't make me feel the way he does, if it isn’t worth it, because what would the point be?

If these feelings could just go away, I'd be content with keeping the friend group I have and never meeting new people. I would be content with never having a partner too. The only reason I want one now is because it's him. The moment I got into a relationship with someone else, I didn't really want to be in it anymore. I don’t think there will be anybody who will live up to him, and I don't know how to accept that.

And I’m trying to keep myself from doing something really impulsive and stupid like telling him about all this bullshit, because I just want to know. I wanna know once and for all if there’s a chance or if there isn't, but I can't ask. What if he just said him having feelings for me was a possibility because he wanted to be nice? What if there was never a chance and he just couldn't bring himself to be mean? Would I even feel better if I knew it wasn't a possibility? Would it make me feel worse? Who knows, because I clearly don't.

I don’t think I want anyone else. I know I could change my mind, but I truly don't want to do the work it'd take to get to know someone new if it wasn't a sure thing we'd have a connection like that. Mom compared it to all my trial and error with medications, and that just further solidified how much I don’t wanna do that. It took seven fucking years to get my meds right and I was so close to giving up that, if the latest one didn’t work, I was just gonna say fuck it and let the bipolar do to me whatever it wanted because I was so sick of trying only for things to fall flat.

I think I’d just rather be alone, and that I’m only thinking about relationships right now because I love him too much to not daydream about it. The other thing is, even if (a huge enormous big large giant galactic if) he felt the same for me, would we even act on it? Could we even risk destroying our friendship if things went badly? I don’t know if I could, unless I was sure things would be okay and I’m not sure, I can literally never guarantee that.

I brought it up with my sister, Hannah. I asked if I told her I was probably breaking up with Lani and she immediately guessed that it was because of Jack. I guess I’m more obvious than I thought. She said she’s been thinking about it because he’s been over so much lately, but I didn’t even realize my feelings for him again until this week. So, hopefully, I’m actually subtle. I guess we’ll see when I next hang out with him. I debated the idea of just lowkey ignoring him for a while, but I don’t want him to think I’m pissed off or annoyed with him. Plus, I love hanging out with him. I hope I’m not awkward.

It’s just a lose-lose-lose situation all around. There’s no chance? Lose. There used to be and now there isn't? Lose. There is a chance and we destroy our friendship? Lose. There's literally no good outcome for this, except the completely outlandish and unrealistic one, and that will absolutely never happen. Because, in what world would things ever go perfectly? In what world would someone start dating the person they’re with forever at twenty-fucking-one and have things never end poorly between them? Maybe it works for some, but I’ve never been that lucky.

The only thing I can do is sit with this and pray it will pass. It took me three years last time, if I can pretend I got over it at all, and I don’t know how I can cope with another three if I’m gonna feel this shitty the whole time. I really thought I was over him, and I don’t know what to do about any of this.

Love Always, Just Nick 06 | 20 | 21

#dear charlie #Just Nick

2 notes · View notes

mistyyygoode · 5 years

Text

flower shop pt.1 (Foxxay)

Prompt from anon: Foxxay fluff/angst Cordelia has agoraphobia after the acid attack. Misty convinces her to get out of the house and they go to a flower shop together. Pre-relationship/mid-foxxay falling in love, I guess.

written with: @rabexxpaulson and there will be 2-3 more parts bc of how long this ended up being. we hope y’all really enjoy this. sorry it’s taken so long to start posting these one-shots. we have this and the next one already done, and will hopefully be posting 2 times a week until we’re caught up to where we currently are!

Misty had noticed that since she had met Cordelia, her aura was dimmer than anyone else's, besides Fiona that was. She could sense that her headmistress was depressed, gloomy, and even anxious about a lot of things. She hadn't seen the woman in a few days, which was worrying her with each day that had passed. She was used to seeing Cordelia in the greenhouse, but when the woman hadn't shown up for a few days, it made her a little sad, she missed her friend.

When Cordelia didn't show up to the greenhouse for the fourth day in a row, Misty knew she needed to take it upon herself to talk to her, and hopefully get her out of the house.

Cordelia didn't feel like seeing people – she couldn't even if she wanted to. After the acid attack, her self-esteem had gotten even worse, and the house she once knew as her well as her own fingertips was now a sea of darkness where she couldn't even find her own inner light. The hours became days and the days became weeks. Cordelia no longer cared to work on her crafts or in the papers she was supposed to, and Fiona didn't help much with all the depreciating comments she always did. The only place she cared to be was her room, one she was beginning to learn every step and every pattern of.

Misty finally took it upon herself to find Cordelia, which wouldn't be hard. She knew the headmistress was most likely in her bedroom, it seemed to be the only place she ever was anymore. Misty knew isolating yourself didn't make your problems any better, so she made her way from the greenhouse to the second floor of the academy. She stood in front of Cordelia's bedroom door, slowly raising her hand to knock on the white wood.

Cordelia couldn't read anymore. She couldn't watch TV or catalog the plants and potions and spells. All she could do was lay down and sleep. Sleep was good, she could dream and be away from reality. She could pretend Fiona wasn't there. She could see Misty with her beautiful blonde curls and shiny blue eyes... that was her favorite part. Turning around on the bed, she sighed loudly. Cordelia was never one to stay in bed much. She felt useless.

Misty's knuckles softly met the wood in a gentle knock. She took in a shaky breath as she knocked on the door four times, just enough to see if Cordelia was awake or not.

One. Two. Three. Four knocks. Who'd knock four times? The usual was three. Cordelia sat up and hazily fixed her messy hair. It could only be Misty. Misty Day was the only person Cordelia was always in the mood to see. "Come on in."

Misty slowly opened the door to the bedroom. She stepped inside and closed it behind herself. Her eyes scanned the room, and she smiled to herself when she saw the headmistress sitting up in bed. "Hey, Miss Cordelia. It's Misty." She said as if the woman wouldn't know.

Cordelia had acquired a habit of covering herself in all situations. She didn't know if her clothes were totally appropriate, or matching or even clean from her tries of cooking and doing simple tasks. She pulled the covers up to her chin and shrunk in them. The sweet voice invaded her ears. Cordelia wanted to extend her hand and beg for a touch, a glimpse of the younger witch she felt herself falling for. However, she kept it to herself. "Hello, Misty. Everything alright?"

Misty bit her lip as she saw how nervous Cordelia seemed, everything from covering herself more than usual, to the awkward wait between entering the room and actually talking to her. "Yes, well, I think—I hope. Are ya okay? I-I mean, I haven't seen ya in a few days, and I was startin' to worry. Ya feelin' alright?" she asked.

Cordelia gulped softly as she looked down to nothing, gripping the covers tighter. She nodded. "Yeah, I'm just... I don't feel very comfortable outside." Her voice had died to a low and weak tone. She hoped Misty could understand what she meant with 'outside'; anywhere she could be seen.

Misty bit her lip again. She hoped and prayed that Cordelia was okay, and now she knew she wasn't. Hesitantly, she walked over to the bed and slowly sat down on the edge of it. "Miss Cordelia... I get ya, I really do, but stayin' in ya room ain't gonna help. Even if ya can't see the flowers and the pants, I think bein' around then, feelin' them would surely help." She said softly as she looked at the older witch. She felt her heart hurt at the sight of how depressed and saddened Cordelia seemed.

Hearing the steps attentively, Cordelia's body subconsciously shrank even more on the bed. She had to remind herself it was just Misty, and Misty would never hurt her. She wished she could at least see her one time. Forcing herself to relax, Cordelia looked to where the so well-known voice was coming. She worried her dry lower lip with her teeth. "I-is... is Fiona here?" It was stupid, she knew, a thirty-eight-year-old woman still somehow afraid of her own mother. In better times, she could handle Fiona; but right now, she felt weak and small and even more invisible than she already felt when she could see the world around her.

Misty's brows furrowed for a moment. She knew Fiona was a bitch. She had heard stories from the other girls about some of the things Fiona had said and done to Cordelia—unbelievable things. "She's not. I haven't seen her for a few days..." she said softly. She scooted closer to Cordelia and softly held out her hand, "Can I hold ya hand?" she asked softly.

The bed moved. Cordelia reminded herself it was Misty, and she actually wanted Misty's touch. Letting out a small relieved breath at the good news, the question cheered her soul a little. Cordelia nodded, offering her pale - paler - hand to Misty, letting it slip from underneath the covers. "I-I just don't know if I can manage b-being... with people." Not seeing the world was even scarier than seeing it, Cordelia had learned. All the sounds and touches and voices and rough, different even if known patterns overwhelmed her in a way. The dosage of her pills had already gone up, but she doubted she could actually be alright if she stepped outside of the room.

Misty frowned, but she nodded softly. "I understand, Miss Cordelia... what if it were just me though? That wouldn't be too bad then, would it?" she asked as her hand slowly and softly caressed Cordelia's that laid on her own.

The touch brought her comfort. Cordelia saw her again, Misty Day; the blue eyes she made sure to think about to keep them alive in her mind, the angelic smile and the fuzzy curls. Instead of sad memories, like the first time they had touched, Cordelia saw Misty smiling and taking care of her and the academy's - her own - plants. Misty was the only one to check on her, to help her and think about her. It was a different kindness. It was a different feeling. It was... pleasingly weird. Her pale fingertips brushed over Misty's. It was the best she had felt in a while. "B-but... would we go out?"

Misty smiled softly as she watched Cordelia's facial features change into something happy. She wondered if she was having another vision, but she didn't ask, not now at least. "That's up to ya, really. If you'd like we can go out, just the two of us. Maybe we could grab somethin' to eat, get some seeds for some new plants. I've been thinkin' 'bout what we could plant next." She said with a bright smile.

Getting some new seeds was an amazing idea. Cordelia wondered if she'd ever see the plants again. She smiled a little, a barely noticeable thing. "I'd like to get some seeds... smell some flowers..."

Misty smiled softly when she saw the smallest smile on Cordelia's lips. She continued to caress the woman's hand. She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to lose your sight, so she figured a small touch would be better than not seeing. "I was thinkin' maybe it'd help ya. Maybe even gettin' ya hands a little dirty from plantin' them would help. I know bein' in the greenhouse or my garden always helps when I ain't feelin' myself. Plus, I'll be right there to help if ya need it." She offered.

That could certainly be good. Cordelia, in her element, with Misty. Nothing was as good. But... she needed to get dressed. Once again, she began to worry her lower lip with her teeth. "Um..."

Misty furrowed her brows for a moment when the woman's mood changed so quickly. "What is it, Miss Cordelia?" she asked quickly.

"I... I've got to get dressed..." Cordelia's cheeks burned. Only Hank had seen her completely naked before, apart from Fiona and Myrtle.

Misty's eyes dropped for a moment to noticed Cordelia's bra straps. "O-oh... yes, right... do ya, uh, need help. I mean... pickin' somethin' out?" She asked nervously before swallowing hard. The idea of seeing Cordelia in just her underwear, or even naked brought thoughts to her mind she felt were wrong to have about a friend.

Cordelia was still holding Misty's hand; her mind suddenly flashed with dirty, naughty thoughts. But they weren't her own. Misty kissed her lovingly and caressed her bare waist, the other hand falling down to her—she quickly took her hand away from Misty's with a small gasp. She didn't want to see it like that. They were private thoughts, right? "Uh—um, I... I-I... I c-can't really, um," talking was hard. Did Misty have these thoughts about everyone? Cordelia hoped not... even if that wasn't really ethical. Oh boy.

When Cordelia pulled her hand away, her heartbeat picked up in speed. She wondered if Cordelia has seen what she thought for a split second. She gulped as she got off the bed, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Shit," she murmured before finding her balance.

Cordelia gulped again as she squeezed the sheets. She cursed internally. "Misty, are you alright?" she asked as she heard the stumbling. Cordelia felt like she had managed to fuck it up. Again.

Misty's eyes flickered up to Cordelia with a worried gaze. She didn't know what to say and before thinking about the best way to approach the situation, she blurted out: "Ya saw what I was thinkin', didn't ya? I'm s-so sorry..."

Cordelia didn't mean to talk about that now. Her heart picked up in speed. Should she lie? "I... we don't have to talk about it." But she wanted to talk about it. She wanted to talk and do something about it.

Misty bit her lip as she looked down. Her heart was still racing fast inside of her chest. It was so loud she thought Cordelia might hear it. "I-I'm sorry... I know it ain't right." She gulped as her palms grew sweaty. "Ya just so gorgeous, a-and ya so nice to me. I-it's unprofessional to say the least, I know that since you're my teacher 'nd all..." she stopped herself from rambling on further.

Gorgeous. That was the very last thing Cordelia felt like. She bit her inner cheek harshly as she felt herself growing emotional. "D-do you think about those things o-only with me?" Her palms were sweating. She was sweating all over, and even though she only had a sheer nightgown, she felt too hot underneath the covers.

Misty's eyes stayed on the floor. Her hands nervously played with the rings on her fingers. She gulped. "Y-yes, ma'am..." she nodded.

The words were enough to send a spiral of butterflies inside her stomach. Cordelia was somewhat relieved. "D-do you have feelings f-for me?" It was better to ask right away, Cordelia knew that. She didn't want to be played again. She didn't want to get all happy for misunderstanding things.

Misty took a deep, shaky breath. "I-I..." she stammered as her eyes slowly looked back up to Cordelia. "Yes..." she whispered nervously.

Yes. Cordelia's chest tightened up and softened down in a matter of seconds. She let out a deep breath. "Me too," she nearly murmured. "M-me too." Cordelia had never wanted to see Misty more than now.

Misty's eyes grew wide. Her heart nearly stopped for a few beats. Never in her wildest dreams has she ever imagined that Cordelia would feel the same way. "Really?" she grinned shyly.

Cordelia couldn't help but smile a little. She nodded, shyly and hesitantly extending a hand to Misty.

Misty stared at Cordelia's hand before shakily placing one of her own into it. She knew just by the simple touch the older witch would know how nervous she was.

Cordelia was trembling a little, too, and the soft-touch caused her to smile a little. She caressed Misty's hand with her fingertips. "I... I've been having those feelings for a while..."

Misty hesitantly sat back down to the bed, but this time a little closer to Cordelia. She could tell the woman was just as nervous as she was. "R-really?" she asked.

Cordelia nodded, shyly snuggling closer to Misty as she held her hand a little firmer.

Misty bit her lip before moving again so she was sitting beside Cordelia against the headboard. "So..." she chuckled nervously. "What's this mean?" her hand nervously caressed Cordelia's.

Cordelia was so nervous she kept fingers a little stiff. "I... I don't know..." she gulped. "Um... should we go out still?" she was panicking.

Misty smiled softly. "If ya still want to. If ya don't, I understand. We can go to the greenhouse and talk." She offered softly.

"I think... I think it'd be great to go out. Yeah." Cordelia took a deep breath.

Misty smiled softly. "Would you like me to help you pick something out?" She asked.

Cordelia nodded. "You... you're not ashamed of going o-out with me?"

Misty furrowed her brows as she shook her head. "Not at all, why would I be, Miss Cordelia?" she asked.

