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mackeydoodledoo · 3 years

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I Only Swim Free: Chapter 4

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You’ve done swimming all your life. You’ve gotten to your dream college on a scholarship for your outstanding freestyle technique back in high school. Relationships never crossed your mind however, that was before you met your swim team captain: Bela Dimitrescu.

Warning: Jealousy, heavy couple-arguments, relationship-neglection

A/N: Rather than having this be a one chapter story, I decided to make this thing a whole series!

“Lost Boys” - Ocean Park Standoff

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You jolt awake to the sound of your door being knocked on. Groggy, you get up and slowly pace around your apartment to get to the door. Once you open it, Bela is on the other side.

“Bela?” you ask, rubbing your eyes, “It’s almost 3 am, what’s going on?”

“Can I stay here?” She asks, “My boyfriend and I got into an argument and I didn’t feel like staying and- this was the only place I could think of. May I?”

“Yeah, of course,” You say, your eyes halfway open

You could tell that she was wearing your hoodie you gave her your first day of practice the other week.

“You want anything?” You ask, grabbing a snack out of the pantry

“Pass,” She says as she sits on your bed

“You want to talk about it?” You ask, sitting next to her

“When I got back my boyfriend was super drunk,” She begins, “He kept on rambling how I’m beginning to get all touchy and close to you... “

You are though... But, I’m not against it or anything...

“I just... You’re my close friend and I do the exact same thing with all of my other girls,” Bela sighs, “But you- I don’t know why he has a problem with you...”

“Well, let me tell you something,” You start, “I don’t give an absolute damn about what your boyfriend thinks of me. He shouldn’t be having this much control over who you decide to hug, chat with or even be friends with. If I’m going to be honest, he sounds toxic...”

Bela sighs as she falls back into your bed, embracing its warmth. She groans as she covers her entire face with the both of her hands.

“Why haven’t you broken up with him yet?” You ask

“Because I’m afraid he’ll turn into one of those kinds of crazy exes and then he’ll hurt me and my family, my friends... You,” Bela sighs

“Me?” You ask, “Why would you be worried about me? I can sure handle myself in a fight. I should know.”

You try to play it off as a ‘hero’ kind of tone. But, when you look back down at Bela, she isn’t smiling.

“Because I care about you,” Bela confesses, “Since you joining the swim team, you were the first one ever to show to me that life is just more than swimming.”

“Like?” You ask

“I need to detach from the world every now and then,” She says, “Especially that night I found you on the rooftop.”

“That huh?” You ask, sighing, “I’m not one for parties...”

“I know,” She sighs

You fall back into your bed and offer your arm as a pillow for her. She lays her head against your arm and turns to you.

“Of all my relationships, you’re the only one who’s shown me respect and human decency.” Bela also confesses

“Bela, we’re not dating,” You say, “But, even so, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because all the boys would just bend to my will, I know it’s toxic of me to have them do so but, I want someone who would fall for me, for me.. You know?”

You nod, “Well, I always fall in love with the personality.”

“And?... My personality?” She asks you

“Well, you’re amazing in and out Bela,” You smile, “You’re the coolest gal I’ve ever become friends with. My captains from high school weren’t this close with me.”

“Really?” She asks, “Why not?”

“Cliques in the team,” you sigh, “After the season, none of us ever really got together other than at the banquet a couple weeks later.”

“Hmm,” Bela sighs, scooting in closer to you, “Have you ever... slept with a woman?”

“I wouldn’t say slept with in the terms you’re talking about,” You sigh, “Just cuddling maybe making out... But that’s it. So in other words, no.”

Everything was silent from there. But, Bela still huddles into your embrace. However, you take the opportunity to change into your pajamas. Bela pretty much makes herself at home and is already under your blanket.