Cordelia shrugged. "It's me... most girls here are..."

Misty still didn't understand. Her hand gently squeezed Cordelia's. "Well, I dunno 'bout the other girls, but I ain't ashamed to be seen with ya... I like ya a lot, Miss Cordelia." She said as her thumb ran over the woman's knuckles.

Cordelia felt so miserable. She sniffed back a few tears before letting her head rest on Misty's shoulders. She felt so safe. "I like you, too, Misty." With trembling lips, she kissed what she could reach of Misty's neck.

Misty felt her heart wanting to leap out from her chest. The kiss sent a wave of new butterflies through her stomach. She took in a shaky breath before turning her head. She used her free hand to softly and gently cup Cordelia's cheek. Her thumb slowly ran over the part of the woman's cheek that wasn't injured from the acid. She was mindful of the small things. Gently, and almost hesitantly, she pressed her lips to Cordelia's in a soft kiss.

As her cheek was cupped, Cordelia felt what was coming. She reminded herself not to squeeze Misty's hand and, before she could even process what was going on, there was a pair of desired, dreamed of lips were against her own. She kissed Misty back just as softly, letting out a breath in satisfaction.

Misty didn't stay there long, she worried about kissing Cordelia too much that it would overwhelm the both of them. She pulled away gently, noses touching still. There was a wide smile on her face.

As they pulled away, Cordelia bit her lower lip. She held back a giggle as she smiled brightly to herself. Slowly, her hands moved to cup both of Misty's cheeks. "I wish I could see you," she said softly.

Misty couldn't help but smile when she saw the smile on Cordelia's lips. Her smile turned sad when she heard the woman's words. "Me too... I wish I could give ya my eyes."

Smiling sadly, Cordelia began to softly explore Misty Day's face. Her fingers passed on her cheeks, forehead, eyebrows, lips... she sighed. "Isn't it stupid?" she said softly. "How we can literally go to Hell and back but can't help cure diseases or disabilities?"

Misty closed her eyes for a moment. "Ya never know... I-I've looked in some books that I thought could help. I ain't found nothin' yet, but I ain't givin' up." She said.

Cordelia offered a small smile. "Thank you," she said softly, yet her voice carried all the sincerity in the world. "We should... get going?" Cordelia wasn't sure if going out was the best idea, but now she was full of butterflies in her stomach and she wouldn't miss the chance to stay close to Misty Day. Close in a way she didn't think she'd ever been able to actually be.

Misty nodded softly. "Yeah, I have a place or two in mind. Let's get ya up and ready." She said before happily slipping off the bed. She was excited and nervous to see where the day was headed.

Cordelia stepped out as well. She instantly reached for the wall. Her nightgown was a simple black and short. "Okay... c-can you get me a skirt? It can be the long, black one."

Misty tried to pry her eyes away from Cordelia's body. She hadn't seen the woman in anything less than her usual day/work clothes. "Y-yes," she said before walking toward the wardrobe. "Uh, wh-which skirt?" She asked as she tried to calm down.

Cordelia heard the way Misty Day's voice trembled. She sucked on her lower lip. "Um... the black, l-long one."

Misty nodded before grabbing the two items of clothing. "Should I set them on your bed, o-or do ya need help? I can help if ya need me to." She said as she calmed down a little, finally.

Cordelia felt herself getting nervous once again. She gulped. "I... I need some help... I tend to lose m-my balance..."

Misty nodded softly as she set the two items on the bed. She walked closer to Cordelia, softly taking her hands. "That's fine. I can help ya. I really don't mind." She smiled softly.

Cordelia hesitantly wrapped her hands around Misty's, seeing no thoughts this time, but Misty's sight. She gasped.

"What is it?" Misty asked worriedly. She softly caressed Cordelia's hands.

Cordelia smiled brightly. "I can see what you see." She saw herself. The scars were so rough against her pale face. Her smile soon vanished, and she pulled a hand away to touch her face. The image in her head disappeared. She quickly grabbed Misty's hand again.

Misty smiled sadly when she saw Cordelia's reaction. Her free hand moved to cup one of the woman's cheeks. "Ya still so beautiful, Miss Cordelia. I mean, I don't really know what ya looked like before, but you're gorgeous." She said.

Cordelia gulped back a knot in her throat. She felt her eyes getting teary. "I k-know I'm not really beautiful... I never was. B-but this is hard... and so s-shallow," she laughed bitterly at herself, trying to enjoy the touch on her cheek.

Misty's brows furrowed. "Delia, what are ya talkin' about? Of course, ya gorgeous... I mean, ya stunnin' really. Even with these scars. They don't make ya any less then ya are."

Cordelia looked down. She shook her head, taking a shaky, deep breath. "I-it's fine..."

Misty frowned as she caressed Cordelia's have and cheek. "It ain't though, Miss Cordelia. If ya can see through my eyes, I hope ya can see that I see ya like an angel sent from the heavens above." She said.

This time, Cordelia blushed a little. She saw herself, smiling all dumbly. "Can I kiss you again?" she asked dimly.

"Ya ain't gotta ask me, Delia." Misty grinned before lifting Cordelia head softly, just enough so that she could softly press her lips to plump, pink ones.

Cordelia let out a giggle before it was stopped by Misty's lips. She hummed lightly, lowly, as she moved to caress the small of Misty's back.

Misty smiled softly against Cordelia's lips as she kissed her a little harder than the times before. She kept the kisses gentle and light though, she didn't want to take this too fast.

It had been so long Cordelia had been kissed like that. She took a deep, shaky breath before hesitantly pulling away. Her heart was racing. Her stomach was twirling around.

Misty looked at Cordelia with curious eyes because of her reaction. "Ya okay?" she asked softly.

Cordelia nodded with a small smile. "Yes," she breathed out. "H-help me with the skirt?"

Misty nodded softly. "Course," she said before pulling her hands away from Cordelia's face and hand. She grabbed the skirt from off the bed, walked closer to Cordelia, and held it open. "I'm right in front of ya, hold onto my shoulders." She said.

Gulping loudly, Cordelia felt herself sweating. Hesitantly, she tapped around to find Misty, first feeling her curls and then eventually falling down to her shoulders. God, they were muscular. Once she stabilized herself, she shyly raised a leg up.

Misty smiled softly before moving the skirt so that Cordelia could slip a leg inside. "There ya go," she said softly.

Cordelia felt so useless. She stepped down and lifted the other leg up, biting her lower lip harshly.

Misty was staring down at Cordelia's legs and hadn't noticed the woman's look. She helped her step into the skirt before slowly pulling it up her thighs to rest on her hips. "There ya go," she said.

Cordelia gulped back a knot in her throat. "T-thank you, Misty." She offered a small, weak smile. "Can I hold your hands so I can choose a shirt?"

Misty nodded with a small smile. "Course, ya can. I already grabbed ya one, but ya can tell me if ya like it." She said softly as she softly took Cordelia's hand in her own. She looked at the shirt that was already laid out on the bed, it was a long-sleeved blouse with flowers on it. It was a favorite of her, she thought it just looked absolutely beautiful on Cordelia.

Cordelia nodded as she subconsciously squeezed Misty's hands. It was just so good, to see colors and patterns again. She had missed her room. A smile touched her lips. "I love this one..."

Misty smiled brightly as she squeezed Cordelia's hand back. "I was hopin' ya would. I like seein' ya in flowers." She said softly.

Cordelia couldn't help but feel her cheeks tinting. "Really?"

Misty smiled as she looked at Cordelia. "Yeah, they suit ya. They look pretty on ya, not that ya need help lookin' pretty, or nothin' like that, I just—they look nice."

Now, Cordelia could see herself. She saw the way she was smiling and the way her cheeks tinted more and more. She chuckled and looked down. "Thank you. So do you... in anything."

Misty blushed as well, looking down at her boots. "Thank ya, really... do ya need help with ya shirt too?" she asked.

Cordelia blushed even more. "Mhm..."

Misty nodded softly as she let go of Cordelia's hand so she could grab the shirt. "Alrighty, oh, we gotta get this nighty off first." She said without thinking.

Oh boy. Cordelia blushed all over once again and even more. She nodded. "I-I need a bra..."

Misty nodded softly. "Alright, I can get that for ya, too. Are ya bras in ya dresser?" She asked.

Cordelia nodded quietly.

Misty smiled sadly. "Hey, what's wrong?" she asked as her hand went to grab Cordelia's again.

She was nervous. Very. And embarrassed. That wasn't how she wanted their confession of feelings to go like. "Nothing," she gulped. "Um, the black, cotton bra works..."

Misty nodded softly. She squeezed Cordelia's hand once more before letting go. She walked over to the dressed and grabbed the only black bra there was in the top drawer. "Okay, I got it." She said as she walked back. She couldn't help but feel nervous.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cordelia had to take her clothes off. She was bare underneath the nightgown, apart from the skirt she had just put on. Hesitantly, she began taking her gown off, exposing her bare breasts and stomach.

Misty kept her eyes on Cordelia's face. She couldn't let herself see her teacher, her mentor, her crush in such a venerable state. "Can ya, uh, hold up your hands so I can get the straps on ya, 'nd then turn to I can hook it?" she asked softly.

Cordelia felt the chilly breeze on her exposed skin. She nodded and extended her arms, looking down in shame even if she couldn't see anything.

Misty frowned when Cordelia looked away from her. "What's the matter?" She asked in a soft tone as she slipped on the woman's bra.

Cordelia shook her head as she gulped, continuing to face the floor.

Misty furrowed her brows as she frowned. "Miss Cordelia, ya can talk to me, ya know?" she asked before softly motioning for Cordelia to turn by lightly turning her at the hips.

The hands on her hips were strong, warm. Cordelia liked it. She turned, nodding quietly. "I'm j-just not used to depending on others... it makes me feel even more useless."

Misty frowned even more. She pulled her hands away, so she was able to hook Cordelia's bra together in the back. "Ya ain't worthless, Miss Cordelia." She said before pulling her hands away again. It was hard for her to believe Cordelia felt so bad about herself. "At all. And needin' help from someone doesn't make ya worthless. It just means ya needed some help. There ain't nothing wrong with that, like at all." She explained before urging the older woman to turn around again.

Cordelia was tired of crying so much. She saw how her face looked, and how her eyes were so blotchy even, so they were all scarred. Turning once again, she sighed quietly. "I believe I'm not in a very good mental space right now." She said quietly, covering herself with her arms. Cordelia was a crier, but the way she had been sobbing lately wasn't typical.

Misty frowned even more than before. She grabbed the shirt off the bed. "Can I help ya with your shirt?" She asked when she noticed Cordelia was so quick to cover herself.

"Please." Cordelia nodded. She hated herself. She hated to be in such a place. She hated how broken and fragile she looked to the outside world now. She had always been like that inside, but that was only inside.

Misty chewed on her bottom lip as she held the shirt up. "Can ya lift ya arms and I'll put it on ya?"

Cordelia nodded once again, raising her arms. "I'm sorry..."

Misty instantly shook her head. "Whatcha sayin' sorry for?" she asked as she slowly put the shirt onto Cordelia.

Cordelia shrugged. "Being a mess... I guess that's not the Cordelia you are u-used to." She chuckled bitterly. "I understand i-if... I don't k-know."

Misty's brows furrowed again as she shook her head. She tugged the shirt down to Cordelia's waist before softly taking her hands into her own. "Cordelia, ya ain't a mess. And if what?" she asked softly. Her hands ran over the backs of the other blonde's hands.

With hands back on her own, she could see herself again. But she wanted to see Misty. She allowed her fingers to tangle with Misty's. "I-if... you changed your mind..." She could see how sad she looked. How miserable.

Misty frowned again as she shook her head. "Delia, nothin's gonna change my mind about ya. I can promise ya that." She said.

Cordelia saw the way her face changed to a small smile and her stomach twisted around. Letting one of Misty's hands go, Cordelia guided it to her cheek and caressed it. She couldn't see anything anymore, but she felt the soft expanse of Misty's cheek vividly. Her thumb caressed it lovingly. "Thank you."

Misty smiled softly, brightly. "Ya welcome, but ya don't need to thank me..." she said as her now free hand went to Cordelia's cheek as well, caressing it. "Do ya wanna go out still?" She asked.

Leaning into the touch, Cordelia closed her eyes and focused on it. She nodded, and her free hand moved to pull Misty closer by the waist. She still didn't say anything.

Misty smiled softly as she walked closer, now just a mere few inches between them. "Whenever ya wanna go, just lemme know." She said softly, smiling.

Cordelia nodded. She could feel Misty's hot breath tickling her face. Caressing up her waist to her arm and neck, she cupped both of Misty Day's cheeks and caressed them, gently resting her forehead against hers. "You are one of a kind, Misty Day." She whispered lovingly.

Misty felt her cheeks burning with a soft blush as she smiled even more than before. She licked her lips that suddenly felt dry as she wrapped her free arm around Cordelia's waist. "Thank ya, Miss Cordelia. Ya are, too. I really mean that. Ya amazing, and wonderful, and gorgeous, and... I could go on forever." She chuckled shyly.

Cordelia chuckled back, stepping closer to Misty; it was impossible. She leaned closer; their lips brushed. She felt the expanse slowly, and then she closed the gap. Her stomach filled with the crazy butterflies once again.

Misty felt her breath hitch in the back of her throat as she slowly and softly pressed their lips together. The kiss was soft, light, loving even. The hand that was wrapped around the woman's waist softly caressed the small of her back.

Cordelia felt her throat getting clouded with a bubble of warmth and excitement and love and everything she hadn't felt in so long. Her lips moved softly and so, so passionately against Misty's. She wanted to stay like that forever.

Misty's lips curved upward into a smile, which in turn broke the kiss. "Sorry," she giggled shyly.

Cordelia smiled as she let out a giggle back, caressing Misty's cheeks and allowing her hands to go down to her waist, caressing her sides. "I love your laugh..."

Misty blushed even more as she looked down shyly. "I love yours, too. It's cute, like the rest of ya." She said.

Cordelia giggled a little louder this time. She smiled brightly as she bit her lower lip, and her hand slipped down to find Misty's. "Come here." She guided them to the bathroom—to what she thought was the bathroom. Cordelia was about to collapse onto the wall.

Misty was quick to pull Cordelia close to her, stopping her. "Where are ya headed? Ya almost ran into a wall, and it'd be a damn shame if ya had a bruise on that pretty face of yours." She said softly.

Cordelia gasped as she was pulled back. Misty was strong, and she was weak from being in bed so much. Her body bounced back against Misty's. "Oof—" it hurt a little. She nearly fell. "Sorry—the bathroom."

Misty's eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she realized she had been rough with Cordelia. "I-I'm the one that should be sorry. I-I didn't—I... didn't mean to hurt ya if I did..." her voice was slightly shaky as she grew nervous.

Cordelia's whole body hurt. She felt as if she had been ran over, which caused her to feel even worse for how weak she had become. "It's okay." She reached for both of Misty's hands now, caressing them as she turned to her. "It's okay," she reassured once again as she began seeing what Misty was seeing.

Misty gulped as she nodded softly. She felt the slight sting of tears starting to appear, but she quickly blinked them away as she tried to smile. "I'd never meant to hurt ya, Miss C-Cordelia."

Cordelia frowned as her vision got blurry for a second. She put two plus two together, watching herself through Misty's eyes. "Misty... are you crying?" her voice dripped with love and affection.

Misty sniffled as she looked down. "I'm tryin' not to..." she mumbled.

The sight in her mind went down. Cordelia could see their feet. Her stomach tightened. "Misty... sweetheart..." she let go of one of her hands, seeing nothing once again. Cordelia blindly reached to Misty Day's waist, caressing it. She was getting better at knowing her body already. "Sweetheart, it's okay. I know you'd never hurt me... I trust you in a way I've n-never quite trust anyone before."

Misty sniffled as she looked back up. "Really?" she asked before wiping her tears away. "Cause I know the feelin'... it's why I got so scared. I-I'd never mean to hurt ya." She said softly.

"Really." Cordelia nodded with a small smile. "Don't be scared... you radiate joy, Misty Day. Kindness, light... protection. You're as pure as a diamond, like a flower blooming in the spring. I trust you."

Misty blushed bright red as she chuckled shyly. "I dunno if I'd say all that, but thank ya, Delia... I mean it. You're all that and more to me." She said.

Cordelia blushed. "I'm glad you think so highly of me," she chuckled shyly. Her hand squeezed Misty's waist a little. It was so firm.

Misty smiled softly, shyly still. "How could I not?" she asked before softly pulling away, just enough so she could start guiding Cordelia towards the bathroom. "Alrighty, what did ya need in here?" she asked.

Cordelia chuckled and looked down, walking a little more carefully now. As she felt the floor getting colder underneath her feet, she smiled shyly. "I want to see you..."

Misty smiled shyly as she looked up at herself in the mirror. She grabbed Cordelia's hand, so she could see what she did. Her hair was in its usual messy curls, her eyeliner was smudged under her eyes from not washing it away the day before, and her freckles were a little brighter from spending so much time outside.

Cordelia instantly saw the image flashing in her mind. She squeezed Misty's hands a little before smiling, biting her lower lip. Misty was breathtaking just as she remembered, but even more so now, smiling. Cordelia was in awe.

Misty blushed as she saw the look on Cordelia's face. She smiled shyly as she looked down. "Wish I could give ya my eyes or somethin'."

Cordelia shook her head as she now saw the floor. She squeezed Misty's hands. "Don't say such a thing..."

"I just mean so ya don't feel so bad," Misty explained as she looked back up, trying to remind herself that Cordelia could see through her eyes.

Instantly, Cordelia smiled once again. She nodded, lost in the sight inside her head. She let go of one of Misty's hands to hug her from behind, quickly grabbing it once again. Her head rested on her shoulder as she now saw them both together. It looked... weirdly nice.

Misty couldn't help but smile, even more, at the action. Her free hand rested over Cordelia's that was around her waist. She felt the swarm of butterflies in her stomach kicking up again—going crazy with nervousness, but a good nervousness.

Cordelia was mesmerized. She stared at the mirror, hands caressing Misty's. Misty Day was an angel sent from above. Herself, though... she looked paler and thinner and like she hadn't slept for ages. Her hair was a mess. She sighed, although her stomach twirled with happiness.

Misty smiled softly when she saw Cordelia looking so happy. "Can I do anything for ya?" she asked softly.

Cordelia looked down. "You do... you help me as no one else can. I just wish I could help myself..."

Misty frowned softly before turning to look at Cordelia. She softly wrapped her arms around the woman. "Hey, ya can help yaself... sometimes we just need help doin' that. There ain't nothin' wrong with needin' help, ya hear me?" she asked.

Cordelia didn't see anything anymore. She kind of preferred it that way, for the subject now. The arms around herself carried a strange warmth, a strange and missed feeling of being loved. "The thing is that... sleeping is all I've been doing..."

Misty smiled sadly. "There ain't nothin' wrong with sleepin' sometimes. I used to sleep a lot when I was alone 'cause I didn't have nothin' better to do with my time." She explained.

Cordelia was still hesitant to reach and touch Misty. She caressed her waist slowly. "I'm sorry... you shouldn't have been alone for so long. I'm so glad you found us." That was, in fact, the best thing that had happened to Cordelia in ages.

Misty smiled sadly. "It's okay... I feel like I've found what I've always been searchin' for." She said softly. She didn't want to admit, just yet, that it was Cordelia she was talking about. She didn't want to scare her away, but the woman brought her a feeling of safety she had never felt before.

Cordelia smiled softly. "Me too." She, as well, didn't want to admit she didn't think she had felt that way in a long, long time. "Do you mind helping me with my hair...?"

Misty smiled as well as she softly shook her head. "Not at all, Miss Cordelia. What do ya want me to do? I can just brush it, or I can style it. I mean, I ain't that great at doin' hair... mine's a rat's nest, but I know a few things." She chuckled nervously.

Letting out a chuckle, Cordelia shook her head. "I love your hair. And just brush it is perfect. Thank you, Misty."

Misty blushed as she smiled softly. "Really?" she asked as she pulled away slightly. She saw the bench in front of the sink and pulled it out and guided Cordelia to it. "Sit here," she said.

As Misty pulled away, Cordelia played weirdly with her hands. Now that she had "seen" again, being in the dark felt scary. As she walked with Misty, though, she could see the bench, so she followed and sit there. "Thank you, lo... l-love?" her voice cane softly, shyly. She hadn't done that in a while.

Misty's lips curled upward into a shy smile. She let out a nervous giggle. "Ya can call me that if ya want, I don't really mind it. I wasn't sure if I should keep callin' ya Miss Cordelia or not." She said explained as she grabbed the brush off the counter.

Giggling nervously as well, Cordelia looked down. "Miss Cordelia is uptight..."

Misty bit her lip as she lightly took some of Cordelia's hair into her hand to start gently brushing out the ends. "I know... I just ain't real sure what to call ya."

The fingertips on her hair worked so gently. Cordelia hummed lowly. "Have you ever called a loved one something before?"

Misty shook her head softly. "No, not really." She said shyly. She ran the brush through the ends of Cordelia's hair, slowly working her way up to keep in mind of not hurting her or brushing through the tangles she came across.

Cordelia leaned back softly, subconsciously. "What's your favorite flower?"

Misty hummed softly as she kept brushing and running her fingers through Cordelia's hair. "Either lavenders or sunflowers... what are yours?" she asked.

"White roses," Cordelia smiled to herself. And then she chuckled bitterly. "Hank always got me red ones..."

Misty smiled sadly. "Red roses are so borin'. White roses are always better. They're for purity, innocence, and new love." She said with a smile.

Cordelia bit her lip as she smiled softly. "I agree. They, um," she blushed. "They kinda match us."

Misty smiled shyly as she ran her fingers through Cordelia's now brushed out hair. "Ya think so?"

Cordelia nodded. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She hadn't felt this happy and this excited for life in a while.

Misty couldn't help but smile even more when she saw how genuinely happy Cordelia seemed. It warmed her heart. "Would ya like to eat while we're out? Or do ya just wanna eat somethin' here?" she asked as she set the brush onto the counter.

Cordelia was embarrassed to eat out. To go out, in general. But she thought she was even more embarrassed to be seen by the girls. Which was absolutely stupid, but she couldn't help it. "Hm... out, I suppose..."

Misty could notice the conflict on Cordelia's face. She gently took one of her hands and caressed it softly. "It's really up to ya... we could even grab somethin' and go eat somewhere else. The flower shop I wanna take ya to has some seats and benches outside. We could eat there." She suggested.

The hand on hers always felt so warm and welcoming. Cordelia could see again. She saw herself in the mirror. Misty's eyes were always on her. It made her blush and tingle all over with happiness. "That sounds very sweet..."

Misty smiled brightly. "I think so too! What would ya like to eat? We can have anythin'. I could even make us somethin'." She suggested.

Cordelia giggled once again. It was impossible not to, with Misty being so cute and with all the butterflies in her stomach. "What's your favorite food?"

"Strawberries and chocolate, but that ain't really a meal." Misty chuckled shyly. "What's yours?"

Cordelia chuckled. Her insides were full of love. "I don't really know... oatmeal?"

Misty smiled softly as she chuckled. "Oh, come on, everyone's got somethin' they love. Their guilty pleasure food." She said as she caressed Cordelia's hand more with a bright smile. Her stomach swirled with happy butterflies.

Cordelia laughed, twirling their fingers together. "It used to be you..."

Misty blushed as she looked down. "I'm ya guilty pleasure?" She asked.

"Yeah..." Cordelia blushed fiercely. "You know... you like it, but you can't tell."

Misty bit her lip as she nodded. "I know exactly whatcha mean." She said softly.

Cordelia bit her lip as well, caressing Misty's hand still. "So... what about we buy some bagels and some strawberries and chocolate?"

Misty smiled brightly again. "How'd ya know I loved bagels?" she asked.

"You eat one every morning," Cordelia answered simply, lovingly.

Misty smiled as she played with the ring that was on Cordelia's finger. She chuckled. "That's true, ya know me so well, darlin'." She said, hoping the pet name wouldn't be too much.

Darling. Cordelia almost squealed. "I... pay attention, that's all."

Misty smiled shyly. "I try to, but sometimes I get too wrapped up in my own thoughts." She said softly.

"That's sweet," Cordelia smiled to herself, still playing with Misty's fingers. They were strong but still soft. It was perfect. Everything about Misty was perfect. She wanted to kiss her again, but she was scared of being too much.

Misty smiled softly. "Wanna get goin'?" She asked softly as she caressed Cordelia's hand again.

Cordelia nodded. "Yes, please. Do you... um, shoes..."

"Oh, right!" Misty said before slowly pulling her hand away. "Which pair would ya like?" she asked.

"Black flats, please." Cordelia smiled shyly.

Misty found them near the bathroom door. She brought them back into the bathroom and knelt down to the floor. "I'm right here." She said before slowly lifting the woman's foot to slip the shoe on.

Cordelia hated it so much. She liked being independent, she wasn't used to counting on other people. Shyly, she allowed her foot to slip into the shoe. "Thank you," she said once again.

"Ya ain't gotta thank me," Misty said softly as she helped Cordelia into the next shoe.

"Still..." Cordelia settled her feet and hesitantly began to get up.

Misty got up from the floor and gently took one of Cordelia's hands again. "It's okay, really. I don't mind helpin' ya if ya need me to." She explained as she guided Cordelia back toward the bedroom.

Now holding Misty's hands again, Cordelia could see. She followed Misty, nodding softly. "This is the best I've looked in ages," she chuckled.

Misty smiled sadly. "Ya always look amazin'. What are ya talkin' about?" She asked.

"You're such a sweet thing, aren't you?" Cordelia couldn't actually believe Misty thought those things about her.

Misty chuckled shyly as she looked down. "That's ya." She said.

Cordelia laughed as she shook her head. "Shall we?"

Misty smiled brightly. "Yes, we shall." She said before guiding Cordelia toward the door.

Cordelia followed with Misty, nervousness crawling in her stomach. Being out after so long felt very weird.

Misty could sense Cordelia's nervousness. "Hey, it's okay. Ya got nothin' to be nervous about." She said.

Except, she did. She had to deal with being blind, with receiving pitiful stares and, now, with stares about her new, if she could call it like that already, relationship with Misty. She nodded, though, lacing their fingers together. I do love her in a way.

Misty frowned when Cordelia didn't say anything. She stopped just before the stairs and gently caressed the woman's hand. "Please talk to me."

Cordelia saw herself once again. She looked so distressed, so pathetic... her head hesitantly looked up to Misty. "I'm just nervous," she said softly.

Misty frowned even more. Her free hand came up to softly caress Cordelia's cheek. "Ya ain't gotta be nervous. I promise. If anyone says or does anything I'll slap 'em for ya, okay?" She joked, hoping to lighten the mood and lift Cordelia a little.

Usually, Cordelia would have given a moral speech to Misty. But that wasn't usually. She chuckled lovingly. "Thank you, Misty." Her free hand caressed Misty's waist, and she leaned closer to kiss her lips until...

35 notes · View notes

vanosslirious · 5 years

Text

BBS FIC: Supermarket

Okay. This is a bit weird because it switches between character pov’s quite quickly. I had this idea when I went shopping with my mother, and I have social anxiety, agoraphobia. I don’t like when people touch me. So I added that into this story with a bit of superpowers mixed into it. :)

[wc] 1.6k

[CH] Vanoss, Nogla, Delirious, Wildcat, Brian. (Mention of Marcel, Scotty, and Brock.)

[warning] Social anxiety. Superpower fic. Mild swearing. Friendship fic. :) Short pov’s. Not edited all that much. Humor.

VANOSS.

This didn’t happen all the time. He trusted that it didn’t, and because it sometimes occurred, he needed or at least wanted someone to be with him in case he does something he can’t control. At first he was a little freaked out over it, but as he grew into it, he started to get used to the process.

At least he thought he could until he found himself lost inside a supermarket. It’s not the first time Evan’s gotten distracted by something, but normally his friends would tell him when they were leaving him. One thing led to another, and he was standing by himself in an aisle, holding a carton of strawberries, a chocolate bar, and a pair of socks he’s been meaning to buy for some time.

“Well, shit,” he said to himself, glancing around. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but he had to place the items down on a shelf so he could phone one of his friends. Three of them had come into the store with him, they also needed to grab something quickly, but damn...they could at least tell him.

He can handle being alone, but he also suffers from a bit of social anxiety. His skin tingles when he’s near strangers, even if they don’t look at him. Their presence itself bothers him to the point he becomes dizzy and sick.

He stared at the red strawberries just so he can focus on something while hoping one of his friends would answer the phone. No one answered.

“You idiots have phones,” he said, calling the driver who’s sitting outside in the car.

He picked up on the second ring and answered in a drawl. “What?”

“Nogla, I’m by myself.”

“Shit,” he said, suddenly his drawl was gone and he was now speaking in a surprised, yet concerned voice that Evan was easily familiar with. If anything, Nogla worried a lot about their friends more than most. “Where the fuck are the others?”

“I don’t know.” He began to pace, ignoring the awkward glances he was getting from a few people, then he stopped in the middle of the aisle, letting out a groan from the back of his throat that squeezed between his teeth. “Nogla…I can feel it.”

“Yeah, I’m coming, just calm down, no need to get anxious, Evan, I’ll be right there.”

“Hurry.”

DAITHI DE NOGLA.

Nogla locked the doors to the car and was sprinting across the parking lot. He had no idea why he decided to park so far away. It was kind of stupid, but right now, that isn’t the point. Evan needed him, and those fucking bastards had abandoned him.

“I’m almost to the front doors,” he said into the phone. He sprinted across the street, ignoring a drawn out car horn going off as he passed the automatic doors.

This usually doesn’t happen, but when it does, they can handle it quite well.