“You’re also welcome here if you need an escape from your boyfriend,” You whisper in Bela’s ear as you hop under the covers with her

She cuddles into your embrace as you begin wrapping your arms around her. Not too long after you manage to get her to fall asleep. The same goes for yourself. As you watch the sunrise peek through your windows you look down at Bela who was still fast asleep in your arms. You couldn't help but crack a slight smile. You move some hair out of her face and place a gentle kiss at the middle of her forehead. She begins to stir and looks up at you with half-opened eyes.

"Morning," she says, smiling

"Morning," you reply back, "Hungry?"

She nods but cuddles into your further, "But, that can wait. Let's just stay here..."

Just as you were about to get situated in her embrace, you could hear a phone ringing. At first the both of you ignored it however, it became persistent. Bela looks at it and groans when she sees her boyfriend's name across the screen. She finally caves in and answers the phone.

"Where the hell are you?" He asks, "I've been searching for you all night."

"Sorry, after the argument I decided to stay with a friend," Bela sighs, “I had no mood to go back into your fraternity house..."

"That’s fine, but it better not be at that kids' dorm," he says, "Can we talk it out during brunch? On me."

"Maybe," she says, hanging up

The puts her phone back onto the nightstand and groans in frustration.

"I'm pretty sure your boyfriend doesn't sound too happy?" You ask

"He feels bad," Bela says, "Maybe I will take him up on that offer..."

"Alright," you say, without trying to sound butt-hurt, "If anything happens I'm only a call away."

"Thanks y/n," she smiles

Bela leaves after changing into a simple outfit for the day and leaves you to your lonesome. You decided to get your work done, at least whatever remaining work you had to do. You wanted to save your photo assignment for last. Hoping you could get Bela to be your model. However, realizing you had photo class the next day, you began losing hope of getting to do a photoshoot with Bela. After a couple of hours you finally finish your school work and decide to watch some of your favorite youtubers play various games. You were currently watching Markiplier play Papers, Please when you noticed your phone going off. You pick it up immediately when Bela’s icon came up.

“Bela?” You call for her, when you hear crying, “Are you okay?!”

“He isn’t picking up,” Bela sniffles, “I think he stood me up... I know your calf is injured but-but can you come get me?”

“I could care less if my calf is injured, don’t worry love, I’ll come get you,” You say, reassuringly

You slip on your calf brace and slip on some shoes and grab your car keys and rush out the door.

Bela gives you the address to the restaurant that Bela and her boyfriend had agreed to meet up at. You see Bela sitting along the curb just outside of the restaurant, her head in her hands. You stop your car and hop out.

“Bela,” You say

She looks up at you and practically jumps into your arms, sobbing into your shoulder.

“Shhhh,” You coo, stroking her blonde locks, “It’s okay.. It’s okay..”

“He didn’t even call me,” Bela cries

“You know what?” You ask, pulling Bela away to look at her

“What?” She asks

“Would you possibly want to hang out with me instead?” You ask, trying not to sound like a weirdo, “We can do anything you want really. I may not be your boyfriend Bela, but I absolutely hate seeing you torn because of this guy.”

“Sure,” She tries to smile at you but to no avail

“We’ll make it a night you will remember for the ages,” You try to sound optimistic

You made your last stop at a grocery store for some stuff for home as you had just remembered you hadn’t done that yet. You look out to the sky and notice the sun beginning to set. With the time you had remaining, you quickly change the song to “Lost Boys” by Ocean Park Standoff

Let’s take the night off From caring ‘bout tomorrow Let’s take our minds off the things we can’t control Let’s take our clothes off and jump into the ocean Don’t know where we’re going But. it’s somewhere out there!

On occasion you would look over to Bela and you’d see her smiling from ear to ear; enjoying the music you had put on for the both of you.

We got our whole lives left To make some memories

As you continue singing your heart out, Bela could help but notice that whenever the sunlight would hit you, your eyes would glow a perfect shade of honey. You were driving so she couldn’t kiss you right then and there.

“What is it Bela?” You ask, finally having the change to look at her

What you had noticed, the sunlight hitting Bela, you could see her eyes shining a perfect shade of bright gold and you were sure her eye color was hazel.