Nogla seen it before, and maybe he watched movies where it looked soft compared to what Evan can do, to the damage he can inflict without realization. An impossibility sinking into every little object within the space he stands in. This was not like the movies, this was real, he breathed life into something that he can hardly control, and the only time he’s able to control it is when his friends are around him.

“Shit,” he said, already sprinting down one of the aisles. “Evan,” he said into the phone, “where are you?”

“I’m...I’m…”

“Evan!”

Nogla spotted Delirious’ holding a t-shirt in the men’s aisle, his head is tilted up, and the shock of what is happening seems to sink in as he lets go of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, then he’s running as quickly as Nogla is.

“You fucking idiot,” Nogla says as he catches up.

“Wildcat had him covered,” Delirious says almost frantically.

“Then where the fuck is he?” Nogla yelled.

To the many shock of all the people who are inside the super market, and most who are running for the doors, while several are taking pictures, and wondering what the fuck is going on.

This usually doesn’t happen, but it’s an off day.

H2ODELIRIOUS

Mostly everything is rising, rising, rising. A sort of suspension that shouldn’t be possible.

Delirious knows it’s possible because they tested it with Evan before when they learned he could do it. However, one of his many triggers, and the one that usually makes this happen, is social anxiety. The fear of strangers, or at least the uncomfortable feeling that comes from being alone in an uncomfortable place without people he’s familiar with.

Delirious gets it, he hates it as much as Evan does, but it’s not like Delirious starts making anything and everything start rising into the air. At first the really light objects, then the heavier ones that start to inch off the floor. Metal creak and groan against one another, things that should’ve landed on the ground because of the movement are also floating.

This kind of reaction shouldn’t be happening...but it is...and Delirious feels really responsible because he should’ve stayed with Evan, knowing this could inevitably happen.

“We’re close,” Nogla says, then he’s skidding, Delirious going with him, and they slow their pace where they spot Evan holding a carton of strawberries he didn’t want to float away, including his chocolate bar, and a pair of white Adidas socks.

His shoulders tense, visibly shaking, and staring hard at the floor. Was he aware of what he was doing? They asked him this before, and he had said he could feel the shift in the air, as if it was humming, a strange yet subtle vibration in his skin. He’s not sure how much he can control, and he’s always surprised that it’s more than he thought it’d be.

“Evan,” Delirious called.

He looked up, and his eyes are wide, a look of fear as he noticed that mostly everything inside the store was now floating around him. Delirious would sometimes like to exaggerate, but when he says everything, he means everything. Besides humans, for some reason, they’re last by a few seconds, but they usually get to Evan before that happens.

“You’re okay,” Nogla says in a calming voice as they close in on him.

Evan nods, “I didn’t mean too...I swear, I just wanted my strawberries, chocolate bar, and my socks.” He’s showing them what he has, and smiles sheepishly, as if he’s trying his hardest not to notice what is happening.

And then the silence and calm breaks around them when they hear screaming coming from one of the aisles.

I AM WILDCAT

Tyler hardly meant for it to happen, he just noticed everything rising before grabbing Brian’s arm and dragging him back along the aisles, hoping to find Evan.

“This is why we don’t leave him alone,” Brian says, shaking his head. “We might as well leave him in the car with Nogla.”

“He wanted something, so he came in with us,” Tyler says, although he agreed with Brian about their incompetent decision at leaving him alone. At least he thought maybe Evan would be okay, but they’ll need to work on the anxiety a bit more, and maybe the floating as well. The only good thing about this was that everything heavy was about two inches off the ground, and lighter stuff was high above them, which is about to make a huge mess when they find Evan.

Tyler gasped when everything around them began to fall for a split second. Only a second, and then it was suspended. Brian screamed, which made Tyler scream, and they were running, and that was when they came around the corner to find Evan, Nogla, and Delirious.

And it was also when everything inside the store began to fall to gravity.

“We have to go,” Tyler said, grasping Evan’s wrist as they all started walking towards the door while screaming filled the supermarket.

“But I didn’t buy my stuff,” Evan said.

“No one cares, they all have better shit to do,” Nogla told him.

“How are you, by the way?” Brian asked.

“Alright, I guess,” Evan replied as they walked past the threshold and into the parking lot while strangers wandered past.

This only made Evan gasp, and because of his anxiety of being touched by random people who weren’t his friends, he accidentally made a car rise.

“Ignore the floating car,” Nogla chanted, pushing against Brian and Evan’s shoulders while Delirious quickly walked by.

Once they got to Nogla’s car and they were all sitting inside, Tyler taking a second to adjust to what happened as he sat in the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry?” Evan said.

Brian shook his head, “No, it’s not your fault, Evan.”

“We still have a lot to work on, but I actually think you did better than normally,” Tyler said, glancing back at him.

“Really?” Evan perked up while holding his stolen items.

“Yeah,” Nogla said in an almost sarcastic tone while starting up the car, “at least this time you didn’t destroy the infrastructure, and shattered the glass in the milk section—”

“Including the milk, eggs, yogurt,” Brian added.

“The blood in the meat section, and all the cans in one of the aisles,” Delirious said, staring up at the ceiling of the car.

“Fruit in the fruit and vegetable section,” Tyler mused, finding his friends were right about Evan’s progress. “You did a lot better. We still have more time to figure out your powers, and maybe we can even help solve that social anxiety of yours.”

“I mean, if you guys didn’t leave me, then it wouldn’t have happened,” Evan muttered while ripping the plastic and biting a piece off his chocolate bar.

“Next time we should bring Marcel, Scotty, and Brock,” Tyler said.

Nogla nodded as he drove them away from the supermarket.

#my work #banana bus squad #bbs #bbs fic #vanossgaming #h2odelirious #daithi de nogla #i am wildcat #the gaming terroriser #brian michael hanby #fanfiction #fanfic #text #words #its self indulgent because of my social anxiety

17 notes · View notes

lamourche · 6 years

Text

We Float | JHS

Pairing: Hoseok/Reader

Genre/au: Massage Therapist Hoseok

Tags: Agoraphobia, Sad Backstories, Angst with Happy Ending, Freeformish, y/n discusses an emotionally abusive relationship she was in before the story starts, hopefully not as depressing as these tags make it seem.

Words: 9791

a/n: Last year I was listening to too much PJ Harvey and wrote this fic. It is a little self-indulgent but what ff isn’t?

Summary:

Might as well get this over with. You sigh and raise your hand to knock, steeling yourself for patchouli and shell necklaces. The door opens. A face peers out at you. There’s no beard, no long shaggy hair. For a moment, you wish he did walk around shirtless. He’s handsome. He’s taller than you, with brown hair that almost falls into his eyes and undercut on the sides. Warm brown eyes and a cute nose. It’s fucking cute his nose. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and white crocs. Well, that’s better. He’s still handsome and his kind eyes make you want to confess some prior sin, but it’s easy to scowl at a guy in white crocs.

Big Exit

You shiver, raising your eyes to the darkening summer sky. The afternoon heat no longer lingers after work.

Hitching your massive bag laden with your ancient laptop and your study guides higher on your shoulder, a sharp, sudden pain spreads from the base of your skull to your shoulder-blades. You grind your teeth to stop yourself from making a sound like a dying pig.

If this doesn’t work, you are royally fucked.

You walk down the uneven cement steps leading from the sidewalk to the basement apartment.

Of course, this guy, a massage therapist who works out of his home, has potted plants surrounding the front door. Each looks carefully tended as if small birds land at sunrise for an early morning chit-chat. Of course there are vines grasping at the brick wall. They strive for what little sunlight reaches the narrow entry. Of course soothing music floats out the open window covered by a shear, purple-ish scarf.

This guy probably has a beard and walks around shirtless. He's going to talk at you about auras and chakras.

As if to scold you for your unkind thoughts, your neck seizes. Cursing under your breath, you reach the door. You just stand there, not knocking.

The problem is, the doctor is talking about surgery—expensive, many weeks of recovery with no paycheck—surgery. The muscle relaxants are so tempting and the pharmacy so willing to call your doctor for a refill (which she permits again and again), that you know it’s time to give them up. They work too well. They leave you too content in your tiny pre-furnished apartment by the freeway with your suitcases still packed, as if there were someplace else to go.

You spend those evenings in a daze watching dramas on your phone. The next thing you know the sun’s gone down, and you haven’t eaten. You can’t fall asleep, either. No longer in pain but unable to turn off the thoughts that wander and float in your brain, like the cars that whoosh past. You don’t even mind that you can’t sleep, you’re too content to just exist without excruciating pain. In the morning, too many cups of coffee do little to revive you.

It doesn’t bother you, is the problem. The fact that you can’t always remember where you left your wallet or if you left your apartment unlocked. You’re too content to exist in a fog.

So, a weekly massage in a basement apartment with a guy that probably calls everyone "buddy" and likes to talk about how Burning Man has become too corporate is worth it, right? It’s worth not having surgery. It’s worth not taking the pills.

Might as well get this over with. You sigh and raise your hand to knock, steeling yourself for patchouli and shell necklaces.

The door opens.

A face peers out at you. There is no beard, no long shaggy hair. For a moment, you wish he did walk around shirtless. He’s handsome. He’s taller than you, with brown hair that almost falls into his eyes and undercut on the sides. Warm brown eyes and a cute nose. It’s fucking cute his nose. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and white crocs.

Well, that’s better. He’s still handsome and his kind eyes make you want to confess some prior sin, but it’s easy to scowl at a guy in white crocs.

It’s the fucking easiest, actually. This makes you feel better for some reason.

But instead of welcoming you or asking you for your sign or talking about how your aura needs work, he looks around you to the street. He gives you a tight smile.

"I’m here for the five o’clock appointment," you say, hoping to move things along. You want to get this over with.

"Can you get that for me?" He looks disgruntled, as if you are somehow blocking his way, which you kind of are, you guess.

"Seriously?" You say, before you can stop yourself. "You want me to get your that box for you?"

He stands a little taller. "Is it really that hard?"

"No, but… whatever."

You turn around, neck twinging, to walk back up the steps to pick up the brown box. He doesn’t even say thank you.

Turning back to the front door, you pause on the stoop. If it wasn’t for the surgery, if it wasn’t for waking up in constant pain or mind-numbing delirium, you would’ve left the moment you saw the purple window covering and the potted plants.

But it took two buses to get here from work, and it’s going to take another one to get home, so you might as well get it over with. You follow him through the doorway.

It’s like entering another world.

The small basement apartment is inviting with mismatched, comfortable furniture that looks cozy. Each and every thing has its place. Colorful boxes and woven baskets are tucked here and there. Bookshelves and a couch sit to the left of the door, with a kitchen beyond. A small square table squats in front of the narrow sink and counters. There’s a half refrigerator and a miniature oven. It’s a bit like a large-sized play kitchen.

On the right is a curtain behind which you can see the massage table and a small end table with a pitcher of water. Just beyond is a short corridor leading back to where the bedroom and bathroom must be.

He moves to the kitchen, pulling a kettle off the stove. "Rose hip or sage?"

You neglect to roll your eyes, so you’re proud of your maturity. "Whatever," you say, wondering how long you’re going to have to talk to this guy.

He doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow. He pours the tea, sets two mugs on the table and sits down.

"You should put down that bag before you fall over."

You drop the bag to the floor, but your body feels odd without it. As if the extra weight is needed to force your body in the unnatural position it now thinks is normal. It now thinks is living.

"How long have been in pain?"

You sit down, trying to think of an answer.

"The insurance company sent over your paperwork." He explains, continuing to sip his tea.

"About a year," you answer.

It’s been longer, but you don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to admit that the first time you took the steroids and were pain free, you cried great big sobs of relief and joy. It’s been a year since you started treating the pain. The pain began long before.

He narrows his eyes at you. You resist the urge to look down, taking refuge in a sip of tea. It tastes like boiled grass water more or less, and you try to hide your disgust.

"Likes coffee," he mutters. He busies himself with your paperwork.

You wonder what’s written in there—probably—has no one to drive her home after surgery, has no emergency contact name.

"Well, I think I can help you." He sighs, looking you up and down.

"Great, thanks. Otherwise, what am I doing here?"

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I’m not sure exactly, with that attitude."

"Can we get on with this? Some of us have real jobs and I need you to fix me up so I can do mine."

Instead of moving things along, he leans back in his chair. "I’m surprised your doctor hasn’t recommended surgery and rehab."

"She has."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"I’m not sure."

"As long as we’re on the same page."

"The rehab is helping, but I don’t want the surgery. Also, insurance is paying for you even though I don’t go for all this."

"All this," he says, voice even harder.

You wave your hand dismissively at his apartment.

"What the fu—" He slaps a hand over his mouth before.

Oh god, you just made the man with kind eyes swear at you.

"I’m sorry." He stands, pushing back his chair. "That was completely unprofessional."

You stand, wincing from the pain in your lower back. "It’s okay. I was unprofessional, too."

He huffs a laugh. "But you’re a paying customer."

"Not really, insurance, remember?" You follow him to the curtain. "You can be as mean to me as you want."

"Well, maybe we should start over. I’m Jung Hoseok. I’m a massage therapist and usually I don’t swear at people."

His smile brightens his whole face. You want to capture it, put it in your pocket for when you need it. See, you don’t even need pills for the weird thoughts.

"I’m y/n l/n." There really isn’t much more to say.

He pulls back the curtain. There is a massage table, a faded colorful rug underneath and low music playing on the stereo. Moving in an efficient, graceful manner, he lowers the thick sheet,

"I’m guessing even after the steroids and muscle relaxants you’re still fairly tense, so I won’t do anything too deep." He pauses, looking you up and down, hands on hips. "Undress to your level of comfort, but I recommend taking off your bra as it will make working on your neck and shoulders easier. It’s definitely up to you, though. Put your things on the chair over there."

You glance around.

"Just let me know when you’re ready. Take your time. It’s important to be as relaxed as possible."

He leaves shaking his head. You are certain he’s already figured out that you’ve never been relaxed, ever. Not even before this new city, new job and new life.

You undress, folding your pants and blouse neatly on the chair and hanging your suit jacket on the hook. After a battle of nerves, you take off your bra folding it and setting it under your pile of clothes. You leave your underwear on, black but nothing fancy.

As you climb on to the table, a feeling hits you so harshly, you fumble and clutch at the sheets.

It’s nothing profound. It’s nothing earthshattering. It’s perfectly ordinary, like you.

You just wish you weren’t so ugly, is the thing. You would even settle for not pretty or not that bad or not a face people forget as soon as they see it. You don’t think about your body that often, no one sees it much, not even you, really. You don’t pay much attention to it. It just gets you places and lately it just hurts. But all of sudden you dream of it, a you with glowing skin and perfect hair and bright eyes.

You wish your arms didn’t have burns from all those summers spent working in kitchens. Your fingers on your right hand have those scars from when you fell into the rotating fan droning back and forth all summer in the house where you grew up. You wish your knees and legs weren’t scarred from a childhood spent scrambling over rocks and climbing up trees and falling into haystacks, a kind of courage you can’t even remember having, you can’t even hope to reclaim. It makes you feel older than your twenty-five years. Like a patchwork cobbled together, as if you were a repaired stuffed animal with obvious stitching and a floppy ear that’s the wrong size. You wish could tear off the outer covering and reveal something new and beautiful underneath, a new you to go with your new life. You’re always a before picture, but not an after.

You sigh, shaking your head.

This guy has seen more bodies than a bartender at a strip club. He’s handsome and relaxed and probably has a girlfriend or a boyfriend who’s kind and has a nice laugh and takes him to brunch and they hold hands across the table. You sort of hate this person whoever they are.

You need to stop this foolishness. It's been so long since you talked to anyone who wasn’t a bus driver or a co-worker asking your name for the fifth time that you’re getting weirder than normal. You get under the covers, face in the cradle as instructed and wait.

"Uh, are you ready?"

"Yes, shit, sorry," you call, looking behind you.

He opens the curtain, looking down at your body, like a mechanic assessing a car that needs repairs. You might as well be the robot you feel you are. You put your face back in the cradle and squeeze your eyes shut.

"I’m guessing you don’t want any scents."

"Oh fuck no."

He huffs in quiet laughter, moving around you gracefully you imagine.

"Let’s start with some deep breaths," he says, as he lays the sheet over your body. You only met him half an hour ago, but you can already picture him looking down at you, hands on hips and shaking his head at your poor body that you have somehow let get into this state.

He starts by laying his warm hand on your back putting just enough pressure for you to feel your body respond by sinking into the table. You hate how your body responds to his instructions as if you were an instrument to be tuned. He takes a deep breath and you follow, annoyed, wondering why you didn’t just have the surgery rather than lying on this man’s table in his basement apartment. He instructs you to breathe again. You hold back a snide comment that your body knows how to breathe. It is one of the few things it’s been doing successfully on its own. This is an hour and two bus rides you will never get back. What the fuck are you doing here?

An hour later, you don’t wonder anymore.

He drags his fingertips one last time over your temples, and you stop yourself from arching back as if to chase the feeling. He pats the bed gently, one hand on either side of your face.

"All done." He says softly. He stands from the stool behind the massage table.

You open your eyes and look up at the ceiling above you. He busies himself at the counter. You hear him squeezing water from a towel and walking the length of the massage table. He places a warm towel on your feet. You don’t flinch, you don’t startle, you don’t do anything but exhale and wonder if you really knew how to breathe before you met him. You can’t remember the last time anyone touched your feet. Has anyone ever? How are you so relaxed about this?

He's giving you some thoughtful instruction, but you can’t quite follow.

Your body feels inhabited. You don’t feel like a ghost hovering just outside your body, always watching, always criticizing, always berating you for your actions. It's like a kind of reverse exorcism where instead of removing a demonic presence from your body he has instead inhabited it with an angelic one. One that is like you, but not you, because she’s not reminding you of all the fuck-ups in your life.

Your limbs don’t feel like robot arms that you have to think about. Your mind is clear. You aren’t thinking about anything. You don’t remember feeling this relaxed maybe ever. Is this what normal people feel like? If your life was a musical, you would burst into song. Jung Hoseok would dance with you around his apartment, maybe on top of the table. Goddamn, you feel better than you have in ages. For the first time in a long time you want something, you want to feel like this always.

He moves around you, talking about drinking water and taking it easy the rest of the evening. He places a hand on your thigh. It’s not intimate. He’s just reminding you that he’s there. "Take your time," he says. "Don’t get up too quickly."

You don’t speak, worried about breaking the spell. It is so fragile, and it is so newly obtained you want to cherish it like the gift it is. You want to be this person in a bubble untouched by the outside world. You don’t want obtrusive thoughts coming in and taking this from you.

Shutting the curtain closed behind him, Hoseok leaves the small area. You can hear him moving in the kitchen.

You roll onto your side slowly, feeling sad that you have to put on clothes. You blink a few times. You can do this. You can put your clothes back on and walk outside. The feeling will stay for a bit, won’t it?

Your hair is in a braid, but now strands are falling every which way. You’re sure you will look like a fool in your work clothes. As if seeing your crumpled black suit for the first time, you wonder when you ever bought such a thing. It is the ugliest fucking polyester suit you have ever seen in your life. You don’t want to put your bra back on, but you figure it is a three-block walk to your bus stop and a half hour bus ride to your apartment, so you probably need to put it on, as much as you don’t want to. You’re not even sure you could carry off not wearing a bra even in the right kind of clothes. You put on your sensible heels. You’re wondering what clothes you could wear without a bra. Is that a thing you could do? You’re about to ask Hoseok but quickly reign yourself in. The filter keeping such tight control over your thoughts has been loosened. You might really break out into song.

When you step out from beside the curtain, Hoseok doesn’t say anything, just hands you a glass of water. He looks down at you critically. "Do you want to stay for a bit?"

You shake your head. All of a sudden going home and unpacking sounds like a good idea. A little bit of work, and it would be done.

"Thank you," you say, handing him the glass of water and smiling at him. Your face feels odd with the sensation. "I haven’t felt this good in I don’t know how long."

His whole face brightens into a smile that can only be described as blinding, but in a good way. He grasps the glass of water to his chest with both hands.

"Really? I’m so glad."

"Really," you answer, moving to pick up your bag.

He looks at you critically. "Can you get a back pack or cross body bag. I’m in pain just looking at you. Why do you carry all that stuff on your back?"

You shrug. You’ve never really thought of it.

He raises his eyebrows. "Well, I guess it will give me some job security."

You move to the door. "So next week, same time same place?"

"I’ll be here," he says, smile dimming.

"Thank you, really. I just… thank you." You aren’t sure how to express exactly what it means. He smiles and nods and closes the door behind you.

The sun has set in the meantime, and the autumn chill in the air is strong, but you aren’t cold. You can’t remember the last time you weren’t cold.

That weekend you unpack all the suitcases in your apartment, even buying a few dishes and some silverware. The apartment is still ugly—with terrible corporate furniture that looks like it fell off a truck and the freeway is your only soundtrack—but you have a book on the shelf and a mug in the kitchen and its yours, whatever the hell this place is.

The Mess We're In.

So that’s how it starts, and then it continues. Every Friday you show up on his doorstep at five o’clock.

The thing is, it works. Every week you feel less like a person trapped in a robot body. You had long ago started limiting your movements, like an old woman nervous of falling. You didn’t realize the way in which your body had become encased. Every Friday, a little of the hardened shell molts. You start to think of Hoseok's apartment as a kind of magical place. A place where a little of you comes back with each visit. Your bag seems to lighten with every block that you walk from the bus stop to his small, narrow door.

You remember that you like broccoli but not peas. You remember your favorite song and listen to it over and over again, the words reverberating in your brain as you try to go about your day. You remember that you like to go to the movies. When you have a few extra dollars, you go to a Sunday matinee. Alone of course, but you’re out of your apartment. You’ve showered and put on clothes and you are existing in the world. You remember that you like bookstores. You see a copy of one of your favorite books in a store window, and you start to cry. The tears come so suddenly that passersby give you a wide arc. So you aren’t exactly normal, but you’re feeling things again. Even as odd and confusing as they are.

You don’t really talk to anyone unless it’s the barista at the coffee shop or the guy that checks out books at the library. But it’s something. Every Friday Hoseok performs some kind of magical spell and a little of you comes back, more and more the curse that you’ve been living under, is lifted.

He doesn’t talk to you when you are on the table. After the first few attempts, he quickly realizes that you don’t want to chat when he is working on you, but before and after though, that becomes much less awkward.

Hoseok knows the names of things, you realize. When you tell him you like the flowers growing in the pot on the stoop, he tells you they are crocuses. He knows the words for the parts of your body that he slowly unwinds. The words wash over you as he mutters them above you like an incantation.

You don’t know the words for anything. You know spreadsheets and data. The work is all engrossing. You like having your corner of the world organized in neat boxes. It’s satisfying to get it done, to find a problem and fix it. But at the end of the day you look up and you realize you haven’t spoken to anyone.

Now that Hoseok knows you better, he doesn’t hesitate to tell you when you are doing something incorrectly, when your posture is slumped, when your body is trying to return to its former hardened shape. He can tell how many hours of overtime you’ve worked by the way you walk down the steps to his apartment.

Sometimes on a Sunday, you take the bus to his neighborhood. You want to hate it. All the attractive people with bikes with wicker baskets and artisanal cheese and cut flowers. You go and wander like a tourist in this part of town, because your neighborhood isn’t really a neighborhood as much as it is a freeway off-ramp. The only other person who lives there without a car is the homeless guy with the shopping cart. There isn’t much to wander among. Just your apartment building and a fast food place and a church in an industrial building and a business park that looks like it houses Ponzi schemes.

You have long ago stopped pretending you aren’t looking for him. He loves all these places, you think, and his house is filled with books and flowers and fresh food. He is like the healthiest human you have ever met. You want to run into him, talk to him outside of his apartment, do something normal to prove to him you are a normal person.

You aren’t, though. You can pretend for a while but that’s all it is. One day after work you sit on the bench at the bus stop and just don’t… move. You don’t stand when your bus arrives. Before you know it three hours have gone by. So you aren’t normal yet, but you're remembering how to pretend to be a person so that’s something.

If it wasn’t for your appointments with Hoseok then your lack of human interaction would be particularly troubling. But it’s a start. A new job, a new apartment. It takes a while, doesn’t it?

Hoseok on the other hand, always has people visiting, friends arriving for dinner after your appointment.

One Friday, two months after you started, the cold weather is starting to grip the city. It is windy and raining and depressing and you just want it to be over. You want sun.

Someone is leaving Hoseok’s apartment when you arrive. The man carefully shuts the door behind him. The single bulb beside the door gives a harsh light. The blond man is tall and broad-shouldered. Wearing a dark pea coat, he looks regal almost. He is literally one of the most attractive people you have ever seen in real life. Seokjin, you think. You’ve met him before. When you had lingered drinking water after your appointment. Hoseok had been trying to think of different teas you would like and asked you questions about your particularly unhealthy diet, trying to get you to improve it.

"You pick that up for him?"

You nod. Most of his friends don’t speak to you. They look at you like you’re just a customer, and that’s the way it should be. That’s all you are.

"You’re his Friday regular?"

"Yes."

He looks at you closely, narrowing his eyes.

You feel uncertain under his gaze, as if you are being assessed, graded and falling short. "Is everything okay?"

"It’s been a year. Almost to the day."

Your confusion must show on your face.

"He hasn’t told you?"

You shake your head.

Seokjin sighs. "Be easy on him tonight. I told him to cancel, but he didn’t want to miss your appointment."

With that, Seokjin moves around you. The chill in the air is harsher now. You wish you had one of Hoseok’s thick, black parkas that hang by the door to put on. You brush your hair out of your face. The wind stings. If it was important for him to keep the appointment, then you should do your part too. You pause on the doorstep. What would you have done if he had canceled? Even if it is human interaction that you’re paying for, even if it doesn’t mean anything beyond his kindness to any client, these Friday afternoons are the only thing keeping you sane. If he had canceled, you would have been lost. You don’t know what’s going on, but you’re thankful. You wonder if he knows—that this is the only human interaction you have, and you pay for it and you know you should feel like a failure, and you also know you don’t care, because it’s helping.

You knock on the door softly.

"It’s open," he calls from the kitchen.

You enter the apartment to see him sweeping. He's wearing a worn-out t-shirt and sweats. He doesn't look bad. He never looks bad, but he looks like he just woke up—no, he looks like he hasn't slept.

A chair stands in the middle of the kitchen, the small table moved to the side. He must have just had his hair cut. It’s a little too short and it looks a little too severe on him, like a school boy on the first day of school. Suddenly you wished you knew more about him. He’s good at deflecting questions, always moving the conversation away from himself. You don’t know anything about him other than he’s a massage therapist and knows the names for plants and flowers and he has given you a gift you can’t ever repay.

You wonder if he has a boyfriend or girlfriend and, in that moment, you can’t help but be jealous of anyone who knows him, truly knows him. All the feelings you’ve tried to push down rise suddenly to the surface. Because whoever that person is, they should be here making him feel better and fussing over his hair and making him tea and giving him a hot meal. Whatever it is you imagine significant others do, that person should be here doing it. It’s clear that he isn’t himself. His expression is tense, and he doesn’t put the broom away or the small table back in the middle of the room. There are dirty dishes in the sink. You glance about. Books on the coffee table, clean towels on the couch waiting to be folded. What’s going on?

"No tea tonight," he says, in a voice that seems to be admitting defeat. You’re about to offer to make it, but the look on his face stops you. His mouth is set in a firm line.

You nod and put the package on the book shelf where he likes it.

Without another word, you move to the other room. Tonight, the familiar ritual of undressing and moving under the sheets is a comfort when everything else feels so odd. This is an alternate universe Hoseok. You wish you knew how to get your Hoseok back. You can’t be the most relaxed person in this apartment because that would mean something was terribly wrong with the universe. You still can’t touch your toes. You still take the muscle relaxants when you can’t sleep. You aren’t normal and if you are the most normal one here then something is hopelessly lost, and you can't begin to know how to get it back.

He doesn’t fuss over your sheet and ask you about your week like he usually does. He’s quiet, moving around the room without a sound so you start a little when he puts his hand on your back. He begins with the breaths, but he’s rushed and shallow.

What should you say? If only you were a person capable of the basics of human interaction, then you would know what to do, but you aren’t, so you do nothing. You lie there and try to find that center, that feeling that has never escaped you every time when you’ve been here in the past. You go through the motions, trying to relax. The fact that he doesn’t call you on it, is all you need to know that something is wrong.

You turn over at the halfway point. As usual, he starts with your hands. There is something so incredibly intimate about the way his fingers work on your palm. Last week you are pretty sure you groaned out loud. There are certainly other areas of your body more intimate, but there is something so tender and so sweet about it, it makes you ache a little.

You force your hand not to curl up and hold his, as much as you want to. It wouldn’t be appropriate, and you would never want to make him feel uncomfortable.

Hoseok pauses and for a moment you can feel his breath on your palm. It is warm and stuttering and it surprises you. Is he truly that close and you’ve never noticed?

But then you fell a small subtle splash, like a tear you think. Not like a tear, but an actual tear.

This, even you can’t ignore. You open your eyes and Hoseok is leaning against the table, slumped and sad and so involved with his thoughts he doesn’t even notice you stirring.

"Hoseok," you whisper.

He sits up suddenly, as if just remembering you are there. You gather the sheet around you as he drops your right hand. You move to sit up. "Are you okay?"

He wipes his eyes and looks at you, so sad you want to give him a hug, but you are naked under the sheet and it wouldn’t be right.

"Can I help?"

He shakes his head, wiping his eyes. "I should have canceled." He looks down at you, taking in your sheet as it gathers around your legs and covers your body. "I’m sorry, I won’t charge you." With that he stands and leaves.

Oh god, surely you could have helped him. Surely any other person on the planet would be more helpful at this moment. But you’re the only one here, so you might as well do what you can.

You dress quickly. Hopping on one foot, trying to put on your shoes and pushing back the curtain, you think, what would a normal person do. What would a character in a television show do? They go out and drink beer and eat food, don’t they?