“Nothing,” Bela blushes before facing forward again

“Oh! Before the sunsets fully! I need your help with something for photo class!” You blurt out

“What?” She asks

“I need to do photos of something nostalgic but at golden hour,” You tell her, “Or at least that is the theme I’m going for! I need a model for this and I couldn’t think of anyone else but you! What do you say?”

“I’ll help y/n!” She smiles

“I know a perfect spot!” You smile, putting ‘pedal to the metal’

In short time, you reach the spot you had planned; a ‘secret’ spot in the state park that had a lakeside.

“Oh my gosh...” Bela gasps, hopping out of your car, “This is beautiful! How’d you fin this place?”

“I do some research and I’d sometimes come here when I want to feel alone,” You explain, “You’re actually the very first person I’ve brought here.”

“Me?” She asks, “Why am I the first person?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug, “This was the first place I thought of. Okay! Let’s do photos before it’s too dark!”

You do the pictures and Bela looks through them. The both of you agreed that they were perfect.

“Exactly how I pictured them in my head,” You smile, “Thanks Bela.”

The both of you just watch the sunset over the horizon, the both of you laying your heads gently against each other.

“Can we go back to your place?” Bela asks, “I don’t want to go home just yet.”

“Yeah, sure, you want food on the way back?” You ask

She nods, “But, you pick.”

You just get some pizza on campus and finally reach back to your apartment. The both of you were watching a movie and sitting on your couch. Bela leans onto your shoulder as the both of you continue watching the movie.

“Do you think he no longer loves me?” Bela asks

“I wish I had the answer for that one Bela,” You sigh, gently rubbing her arm, “But hey, if anything happens you have the team, your sisters, your mother... And me.”

You hear Bela slightly chuckle and slings her arm across your midsection. You smile, knowing you had helped her, even though you two only had met a couple of months ago.

Realizing what time it was, you begin preparing for bed, Bela decided to stay over again.

“If I’m gone by the time you wake up you can stay if you choose or you can leave,” You say, hopping into bed, “Just remember to lock the door.”

Bela nods as she against follows you into your bed and snuggles herself into your arms.

“Goodnight Bela,” You say, giving her a forehead kiss

“Goodnight y/n,” She yawns

It was a restless night for Bela. She began overthinking about how her boyfriend stood her up earlier in the day, almost landed his hand across her face during that party months ago. She didn’t want to wake you up as she was aware you had morning classes mere hours later.

By the time she actually got a decent amount of sleep, you were long gone. She slips on one of your hoodies that had your scent on it and groggily walks into your kitchen. She looks upon the counter and notices a note next to a coffee mug.

Thought you might want some coffee. Not sure how you like your coffee but I have creamer in the fridge and sugar up in the cupboard. I cooked food for you but they’re in the fridge, I didn’t want them to go bad so just warm them up. I’ll see you at practice Bels. - Y/n

She smiles from ear to ear as you had gotten up way earlier than expected just to cook yourself breakfast. but not only for you, but for her too.

“Oh y/n,” Bela blushes

You were attempting to swim butterfly during practice however, you weren’t getting the arms right and you were looking for Bela to give you some pointers however, she was nowhere to be seen...

“Hey coach,” You swim over to the edge of the pool

“Yes y/n?” Donna looks up at you

“Have you seen the captain?” You ask

“She called earlier before practice and told me she wasn’t feeling to good, but she told me she’ll be at it tomorrow,” She explains

Hmm... That’s odd of Bela to miss practice... Oh well, I’ll check my phone after practice.

You skip the shower and just put on some sweats and your swim jacket. You immediately go through your phone and see a bunch of missed calls from Bela, and only one voice message. When you listen through it, you beeline it out of the sports center and back to your apartment.