Well, why not take a chance, without even knowing where he is in the apartment you start talking.

"Listen, are you okay? Clearly you aren’t okay, but can I help? Do you want to get some food? I don’t know what you’re going through but I could buy you a drink. I mean I never see you out of this apartment. Let’s go to a bar and you can have a drink and you can tell me what's wrong."

The entire time you're trying to put on your boots, hopping around and he's just starting at you. His back to the kitchen counter as if you had cornered him there.

"You want to go?" you ask, the question lingering.

He glances at you and the fear in his eyes is palpable. He just stares at the door and back at you.

You look at him and look at the door and back again at him.

You are the biggest fucking idiot on the planet.

"Oh god, you don’t go out do you? That’s why I get the packages and your friends bring you food and I am such an idiot."

He waves his hand. "I didn’t want you to know, which is stupid because you had to find out sometime."

"Does it take most people two months?"

"No," he admits while trying and failing to hide a tired laugh.

"I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, and your friend said—"

"What did he say?"

"Just that it was almost a year since."

"Yeah." He finally moves off the counter. He looks so tired. He looks like he is going to fall asleep right there in the kitchen.

"You should rest."

He moves in a daze. It is painful to see him this way. Not light on his feet, not smiling. You used to think his laugh was annoying and now you would give anything to have it back. He's always telling stories of funny things his friends have done and you used to hate it because you have no friends.

You realize maybe you don’t have friends because in addition to not knowing how to be a normal person, you’re kind of an asshole—so focused on your own pain, you willfully ignore anyone else’s.

He sits on the couch. You hesitate. Instead of sitting next to him you hand him the blanket and sit on the worn leather chair.

"The last time I went to restaurant there was an incident." He looks up at you, pleading with you to understand.

"Oh god, of course," you say. It was before you moved here, but it was in all the papers. You open your mouth to ask questions, but what is there to ask. You can’t help him, and you can’t know what he's going through. Even if you were better at any of this, you can’t fix people. If you have only learned one lesson in life, it's that you can’t fix other people.

"It started slowly. I didn’t want to be in crowds and then I didn’t want to be at work. I've always had clients here, and it just became easier not to leave. I had a panic attack in a movie theater a few months after. After that, I never really left the apartment. It wasn’t a choice really, not a conscious one anyway. It just became my life.

"It was easy to switch my practice to my apartment. It happened slowly. A switch got flipped and I can’t flip it back." He looks at you. "You’re the first friend I’ve made since it happened. I used to have a lot more friends."

"I’m pretty sure you have a lot of friends. I mean, I’m sure they're still your friends even if you haven’t seen them."

He laughs.

"Can I make you some tea?"

"I won’t even make you drink some."

"Thank you."

You’re glad to busy yourself. You move the table back to its place and do the dishes while the water heats. Having watched Hoseok so many times, you know what to do. By the time you bring the pot and the cup to the coffee table, he looks as if he's going to fall asleep.

"I don’t know how to help you."

"I’m your first agoraphobe."

"You’re my first friend in a long time."

He has never asked about what brought you to this city for a boring job where you know no one. His hands have never stuttered over the scars on your body. You wish you could thank him for that, but you don’t know how.

You bite your lip. "I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I mean, I’ve already said the wrong thing, so I guess it can’t get worse."

"You know that café on 3rd."

You know exactly the place he is thinking of. You always look for him there. "Yeah, I go there every Sunday. I pretend to do the crossword, but mostly I look a dumb stuff on my phone."

"I miss that place," he says, as he leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. "They still have the scones?"

"Yes, and they have these cinnamon rolls that make you think you can see god." Maybe there is something you can do. "Do you want me to bring you some?"

He winces. "I’m tired of friends bringing me things."

"Oh, look I’m there every Sunday morning. I won’t bring you anything, I promise, but if you ever want to join me there you can. I’m not great at human interaction though, so you're going to have to teach me how."

"I haven’t left this tiny apartment in almost a year."

"I know, but your social skills are obviously better than mine."

He laughs and puts his head on the arm of the sofa, stretching out.

"Do you want to call someone? Is there someone that can come over?"

He turns his head to look at you. "You know, you’re doing okay at this being a person thing."

You hand him his phone. He calls a friend while you do some more dishes and wipe down the counters.

Hoseok is asleep when Yoongi arrives. You’ve put on your coat. Your bag is packed at your feet. You feel like an interloper, a spy without a mission.

"You’re his Friday regular?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He looks at you accusingly as if the state of his friend is somehow your fault.

"I didn’t know."

"Jesus, how did you not know?" He shakes his head. You leave as he sits on the leather chair you just vacated, head in his hands, staring at his sleeping friend.

Winter hangs in the air. The steps up to the sidewalk seem particularly steep tonight, and you grip the railing like a mountain climber holding a fixed rope on a frozen slope.

When you get to your bus stop instead of standing under the shelter, you continue walking.

If only magic were real, you think. You’ve paid the price, certainly, to be owed some fearsome power. You’ve paid the price in scars and terrible boyfriends and missed meals and lost hours waiting for buses that never came.

But instead of something useful in exchange, the universe gave you suffocating armor that almost destroyed you before Hoseok began to dismantle it in his gentle way.

You’ve always kind of been an asshole. It helped you get out of that farm house you grew up in, and it helped you get away from a bad situation, but it would be better if you could make the world suffer for what it's done to him. It should. You would happily deal out punishments like a vengeance demon.

By the time you get home, your feet are bleeding and your body aches. You don’t know why you decided to punish yourself for the universe’s misdeed, but at least someone is paying. It just isn’t any of the people who fucking deserve to pay.

Hoseok doesn’t come to the café on Sunday. The tea you ordered gets cold, but that’s okay because tea can't really solve anything.

The next Friday he looks at you under his lashes. You don’t mention it.

Slowly the magic comes back. He’s himself again. Whatever it is that happens that makes you leave his apartment feeling like a ghost that is re-inhabiting its body, returns.

Every Sunday you order a pot of tea and a cup of coffee and he never comes, and you never mention it.

Beautiful Feeling

Spring is about to break but winter is holding on.

You drink tea on this Friday night, because there is a first time for everything. Hoseok tells you about the meal he’s cooking tonight for his friends. He moves around the kitchen, his movements graceful and fluid.

"Did you used to dance?"

"Yes." A shadow falls over his face.

You realize you’ve done it again. "You should teach me, because I can’t dance."

"Everyone can dance."

You shake your head.

He moves the small table to the side of the kitchen.

"Come here," he says. He has that note in his voice. The one that tells you when you are slouching, or when you are lying about how late you worked.

You move toward the kitchen and step up to him, feeling once again like a fool. He puts a hand on your waist and moves you toward him. He shifts your hips as your body is once again in robot mode, and you try not to blush. He has seen almost every inch of your body more or less, but standing in his kitchen like this is surprisingly intimate.

"You need to relax."

"Do you know who are talking to?"

"I know, I know." He mutters. "I thought you had made more progress."

Oh. Your eyes glaze over as you try to keep your composure. You’re not sure why such an offhand comment hurts so much.

He takes his finger and puts it under your chin, directing your gaze to him. "I’m sorry," he says, searching your face. "Don’t look down, look at me."

There’s no music, and you are in his tiny kitchen. Instead of counting off, he does this babababa thing, and you start to slowly move with him.

You realize that he wasn’t just a dancer, he used to teach. You don’t say anything, just enjoying the look of concentration on his face. This is must be what he looks like when he is working. When you start counting under your breath, he can’t hide his smile. You spend the entire time apologizing for stepping on his toes. At a certain point he can’t hold back his laughter when you move in the entirely wrong direction. He is supporting you with a hand on your back, directing your movements and whispering encouragement between smiles. But he seems happy, you think, and that's enough for you.

At one point, he spins you around and catches you in a dip. He stares down at you with a smile. You can feel his warm breath from the exertion. You have a momentary vision of him leaning down to kiss you. You can picture it so clearly, the feeling of his lips on yours, breathing in the same air, hands gently pulling you to him.

He jerks you up and immediately drops your hand, taking a step back.

"We should get started," he says, moving to the back of the apartment where he always goes while you change.

You shake off the mood quickly. He’s right. You’ve wasted too much time already, and you try not to think of his breath on your skin or the way he smelled of vanilla while he held you in his arms. It's just been so long since you’ve been with anyone, not since you moved here. You're making a big deal out of nothing. You strip off your clothes, leaving them in a pile. You forget to tie up your hair, but you just want it to be over. You want to be back to when things were normal.

You call to tell him when you are ready, and he comes in and everything is normal. Normal, normal, normal. Before you can stop them, the thoughts float in your head. What would it be like to wake up with him, lazy morning and loose limbs? What would it feel like if he held your hand, like he really wanted to? You try to rein in your thoughts.

Then he is touching you, the familiar routine starting, and you try to distract yourself. But this time every pressure, every movement seems filled with longing. You don’t know what to do with yourself.

Your body is betraying you once again. It wants. It has come out of whatever hard shell it had been living in since leaving your old life and deciding to craft a new one with just a few hundred dollars and your bare hands. Now it wants so much. It wants to feel this warm and happy all the time. It wants to have someone touch you in a way that feels like love, like this does.

Your body is confused. It’s confused these hours with real affection, with real tenderness. It doesn’t know any better. It’s just starved. It doesn’t know not to fall in love with this feeling. It doesn’t know that you don’t get to fall in love with him. It doesn’t know that he doesn’t love you back. Your heart hates you because it isn’t real. No one as kind as him would ever fall in love with you. Now your heart and your body hate you for it. They want to be at peace. For the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, that you've felt at peace, is here. And its' not real.

By the time the massage is almost over, when he is running his fingertips over your temple, you can't help the emotions rising to the surface and the tears that fall.

When it starts you can’t stop. Hoseok pauses, he hands stuttering, confused. You bring your hand up to your mouth as if that will stop the gulping sobs that are threatening to start at any moment.

You keep your eyes twisted shut wondering when he will leave you alone to your strange humiliating episode. But he doesn’t, of course. Instead he moves around to the side of the table, calling your name softly. He doesn’t say to stop or its going to be okay. He just keeps repeating over and over again that he’s here. I’m here he keeps saying and you want to push him away, but he has gathered you up in his arms. He has buried his face in your hair, and you can feel the gentle nuzzling of his cheek against your hair. It is so sweet you might die. He is sitting on the massage table, holding you in his arms. If only this could be real, you think. That’s the problem, you started wanting too much and now you can’t stop.

I’m sorry you keep saying and he keeps saying don’t be.

You open your eyes, suddenly aware of your nakedness under the sheet and the awkwardness of this position. You want to cling to him like this until he has peeled the sheet from your body and touched your skin again, but this time for real. You can’t stop the visions in your head of what it would be like to be with him.

You pull back. You need to get yourself together.

He's looking down at you, eyes intense. He bites his lip and his grip around your waist tightens. "Y/n" he breathes.

It comes out like a prayer. You're thinking that you may finally fucking get what you want, when the front door opens, and god knows how many of his friends walk in the apartment.

Hoseok screams and almost drops you, and you cling to the sheet. Oh god, nothing about this is funny or sexy. It is just incredibly humiliating. He over corrects and yelping, almost falls backwards on the floor. Thank god, the curtain is still pulled.

"What the fuck, Hoseok. You need to stop screaming." Someone calls.

"Uh, just finishing up."

"You have a client back there?".

"Uh, yeah." He lets go of you slowly as if worried that you will fall if left to your own. You nod, and he nods back. The two of you just continue to stare at each other like fools.

"I should get dressed."

"I need to make dinner."

"Cool. Good talk."

You move off the table still wrapping the sheet around you in a poor attempt at dignity and gesture for him to leave.

"Right, okay. We good?" He winces.

"Leave, Hoseok."

He moves into the other room, careful to shut the curtain behind him. You put on your clothes hopeful that nothing is backwards or out of place. What do you have to be embarrassed about, you think? You got a massage then cried like a total oddball and then he comforted you and looked like he wanted to kiss you. That’s all. Normal, normal, normal.

You push the curtain aside a little too forcefully. The hooks dangle ominously. Seven pairs of eyes stare at you and you want nothing more to get out of there.

"I’ll be going. Thank you."

Hoseok glances at you. Seokjin narrows his eyes and you don’t miss the This Is The One I Told You About glance he exchanges with the boys arrayed around the apartment. You don’t want to know if that is a good or bad thing. Hoseok wipes his hands on his apron and walks over to show you out. You’re sure your eyes are still red, and your hair is a wild, and this whole thing could not be more humiliating.

"You’ll be okay?"

"Yes."

"You’ll text me when you get home?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

Please let me go your eyes must be pleading. He seems at war with himself wanting to ask what happened.

"Are you really okay?"

"It's nothing."

He shakes his head at you, disappointed in your answer. But he can't ask you to explain, not here, not like this.

He lets you go with a final nod of his head.

This Is Love

It's Sunday, two days later. You take the bus to Hoseok's neighborhood like you always do. The routine is comforting. It's cold, but spring is trying to find its way. The sun is making its presence felt. It's trying so hard to bring warmth and heat. It will be okay, you think. He's kind, and he won't think less of you because of your mini breakdown that was probably long overdue.

Your steps take you to Hoseok's apartment. You want to make sure it hasn't disappeared like in a fairy story. Sometimes you think the buildings on the other side will have swallowed it up, and it won't have been real. You imagined the whole thing just to get you through the last six months.

Your steps falter as you cross the street in front of his apartment.

He's there.

He's sitting on the stoop, eyes closed. You can see his chest heave. His hands grip the rail as he sits on the top step as if he’s just run a marathon. There's sweat on his brow, and his muscles are tense. The sun's rays make his skin glow, as if his inner kindness made manifest.

"Oh fuck," you say. "Holy shit."

He smiles.

"You did it."

He nods, his hands don't loosen their grip. He blinks his eyes open, dazed and a little lost he looks, as if waking from a pleasant dream, so handsome and sweet. You're so proud of him you could burse.

"Do you want to join me?"

"Sure, yeah, thanks." You squeeze in next to him. It's uncomfortable and cold on the uneven step, but you could stay there for hours if he wanted.

"Come here often?" he jokes.

Oh God. "I’m not stalking you or anything weird." Your face heats. You need to improvise. "I shop at the co-op."

He laughs. "You eat a lot of artisanal cheeses?"

"I go for the artisanal mayo."

"Does that place still smell like weed and old vegetables?"

"Yes, it's so gross."

He smiles.

You don’t know what to say or do. How can you talk to him when he’s out of his apartment? "So do you have any plans the rest of the day?"

He laughs so hard his eyes water. "I haven’t left my apartment in almost a year, so I’m not sure."

Goddamn, you are such a fucking moron.

"You really are terrible at this, aren’t you?"

You nod, afraid to talk for what might come out of your mouth.

"I thought it might be me. Because I haven’t made new friends in a while, but it is really you, isn’t it?"

"It really fucking is. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t have any friends."

You can see the question on his face.

"It’s not very exciting."

"I was thinking maybe you were an assassin on the run from the government." He bites his lip. "What happened to you?"

"It's incredibly ordinary."

"Not a princess with amnesia?"

"No, but how would I know?'

He laughs. "Not in witness protection?"

You smile and shake your head. "How much have you thought about this?"

"I've thought about this a lot. You're pretty mysterious."

"I guess being angry and uncommunicative has its perks."

He removes a hand from the handrail, slowly carefully, his elegant fingers moving to clasp your hands, and it is so sweet and so intimate to be with him like this, squished on the step. It is the first time he's touched you in a deliberate way, a way like he wants to.

"Tell me."

You take a deep breath. You aren’t sure how to say it. You’ve never put it into words. "I was in a relationship. Everyone told me how lucky I was, everyone told me how I should be grateful. 'He wants to be with you even though you're not pretty, even though you say those odd things.' Everyone said it."

Hoseok shakes his head and grips your hand tighter.

"I was grateful. I was so grateful I didn't notice when it was easier to have him decide where we went and what we ate and what we should do. I was grateful and quiet. Then it stopped hurting when he told me I was dumb or when he laughed at me for wearing the wrong thing. I thought this was progress, you know, that it didn't hurt. But then it all stopped, all the feelings. I was suffocating."

Telling the story now, it feels like a story that happened to someone else. First the first time maybe ever, you think, I survived, not why didn't I leave sooner.

"One day after work I came home and with the last of my energy, I packed my suitcase. I got on a bus and I came here and I found a job and a place to live."

"You're very brave," he says, solemnly. It is a relief to hear him say it, and you are starting to believe it too.

"The thing is, I thought it was over. I thought I had won, but there were still ghosts to battle, you know."

He wipes the tears from your cheeks. "Do you think we could hang out sometime and not cry?"

"It’s because of you, you know."

"What?" he asks.

"I’ve never even said, thank you."

"You say thank you every week." He says, gently scolding.

"But not for the real reason, not for the way I’m slowly becoming a person again."

"I haven’t said it either."

You look up at him. "What could you have to thank me for?"

"Everyone has been really nice to me since everything happened." He shrugged. "But you… weren't. You’re the first person who didn't know, who didn't treat me like I'm dying of a nameless disease. It was obvious you had been through some kind of war and survived, and every week you were just yourself, and it was wonderful. I mean, you're the first person I got annoyed with since this whole thing happened. You really need to take better care of yourself."

"I'm socially inept and kind of an asshole, so we've got that going for us."

He laughs. "I think I should tell you, I have a crush on you."

"Oh, thank god." You cringe. "I mean, me too. I'm terrible at this."

He laughs, and it sounds like he doesn't mind.

"Though that isn't very professional," you mock scold.

"Those sounds you make on the table aren't very professional."

"I can't help it," you admit. "Honestly, I tried."

"I like it." He pauses. "The thing is… I still have bad days sometimes, not often, but I'm not even sure I can take you out on a date."

"I’m terrible at dates. You're not missing much."

He cups your cheek and even in the cold, his hand is warm. "Y/n, I’m getting better, but I might never be fixed."

He says it like it matters, as if you could ever find fault with him. He looks worried, searching your eyes. You do the only thing you can think of, you wipe the tears from under his eyes and kiss his cheek. He hums and leans his forehead against yours.

"Me neither," you say, gripping the strings of his hoodie as if he might float away. "But this is the best I’ve felt in a long time."

"Me too." He has a small, hopeful smile on his face when he pulls back, running his thumb over your cheek. "Can we sit for a while?"

You nod, and he puts an arm around you. His body is warm, protecting you from the cold and brittle wind. Tucked into his chest, you watch as he closes his eyes and raises his face to the sun.

a/n: thank you for reading. i really wanted the ending to be hopeful, and I’m praying that it is. I wanted to write a story about how love can’t fix you, but give you strength to make your life better.

#hoseok x reader #hobi x reader #jhope x reader #jung hoseok x reader #bts scenarios #hoseok angst #hobi angs #jhope angst #jung hoseok angst

1K notes · View notes

sorenmarie87 · 6 years

Text

My Star Child

Summary: Chuck brings the stars to you.

Square Filled: Stargazing (Fluff)

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Chuck x Reader, Your brother.

Word Count: 1,479

Warning(s): THIS IS SO FLUFFY OMG. One sexual comment about an orange but that’s about it. Reader has agoraphobia.

A/N: This was written for @spnfluffbingo2019

I do not own any of the pictures I used in my aesthetic. I also hate to say this but if you’re reading this fic - please be over 18.

SPN Fluff Bingo 2019

Chuck came into your life when you needed him the most. It was like your prayers had been answered when he wandered into your room. After that, the two of you spent everyday talking and getting to know each other. You knew that when he wasn’t there, he was at work. He told you that he worked weird hours. You sent him a text from your brother’s phone once you were released. It wasn’t until you got home to check your phone, but there was a text from Chuck asking if you wanted to get dinner with him sometime. After the accident, you were afraid to leave your house. So you replied and your first date was at your house.

You barely talked about the accident with him, but whenever nightmares woke you up at night, Chuck was the first one you’d call. The two of you had been together for a couple years before you asked him to move in.

“My brother is going to take me to my doctor’s appointment tomorrow and as much as I hate this, grocery shopping afterwards. You made a list of what we need right?” Chuck kissed your temple and pointed towards the counter.

“There’s some stuff that I need to pick up for a project, but I can do that after I get off of work.” You made your way back towards the kitchen counter with a pen in hand and added a few more items to the list.

Chuck moved behind you to get to the fridge. You heard him rummage around until he found the last bottle of wine you had. You smiled as you opened the cabinet in front of you and handed him a couple of wine glasses. He filled one and handed it to you.

“I'll be fine by myself, won't I?” You traced the rim with your thumb as Chuck finished pouring his glass.

“Of course you will. Your brother will be with there and you know I’m only a call away if you need me.”

You smiled before taking a sip of wine. “Yeah, I know. You wanna go watch a movie?”

“Bad Times At The El Royale?”

“You just wanna see Chris Hemsworth without a shirt on.” You smirked and watched a faint blush form on his face. “Aw babe, don’t be embarrassed.”

“Can’t help it.”

“I know babe, I know.” You squeezed his empty hand as the two of you walked down the hallway towards the bedroom you shared.

“Mini movie marathon until we go to bed?”

“Yes please.” You fell asleep long before Chuck. He smiled as you rolled over on your side away from him. He reached for his tablet that was sitting on his night stand, and made some final adjustments to a surprise he was planning for you.

<< My doctor wants me to start journaling and he upped a couple of my meds. He also took me off that one pill that was causing stomach problems.

>> It’s about time.

<< Right? I have to get blood work done but after that I get to face hell.

>> You’ll do fine. I love you~~

<< Love you too, Chuck.

Chuck smiled as he pocketed his phone and pulled his glasses on. If he wanted to get this set up before you got home, he had to work fast. The bed room the two of you shared had those plastic glow in the dark stars all over the wall. With a can of paint in one hand, and a couple different paint brushes in the other, he carefully removed the stars one at a time and in their place a permanent star was painted on the wall. He looked up at the ceiling and frowned.

“Damn it, I should’ve brought the ladder with me.” Chuck ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to do this but, here goes nothing.” With a snap of his fingers, the ceiling was covered with painted stars. He groaned as he hooked up the projector to his laptop. He knew that for the other part of this plan, he'd have to use his telescope in the back yard, but that could wait until the sun went down.

Chuck snapped his fingers once again and everything was put back into its place. He took his time coming downstairs once he heard the front unlock and voices downstairs. You were finally home.

Even with your brother’s help, it still took you three trips to bring everything in. Your brother was sitting at the kitchen table with a drink in front of him. “You know, you could help me put some of this away.”

“I don’t live here. Why don’t you get Chuck to help you?” You sighed and rolled your eyes and threw one of the oranges that had gotten loose at your brother. It missed him completely but Chuck strolled into the kitchen with it in his hand.

“Do we have runaway fruit or did you try throwing something at your brother?” That actually made your brother laugh.

“You can take that orange and shove it up your ass.” Chuck laughed as he placed the orange he was holding in the fruit bowl on the counter and kissed your cheek with a grin. He moved away quickly as you attempted to swat at him, and started putting the canned food away.

“There are other things you can shove up there, Y/N just no oranges.”

“And on that note, I’ll see you guys next week for dinner.” Your brother hugs you and he claps Chuck on the shoulder before leaving. You hear his car start up and the two of you work on putting the rest of the groceries away.

“I’m pooped.” You flopped face first into the couch as Chuck finished up the dishes from dinner. “Is it bedtime yet?”

“Not quite.” Chuck lifted you up from the couch with a huge grin on his face and sat back down on the couch, placing you in his lap. “I worked on something while you were out today.”

You shifted so that you could run your free hand through his beard. “Was it something for work or what?”

“More of a personal project for the woman I love.”

“What did you do Chuck?” Moving your arms around his neck, he picked you up once again. Only this time the two of you headed upstairs towards the bedroom and you raised an eyebrow.

“Look, there’s nothing sexual about this.” You looked at him as he opened the bedroom door and tossed you on the bed. You bounced on the bed with a chuckle as he kissed your forehead. “I need to do something real quick, so you need to wait here. Don’t move, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sleeping?” Chuck’s voice suddenly appeared out of nowhere but you kept your eyes closed.

“Just resting my eyes. I’m currently waiting for this handsome man that I call my boyfriend to get back.” You cracked one open and he was hovering next to the bed with a smile on his face. “You haven’t seen him by chance have you?”

“I might’ve passed him on the way in. He was mumbling something about how excited he was to give his girlfriend some form of present. He didn’t say what it was though.” Chuck laid down beside you in the middle of the bed and he lifted his arm so that you could rest your head on his chest. “He did tell me one thing though.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to look up.”

You opened your eyes slowly and took in the sight above you. Protected on the ceiling was the night sky in all its glory. “Chuck, oh my god, how?”

“I know that stargazing is one of your favorite things to do but since the accident - you don’t leave the house that often. I just wanted to bring the stars to you.”

“It’s so beautiful.” A tear slid down your cheek and Chuck wiped it away. “I never thought I’d get to see this sight ever again.”

“You’ll get there eventually, Y/N. I know you will. Until then, let me be the one who brings the stars to you.”

The two of shared a kiss before Chuck pulled away and started pointing out constellations. You watched as a shooting star went across your ceiling and you smiled. “I love you to the moon and back, you know that right?”

“I love you too my star child.”

It wasn’t until you started to drift asleep that you noticed the room was different. You made a mental note to ask Chuck when you wake up but you went to sleep with a smile on your face. The man who created the stars was the one who brought them to you. That would be another conversation for another time.

Forever Tags - @lovetusk @coffee-obsessed-writer@justballoonfishthings @mirajanefairytailmage @kazosa@wings-of-a-raven @docharleythegeekqueen@clockworkmorningglory@lefthologramdeer @ellen-reincarnated1967 @holyfuckloueh@idreamofplaid@buckyscrystalqueen @ilovetaquitosmmmm@n3rdybird @super-fan-of-all-things @disneymarina @sandlee44@babykalika2001

#spnfluffbingo #Chuck x Reader #Chuck Shurley x Reader #God!Chuck x Reader #SPN fluff #Chuck Shurley fluff #Reader Insert #so fluffy

153 notes · View notes

mikauzoran · 5 years

Text

Adrienette Drabble Twenty-Five: Crowd

“A-Adrien. Mec. What are you doing here?” Nino’s normally caramel-brown skin turned the color of a latte that’d been made with too much milk and too little espresso.

Adrien frowned as he came to a stop by the DJ’s booth. “Am…I not supposed to be here? Chloé invited me, so…”

Nino laughed nervously, pasting on a smile and waving his hands. “No. No, I just meant…did you sneak out or something? Because I didn’t think old Gabe would ever let you actually come.”

Adrien shrugged. “It took a little bit of convincing, but…here I am with parental leave and everything.”

Nino bit his lip as he cast a glance around the packed dancefloor for Marinette and Luka. “That’s…that’s great, Mec. Hey. Listen. Who are you hanging out with?”

“No one so far.” Adrien reached up to run a hand through his hair but stopped when he remembered the styling gel. “I was just kind of cruising the perimeter. I’m not actually sure what I’m supposed to do at an informal party like this. I’ve been to so few, and, here, there are no backers to schmooze with, no press to impress, no influential models or designers or potential investors… This is all kind of weird for me.”

Nino pushed the pause button on his panic to smile fondly at his friend. “My Dude, at a party, you dance and drink and eat and talk and laugh. In uni, if your old man continues to mellow, I’m taking you out and socializing you. We are gonna hit up so many parties.”

“I don’t know if I like parties,” Adrien chuckled sheepishly, taking in the writhing mass of bodies covering the enclosed portion of the lower deck of the ship. “There are a lot of people…and I think I have a touch of agoraphobia.”

“Hey, no worries,” Nino replied soothingly, resting a hand on Adrien’s arm. “Nothing bad’s going to happen; I’m with you.”

Adrien smiled shyly, eternally grateful for Nino. “Thanks, Man.”

Nino winked. “Why don’t you hang with me for a bit, if you’ve got nothing better to do? Obviously, I have to do my job, but we can talk in between.”

Adrien nodded, giving Nino’s fedora a playful flick. “Sounds good.”

Adrien spent about a third of the party with Nino before splitting off.

“I should go find Chloé,” Adrien informed. “I saw her briefly when I got here, but she said to come grab her later because she wanted to hang out. She said I owe her a dance because I’m the only guy here who can dance the girl’s part too, and she wants a chance to lead instead of just being led around.”

Nino snorted in laughter at that. “Oh? So you do it backwards in heels too?”

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m multitalented. Dancing in heels sucks, though.”

Nino lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously, Bro?”

Adrien nodded earnestly. “A couple years ago Helen Griffin, the English fashion designer, brought her son and her son’s friend with her for a vacation while she was doing a runway show here. One of her models broke a leg the day before the show, though, so her son’s friend filled in.”

“How does this explain how you can dance in heels?” Nino wondered.

“The model was female. The son’s friend was male…and the best cross-dresser I’ve ever seen. He may have taught me a few things,” Adrien chuckled.

“Oh, yeah?” Nino snickered. “Do you make a pretty girl, Adrien Agreste?”

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Adrien assured. “Now, I’m going to go find Chloé. You behave yourself.”

“Uh, wait!” Nino caught Adrien by the arm. “Hey. So…” His brow creased in obvious concern. “Look. You remember Juleka’s brother Luka, yeah?”

Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? What about him?”

Nino pursed his lips. “I can’t explain right now, but steer clear of him if you happen to see him tonight, okay?”

Adrien’s eyebrow quirked in confusion. “Why?”

“Trust me,” Nino stressed. “Please?”

“But…why?” Adrien repeated.

“I have a really good reason,” Nino promised.

“Okay. What is it?” Adrien snorted.

Nino winced. “I’ll tell you later?”

Adrien stared at his best friend without replying.

“It’s a really, really good reason.” Nino failed to sound convincing.