Chapter 5

#female reader #bela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #cassandra dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu

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simonalkenmayer · 4 years

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Hi Simon, I wanna ask you for some advice if that's alright, you seem very wise so maybe you could help ? I have a bid problem with self image and clothing in particular, I feel anxious wearing things that I think are pretty, maybe because I have an unusual taste compared to other or maybe because my family makes fun of me when I do, you seem pretty comfortable wearing whatever you like, did you have a problem with societal pressure ? If so, how did you get over it ? I always try to keep in mind that what I wear is my choise and I shouldn't care what others think. But it's kinda hard when everyone around you says you should. I think I should be able to wear a hoodie in the summer if I so choose and yet I still have family members argueing that it's wierd and I shouldn't. And as much as I'd like to pretend that it doesn't affect me, it does. It kinda sucks actually but hey sometimes life just sucks. Did this become a vent ? Maybe. Sorry, feel free to delete this, thank you for your time

You internalize the things people say. Try turning it around immediately. Someone mocks your clothes? Turn it back around.

“Wow that pattern is really loud!”

“So are you.”

“Don’t you think that skirt is too short?”

“Oh yes. Just like my patience.”

“That color washes you out!”

“I wish it could shut you up.”

And so on.

One way to stop caring about what people say about you is to make real the fact that their opinion is just that—an opinion, and it’s just theirs. It also doesn’t matter to anyone but them. They can make you feel like everyone is glaring at you, but in fact it’s just their opinion and it’s informed by their own anxiety. They worry about being mocked, so they mock you.

“Your wardrobe is just full of odd pieces.”

“Oh my, you’re absolutely right. Will you please come to my home and go through everything in my closet and tell me how I can look like a Stepford Wife? While you’re there can you also make sure my music collection and pantry match your specifications! Wouldn’t want to be too original!”

Or of course the classic:

“That outfit is so _____”

“Good thing you don’t have to wear it then!”

Frightened, crowd pleasing, unoriginal worrying bullies do not make good measures of creativity. They are agents of conformity.

Let me tell you a story.

I know most people don’t know this, because they think of her as a fashionable and controlling matriarch, but Queen Victoria was actually quite a terrible dresser. She didn’t like wear fashionable clothes like Napoleon’s Eugenia. No. She dressed in flounces and ruffles and had streamers and large brocade flowers, and wore head gear seasons behind. The woman was likely either color blind or simply didn’t care. Perhaps both. She was constantly mocked for it. She didn’t care and couldn’t be pursuaded. Her dressers hated it—fitting her with a hat that clashed with her dress, or a dress that was covered in tiny flowers like a school girl. She was made fun of by the French, the German, the Belgium...even Emily Bronte made fun of her.

But here’s a few things you don’t know about her. When she married, she chose a white gown. That was unheard of. Most women didn’t even own a white gown, because most women got married in what they owned and no one could keep a white gown clean. Instead rich colors were worn. But when Victoria wore a white dress—something highly unusual, suddenly everyone had to have it, and to this day women are mocked for not wearing white.

So too with mourning attire. The traditional period was only a year and a day. Victoria extended that time and wore black for the rest of her life, after the death of her husband. I think it was simply easier for her, but all of England followed along. Suddenly women were wearing black all the time, and it went on so long all the jet mines were booming, mining the rocks to put in necklaces and rings. Black became a color of female empowerment and austerity. It still permeates today, when you see Goth Culture mimicking it.

And then there’s colors of “half-mourning” like purple. In 1862, Victoria wore a bright purple gown, dyed with the brand new Mauveine, the first coal tar dye. She wore it the same year Eugenia was seen in the color, and before the end of the 60’s that color was everywhere.

It swept every country. It was so common thay buy 1869, I had a vest made of a mauveine silk, and I was quite proud of it.

But Victoria didn’t care much for clothes. She wore a hat that made her look like a cabbage. She was constantly bedecking herself in loads of jewelry and would have scoffed at Chanel’s edict to “remove one thing” before leaving. She was not a person of fashion. She wore what she liked...

And look what happened to the world.

So wear what you like. Start a new trend. Tell people to shut up, as if you are a monarch and they are tiny little peons who worry too much about what others think.

Express who you are. Have fun. Life is too short to care about these things and in twenty years, are the people who mock you going to remember or care what you wore? No. And if they do? They are likely not people who have good opinions.

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sunnypogue · 4 years

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post grad - part one (jj maybank x oc)

pairing: jj maybank x original character

synopsis: she’s your modern day college graduate: good at school, bad at the whole after-school thing. recent grad margo jean walker was told her whole life she was destined for greatness - straight a’s, top of her class, full ride to columbia - until she graduated. now, she’s hiding out in her grandmother’s outer banks estate, attempting to figure out what her “life plan after college” is supposed to look like. on her journey to self-realization, she finds herself enveloped in the life of jj maybank - a high school dropout, bumming with his childhood friends in a beat up shack on the coast. two people, one town, zero plan.

warnings: drinking/cursing - probably an eternal warning with my writing.

a/n: straight up haven’t written a thing in fandom in like, five years. jj maybank (a perfect character) has singlehandedly dragged me out of my fic writing slump - that’s one inspirational motherfucker.

part one brought to you by that one opening scene where jj was mowing a lawn shirtless. cinematic gold.

anyways, this is a classic “gifted girl is told she’s gifted her whole life and then she gets out of school and realizes she has no idea what the fuck she’s doing so she runs from her problems” meets her antithesis + his pals. there will definitely be some stronger warnings down the line, if you catch my drift.

I’m also 1000% team “JJ’s name is short for John because it was too confusing having two John’s around so they compromised with JJ and John B” thanks.

pogues + kooks featured are all 21+. it’s called post grad for a reason, folks.

enjoy xx.

_______________________________________________

post grad

“Margo, if you lay out any longer, you’ll freckle up. Your nose is completely covered!”

Margo hummed, wriggling her body enough to face in the general direction of her grandmother’s voice. She blindly stuck a hand out from her chaise chair, slapping aimlessly until she felt the familiar bill of her worn baseball cap, before dropping it onto her face.

“Is that better, Mimi?” Her voice, rough from disuse, was muffled from behind the cap.

“Slightly. It would be nicer if it wasn’t that damn Yankees hat.”

Margo grinned, hearing the exasperated amusement in her grandmother’s voice. Although a long time resident on the coast of North Carolina, her Mimi still carried a torch for her hometown Boston teams, often recounting fond memories of nosebleed seats at Fenway, or listening to Bruins games on the radio. She claimed one of the reasons she remained on the Outer Banks is that she couldn’t bear to show her face back in Boston, knowing her granddaughter was a Yankees fan.

Margo couldn’t help but poke fun at her any chance she got.

“Sorry Mimi. Would you rather I freckle?”

Mimi peered over the rims of her cat-eye sunglasses, observing from a safe, shaded perch. “You know, neither of these things would be a problem if your mother hadn’t married your father. You’d be freckle-free and a Sox fan, without a doubt.”

Margo ripped her cap off, squinting towards her grandmother. “My heart would always find their way back to the Yanks. And I think my freckles give me character!”

Mimi pushed her sunglasses back up, glancing back down at the dog eared book in her lap. “You got the attitude from your father too.”

Margo grinned, white teeth splitting across her warm face. “Now that’s a bald faced lie, Mimi. You know exactly who I got the attitude from.”

A loud laugh burst from the older woman, setting her forgotten book to the side. “Yes, unfortunately I do. I was hoping I could pawn another one of your traits off to your father’s side, but I suppose I have no one else but myself to blame for your…,” She paused, looking for the proper words, “…quick wit.” She drawled, her muddled Boston accent blending with the Carolina.

It was Margo’s turn to laugh, a similar burst to her grandmother. She swung her legs off the chaise chair, before standing and padding over to her grandmother’s shaded spot.