Adrien shrugged. “I mean…if you say so. See you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Nino sighed in defeat. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

Adrien raised a hand in parting as he set off to find Chloé.

This actually proved to be a simple task. Chloé’s party dress was a shimmering black, white, and lemon yellow that stood out on the edge of the dance floor, far from the mosh pit.

“Hey, Chlo!” Adrien called. “Great party.”

Chloé squealed with delight, leaving Sabrina mid-sentence to throw herself into Adrien’s arms. “Adri-chou!!!” she trilled like the Queen of the Night from Mozart’s The Magic Flute.

Adrien braced himself for impact and caught her in a crushing hug.

“I thought Nino was going to hog you all night,” she snorted, placing air kisses to the sides of his cheeks. “I’m so glad you finally snuck away.”

She pulled back slightly to take in his black pinstriped shirt, grey vest, and green tie appreciatively. “Again, I love the outfit.”

“You’re looking pretty radiant yourself,” Adrien replied with a wink.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Chloé snickered, taking him by the hand and tugging him towards the dancefloor. “Come. You owe me at least half a dozen dances for keeping me waiting so long.”

“Uh…what about Sabrina?” Adrien looked helplessly at the redheaded girl who was currently glaring at him.

Chloé looked back over her shoulder and smiled.

Sabrina perked up instantly.

“Sabrina, be a dear and go get Adri-chou and me some refreshments. We’re going to be parched when we’re through.”

“I don’t need anything, Sabrina,” Adrien assured even as Chloé dragged him off. “Sorry!”

Sabrina’s hands balled into fists, and Adrien began to worry about the girl getting akumatized and coming after him. He wanted to reassure Sabrina, but he really didn’t know what to say. “There’s nothing romantic going on between me and Chloé”? “Chloé can be friends with more than one person at a time”? “You’re still her best friend, Sabrina”? Nothing he could think of seemed accurate or adequate for the situation he found himself in.

In any case, Chloé led Adrien around the dancefloor for half an hour before complaining that her shoes were bothering her.

Adrien and Chloé made their way back to where Sabrina was waiting like a faithful dog with refreshments for the both of them.

“Thank you,” Adrien replied sheepishly as Sabrina sullenly pressed a drink into his hand.

Sabrina gave a little snort of indignance before turning to take off Chloé’s shoes and massage her feet while Chloé made herself comfortable in one of the chairs set up along the periphery.

The trio chatted for another twenty minutes before Adrien, feeling very much like a third wheel, made his excuses and headed off to find more friends to spend time with.

He walked around for a while and didn’t bump into anyone he had ever been particularly close with. He danced one song with Aurore and another with Mireille before he ended up leaning against the far wall, sipping at a glass of champagne and watching the dancers.

“Doing okay?” Plagg whispered from Adrien’s collar.

“Yeah,” Adrien mumbled into his champagne flute. “This is actually going really well. I’m having a lot of fun.”

“Maybe text your father and let him know?” Plagg suggested. “He was feeling pretty anxious about letting you go, and it would probably help him concentrate on his project if he knew you were okay.”

Adrien nodded and obediently fished out his phone.

Text sent, Adrien looked back out at the crowd, searching for a friendly face. “You know,” he realized, “I haven’t really talked to most of the people here in a couple months. Not since…when I was trying not to be in love with Ladybug anymore,” he whispered into his glass. “I’ve been too busy; first, with dating all those different girls. Then, with Elise and Marinette, and, recently…”

“You’ve been avoiding other people,” Plagg finished.

“Yeah. I—Oh, wow,” Adrien gasped, completely forgetting what he had been about to say.

“Wow what?” Plagg peeked his head up to see.

“I think I just fell in love all over again,” Adrien giggled, admiring Marinette as she danced with Alya and some of the other girls from their class.

Marinette’s hair was up in a high bun, and dark blues and soft pinks painted her lips, cheeks, and eyes, making the cerulean of her irises pop. Her navy blue, satin dress fell just above her knee in two tiers. It had a sweetheart neckline that hugged every curve just right, and the delicate lace up her arms and across her chest looked like it had been airbrushed onto her skin. She was light and air and sky and sea and perfection, a water nymph deigning to set foot on land.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Plagg growled. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” Adrien countered dreamily. “Plagg, don’t try to tell me you’ve never felt like this before. It’s like when you haven’t seen Tikki in forever and then, all of the sudden, there she is, and you just feel drawn to her because you belong together. You’re two halves of the same whole, and you can’t help but need to be near her.”

“You’ve gone and made it all soppy and gross,” Plagg snorted. “And you have no business mooning over that girl and waxing poetic. You’re supposed to be getting over her so you can function like a normal human being.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Plagg, destiny chose Marinette and me for one another. I’m never getting over her. I’m just…I’m in the process of learning how to love her healthily.”

“Melting at the sight of her is healthy?” Plagg challenged.

“Oh, hush. I haven’t seen her besides inadequate glimpses at school in weeks, and she looks ethereal. I’ll get better about melting when I can be around her more often,” Adrien reasoned.

Plagg snorted skeptically.

“Maybe I should go talk to her,” Adrien proposed.

“God, help me,” Plagg groaned. “Kid, no. No talking. Tonight’s going so well. Why ruin it?”

“I’ve made so much progress, Plagg. I’ve been spending time with friends, taking Chat Noir on dates, giving Chat compliments, feeling better about myself and the situation in general…plus, my therapist said the other day that I was really improving. I’m…I’m okay now for the most part,” Adrien insisted, trying to prove himself. “Maybe where I am now is good enough to try to rebuild things with Marinette.”

“Kid,” Plagg sighed in warning. “Please don’t do this. I don’t want you hurt again.”

“I’m going to ask her to dance,” Adrien decided, deliberately not hearing Plagg. “I’ll walk up to her next slow song and ask for a dance, and we’ll go outside on the upper deck and dance under the stars as Paris drifts by, and it will be soooo romantic. It’ll be great. I’ll tell her I still love her and still want to be with her and that I’m ready to forgive each other for our mistakes and work together to figure out what we need to do to make a relationship work.”

“Kid,” Plagg pleaded. “Don’t. I mean, how crushed are you going to be if she says no at any point during that scenario? What if she doesn’t want to dance with you? What if she’s not ready to forgive and move forward? What if she doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you right now? Kitten, just drop this and go hang out with hat-boy again. You’re having a really good night, and I don’t want Marinette ruining it for you.”

Adrien sighed, not responding as he watched Marinette sadly. His body ached for her, and their month of separation had done nothing to quell the love he’d harbored in his heart for her for four and a half years.

“Why can’t real life be like the fairytales?” He muttered ruefully down into his glass. “Our eyes are supposed to meet from across the room, and we’re supposed to be drawn together like magnets. We’re supposed to waltz across the floor, lost in our own little world with bubbles and pastel colors, and she’s supposed to love me. We’re supposed to get married and live happily ever after. Why the hell can’t that just happen already? I played by the rules. I did the ‘princess in a tower’ schtick for years, and now I want my Prince Charming already. I’m not supposed to have to rescue myself. I’m not supposed to have to learn self-love and fight to make Prince Charming want me. This is stupid. My life is stupid…. Real life is garbage, Plagg,” Adrien hissed, downing the entirety of his champagne.

“Kid,” Plagg cooed sympathetically. “Go back and hang out with hat-boy. Please. He’ll—Oops.” Plagg ducked back into Adrien’s collar just as Alix came into hearing range.

Adrien looked up, eyeing his classmate warily as she approached.

Alix raised a hand in greeting and turned to lean up against the wall next to Adrien. “Sup, Wallflower?”

“Uh…nothing much.” Adrien shrugged, looking back out at Marinette. “You?”

“I got sick of Kim bellyaching about…” Alix paused and glanced sideways at Adrien. “Did you hear that your ex, Marie, has been sleeping around a lot since you two broke up? Some guy got her knocked up, and now Kim’s in a tizzy about it since she still comes crying to him about everything. He fell for her when he was trying to get over Chloé, and I’m not sure Marie’s been any kind of improvement. You heard about any of this?”

“I’m not very well connected as far as the rumor mill goes,” Adrien admitted.

Alix gave a snort of amusement. “Probably better that way because—I mean…have your ears been burning lately? Everyone’s been spreading rumors about you for the past couple months.”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably, neck and ears going red.

“Sorry,” Alix amended, actually sounding contrite. “I didn’t think you’d care. Haven’t people been talking about you since the day you were born? I thought famous people had tougher skin.”

“My love life is kind of a sore subject,” Adrien mumbled, flagging down one of the servers to exchange his empty champagne flute for a glass of red wine.

Alix slowly nodded in understanding as she caught where Adrien’s gaze was focused. “Yeah. I’m really sorry to hear about that. It only started going around about a week ago that Marinette was the one that left you crying on that park bench last month. Until then no one really knew what was going on with you, but now…” Alix trailed off. “I guess that’s a sore subject?”

Adrien took a big gulp of his wine.

“Sorry,” Alix muttered. “Uh…So…Well…Your outfit looks pretty rad. I like the hair. It’s kinda Chat Noir. It’s cool.”

Adrien blinked, shifting his gaze away from Marinette to study Alix’s outfit: a black suit jacket and a lime green tie paired with a pink button down and blue jeans.

“Thanks,” he chuckled. “You’re looking pretty cool yourself.”

Alix beamed. “I don’t wear dresses. I mean, I’m not…I’m not a typical girl, so when the rest of the gang went dress shopping, Marinette helped me pick out something that was more me.”

Adrien smiled sadly. “She’s a good friend like that.”

Alix bit her lip. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out. I’m actually kind of pissed after all those years and all that effort and all of those schemes to get you two together that I got dragged into.”

“We’re not done yet,” Adrien mumbled, looking back to Marinette. She laughed at something Alya had said, and Adrien couldn’t help but smile at the warmth that her laughter sent rushing through him. “We’re just on a break while we work some things out. We’ll be back together in no time.”

“Ha! Someone’s delusional,” Kim barked as he swaggered up to Adrien and Alix.

“Kim, back the hell off,” Alix snapped, moving to put her deceptively tiny frame in between Kim and Adrien.

“What?” Kim snorted. “It’s the truth.” He glowered at Adrien over Alix’s head. “Marinette is so over you. After five years of waiting for you to get wise, she’s finally moving on.”

Adrien kept his eyes trained on Marinette and tried to breathe normally. He took another sip of his wine and muttered into the glass, “You’re wrong. She loves me, and we’re meant to be together; we’re just spending some time apart to work a couple of things out at the moment. I’ll be happy to invite you to the wedding in two or three years.”

Kim burst out laughing. “Wow. You’re worse than I thought. You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Kim,” Alix growled in warning.

“News flash, Agreste,” Kim snickered. “She dumped you. Like, permanently. Welcome to the Reject’s Club.”

“Y-You’re wrong.” Adrien’s grip on his glass stem tightened. His heart was beating in his ears. He could hear the blood rushing, leaving him lightheaded.

“Am I? She spent years turning other guys down because of you, and now she’s rejected you too. Am I the only one who sees the poetic irony here?” Kim drawled.

“You’re drunk, Kim,” Alix spat, putting her hands on his chest and trying to push him back.

Kim didn’t budge. “I mean, look at you. You’re over here making eyes at her, and she hasn’t looked your way once all evening, has she?”

Adrien took another drink to avoid answering. She just didn’t know that he was there at the party in order to look for him. Still, he felt dizzy.

“Has she?” Kim challenged.

“Kim, you’re being a total ass. Stop before you get him akumatized, will ya?” Alix shoved harder. “Just because your slut got herself preggers, that doesn’t give you the right to use Adrien as a punching bag.”

“Why not?” Kim hissed down at Alix. “He deserves it. Someone should show him that he can’t just get away with treating women like toys. He can’t just play with them and then toss them aside once he gets tired of them even if his dad does have enough money and power to bribe and threaten them into silence. Alix, look at all those girls he was sleeping with a couple months ago,” Kim argued. “And he didn’t just hurt them. The whole time Marinette was so depressed. You should know that better than me, Alix. You spend more time with her than I do, but the whole time he knew how Marinette felt about him, and he still ran around with all those women, all the while rubbing it in Marinette’s face and still pretending to be her friend.”

“I didn’t know how Marinette felt about me,” Adrien protested, finally meeting Kim’s eye. “If I had, I never would have—and I didn’t sleep with any of those girls I dated, Kim. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so casual about relationships, but those girls were using me at least as much, if not more than I was using them.”

“Well, what about Marie?!” Kim snarled. “You slept with her! She told me her first time was with you, and then you started mistreating her and ignoring her and pushing her away just as soon as you’d got what you wanted from her, you spoiled rich brat. You can’t just treat people like that!”

Adrien’s face twisted in bewildered amazement. “Kim, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Marie lied to you. I never so much as kissed her.”

“You’re the one who’s lying!” Kim started to lunge but was held back by Alix. “Marinette knows the truth, at least. Marinette knows what a slug you are, and she’s never going to be with you. She doesn’t want you, Agreste, so leave her the hell alone. You’re only kidding yourself if you think she could love scum like you!”

Adrien’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t breathe.

He could barely feel Plagg’s claws as they gently pressed into Adrien’s shoulder. He felt numb.

Adrien reached up to rub at his neck where the bruises had long ago disappeared.

“Kim, I swear I’m going to kick you in the nuts if you don’t stop,” Alix barked.

Kim was too drunk to listen to reason. “No one’s ever going to love you because I’m gonna make sure everyone knows what a liar and a coward and a sleazewad you are! What are you even doing here?”

The room was spinning.

“No one wants you here,” Kim continued, lashing out at Adrien in his own heartache. “No one likes you. Not even Lahiffe. People only talk to you for your money. No one actually likes you. No one—”

“—Excuse me.” Alix grabbed Adrien’s glass and splashed what little was left of the wine in Kim’s face. “Go outside and sober up, Kim. You’re an ugly drunk, and no one likes you this way.”

Adrien bolted, darting through the crowd of dancers, rushing for the doorway out to the uncovered part of the deck at the stern.

“Adrien!” Alix called after him, but he didn’t dare stop.

Adrien couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand to be around so many people. He was going to pass out. He needed air.

He knew all of the awful things Kim had said weren’t true. He knew Kim’s words were born out of spite and hurt, but objectively knowing that didn’t stop those words from cutting Adrien deep.

And so he ran, glancing back over his shoulder periodically to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He ran right into someone.

The impact jarred Adrien, sending him stumbling until two strong yet oddly gentle hands steadied him, half holding him up as Adrien’s legs gave out.

“Whoa, there. You okay?”

In a panic, Adrien tried to pull away, but the hands held him fast.

It was probably for the best, as Adrien’s balance was shot, the room was spinning, and his vision and hearing were going in and out.

“Hey. It’s okay. Calm down. Deep breaths, okay?”

Adrien looked up and saw blue: cyan eyes and teal hair. He took a gulp of air that came out sounding like, “Luka”.

#Adrienette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrien Agreste #Nino Lahiffe #Chloé Bourgeois #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Adrien Agreste #Mikau's Writings #There's a Daisy

27 notes · View notes