“I think I got my affinity for gin & tonics from your side too.” Margo quipped, grabbing Mimi’s empty cup. “Refill?”

Mimi sighed, glancing at the glass tumbler in her granddaughter’s hand. “I suppose. Lighter on the gin this time though, dear. You about knocked me out with that last one.”

Margo laughed, turning towards the screen door that lead inside, “I got my heavy hand from you, too!”

She could feel her grandmother’s eyes roll from behind her.

Margo made her way to the wet bar, a familiar and friendly sight in her grandmother’s home. She quickly went through the motions of making two gin & tonics, mixing Hendricks with Fevertree, before topping with two limes – the only true way to enjoy a G&T. As she moved to retreat back to her sunny spot on the chaise, her stomach grumbled, reminding her it was time to eat something, or her heavy hand might knock her out too.

She pivoted towards the kitchen, setting the tumblers down on the island before venturing into the walk-in pantry to grab a snack. As she exited the pantry, her peripherals caught something moving in her front yard, relatively unusual for a Saturday afternoon. She turned to face the floor to ceiling windows in the foyer, hands clutching an unopened back of pretzel sticks, before squinting to make out the figure on her Mimi’s front lawn.

Outside her grandmother’s home, was a man, mowing the space rather methodically. He was tall and tan, and Margo could almost describe his shirtless upper half as glistening, like a bad paperback romance. The arm of his silver aviators were clenched between his teeth, as he pushed the mower through the thick grass, muscles flexing.

The sound of crushed plastic startled Margo from her gaze. She swiped her forearm across her face almost instinctively, confirming she wasn’t actually salivating from watching the mystery landscaper at work. Tossing the now-crushed pretzel sticks to the counter, she quickly grabbed the melting drinks, and hustled outside to her grandmother.

“Took you long enough, Margo Jean. I thought college would have made you more efficient in your cocktail-“

“Mimi.” Margo interrupted, clutching a drink in each fist. “Mimi, who – who IS that outside your house?”

“What?” Mimi startled, sitting up in her seat. “What do you mean who’s outside my house?”

Margo sat next to her grandmother, passing her a drink. “The guy mowing your lawn – who is he? I’ve never seen him before.”

Margo watched as her grandmother sighed, settling back into her seat. “Oh, you mean John.” Her grandmother raised the cup to her lips, taking a long sip.

“What do you mean, John?!” Margo squawked. “I’ve been living here for a month and I’ve never, ever seen him before!”

Mimi peered over her sunglasses again, looking at her flustered granddaughter. “Darling, are you alright? You look flushed. Maybe you should stay out of the sun.”

“I’m fine, Mimi. It just surprised me, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting to see a random man in our front lawn.”

Mimi hummed. “Honey, he’s harmless. He’s been helping me out for a couple years now – a local boy, from town. He’s usually here on Thursdays, while you’re at work.”

“Oh.” Margo took a long sip of her drink, relaxing a bit. While she was partially worked up by how upsettingly attractive the landscaper was, she had to admit she was a bit frightened by the sight of a random man on her grandmother’s property. It had been just her and Mimi at the estate for the past month, and a new face was a bit shocking.

“You know, I think he’s about your age. Sweet boy, always offering to help around the place after your grandfather passed.”

Margo placed a comforting hand on Mimi’s arm, sensing the distress in her voice at the mention of her deceased husband. Mimi patted Margo’s hand briefly, before standing and clapping twice.

“Come! Come on, this is a great opportunity.” Mimi flitted into the house.

Margo scrambled to her feet. “What do you mean, a great opportunity?”

“A great opportunity to meet some people your age. I know it hasn’t been easy, but John is just the nicest boy, and I think it’ll be good to have a familiar face other than mine on the island.”

“No! Mimi, I don’t need more familiar faces.” Margo ran to catch her grandmothers’ thin arm, slowing her progression towards the front door. “Please, I know plenty of people here. I have you, and Jennifer, and Mr. Picard. That’s all I really need, for now.”

Mimi pulled a face. “Sweetheart, I love you dearly, but that was a pathetic showing right there. You’re going to cite your boss and the neighborhood gate guard as your friends?”

Margo matched her Mimi’s face, scrunching her nose. “Look, I never said they were close friends. But I know people! I know people. I don’t need more people.”

“Nonsense. Now, come on, let me introduce you. Oh, don’t give me that face, Margo Jean, you won’t be betrothed to the guy after a simple introduction.” Mimi firmly grasped Margo’s hand, tugging her towards the front door. “Now, be nice. Don’t give him any of that New York attitude you love to display towards everyone in this town.”

“Mimi, I thought we agreed my attitude came directly from you. Don’t blame my – hey!” Margo stumbled through the now-open front door, coming to a graceless stop on the first porch step.

The mower came to a stop, with the still-shirtless operator turning towards the front door.

“Mrs. S! Anything I can help you with?” The landscaper yelled from the far edge of the lawn.

“Oh, no John, thank you! Do you mind coming over here for a second?” Mimi gripped Margo’s shoulders tightly, as she felt her granddaughter jerk away.

“Jesus, Mimi, you didn’t even let me cover up.” Margo hissed, her eyes trained forward on the male ambling his way up the long path to the front door.

“Oh stop, you two are practically matching with your outfits right now.” Mimi glanced at her granddaughter’s light blue swimsuit, before looking at John’s outfit, consisting of black shorts and a pair of ratty boots. “Even playing field.”

Margo huffed, crossing her arms across her stomach. “This is not how I wanted to be –“

“What’s up Mrs. S?” John asked, stopping at the bottom of the steps. His silver aviators were hooked into the waistband of his shorts. “Everything alright?”

“Oh yes John, everything is fine. I just wanted to introduce you to my granddaughter.” Mimi squeezed Margo’s shoulders. “She’s in from New York and staying with me for a while.”

John laughed, his sharp teeth settling into an attractive grin as he glanced at Margo. “And how the hell did you end up with a granddaughter from New York? She not going to let me put up the Sox flag for you this year?”

Mimi snorted. “Margo’s a good girl, she would never deprive her grandmother of such a thing. We try to forgive her for her New Yorker-tendencies – she didn’t stand a chance with her father’s early indoctrination.”

“You know, I am right here. Mind if I speak for myself?” Margo huffed.

Mimi squeezed Margo’s shoulders again, continuing her conversation, “Anyways, John, this is Margo Jean. Margo Jean,” Mimi paused, gesturing to the boy. “This is John.”

Margo stepped forward, shaking her shoulders out of her grandmother’s death grip before sticking her hand out. “Hi, John. Margo Jean Walker.”

He grinned, grabbing her hand in his, joining the two for an uncomfortably sweaty handshake. “Margo Jean Walker. That’s a lot of name for one girl.”

Margo released her grip, looking down her nose towards him. “Well you don’t have to call me all three. Margo works just fine.”

His grin intensified, as he matched her stare. “Margo Jean Walker.” He repeated. “Alright. I’m JJ. No one around here calls me John. Well, except Mrs. S.”

“It’s a nice name, John, I don’t see why all of you kids have to go by names that aren’t your given names. It makes things confusing for old biddies like myself.” Mimi looked at the pair in distain. “Margo’s always been Margo – the consistency is nice.”

“Margo Jean Walker.” JJ hummed, eyes dancing over the girl. “Consistent New Yorker.”

Margo and Mimi let out their matching laughs simultaneously. “Yeah, that’s it.” Margo giggled. “Consistent New Yorker.” She popped her hands on her hips, offering the boy a toothy smile, her eyes squinting. “Well, it was nice to meet you, JJ-not-John. Thanks for helping Mimi out. Saves me from having to figure out…that.” She gestured towards the idle mower.

He followed her eyes, glancing back at the machine he left at the top of the lawn, mentally snorting at the thought of the bikini-clad girl pushing the mower across a half-acre of grass. “Yeah, it’s probably for the best that – oh.” He turned back as he spoke, just catching a glimpse of her cheeky bikini bottoms and long hair, as she slipped inside.

Mimi tutted, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of her granddaughter. “Don’t mind her, she’s just bent-out-of-shape because of the move. She’ll warm up more, eventually.”

JJ sighed, sliding his sunglasses back on. “No problem, Mrs. S. Need anything else done around here? Just about finished with your lawn.”

Mimi patted her frosted blonde hair, quickly glancing over the state of her lawn. “Looks great, hon. Nothing else today, but I’m thinking of expanding my garden in the backyard.” She took a long sip of her drink, before continuing. “Are you available to take on a project this summer?”

JJ faltered, thinking about the time constraints a project would have on his summer. He had to consider things – his friends, his surfing, his three other jobs. “Uh, well –“

“I’d rather you take the job, John,” Mimi started. “I don’t particularly want strangers around my house, especially if my granddaughter’s going to be frying herself poolside all summer,” Mimi scoffed. “Her poor skin.”

JJ paused, considering the pros of working in the company of Mrs. S’s leggy, bikini-clad granddaughter all summer. “I mean, that sounds –“

The older woman shoved her cat-eye sunglasses into her hair, taking three steps down her porch to be eye level with the blonde, who remained stationary at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll pay you double.”

A tan hand flew out, forearm adorned with tattered bracelets, freckles and the occasional scar. “You’ve got it, Mrs. S.”

Mimi smiled, primly shaking the boy’s hand. “Great. You’ll start next week, Saturday morning?”

JJ suppressed a groan, trying not to think about the morning boat ride he’d undoubtably be missing out on. “Sure, sounds great. How long do you think it’ll –“

“A couple weekends, maybe. I won’t hoard you the whole summer, John. God knows the other ladies in the neighborhood would riot.” Mimi grinned, patting his cheek. “And they already don’t like me very much, so let’s try to keep them on my good side, alright?”

JJ exhaled, relieved he wasn’t signing his summer away. “Absolutely, Mrs. S, although I can’t think of a single reason why someone wouldn’t like you.” He finished, offering a shit-eating grin towards the older woman.

She barked out a laugh, flapping a hand around as she turned to open the front door and grab her purse. She pulled a handful of bills out of her envelope wallet, pressing them into his palm. “Here, you kiss-ass. For today and a cash-advance for selling your soul to me for a couple weekends.” She grinned as his blue-eyes widened, staring at the money. “Now get out of here, enjoy the rest of your day.”

JJ’s feet faltered, as he started walking towards the lawn mower, his head still looking back at the front door. “Th-thanks, Mrs. S! Yeah, I’ll see you next weekend. Thank you! Thanks!”

Mimi smiled, wiggling her fingers at the boy as he rushed to put the mower away. “See you Saturday, John.”

#outer banks #jj maybank #obx #obx jj #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #rudy pankow #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x oc #outer banks netflix #obx netflix #post grad

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yamayamawrites · 4 years

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give me a reason i deserve you if i stay - TodoDeku

A/N: Ah, yes! The moment everyone (no one) has been waiting for! I tried my hand at writing an angsty one-shot for TodoDeku! As always I would love your feedback, but I’d love it even more so this time since it’s my first time attempting more than a sprinkling of angst in a fluff fic. You can read this piece on AO3 here or keep reading down below! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Izuku trudged through the rainy, empty streets of his hometown towards the local grocer. He’d never gotten his drivers’ license; he had every hero license imaginable, even one enabling him to enter restricted areas under slightest suspicion of villainy, but never bothered to obtain his drivers’ license. It felt pathetic, but then, what was more pathetic? Not having a drivers’ license, or being an ultra-famous hero obtaining his license in his mid-twenties?

He drew the hood up on his hoodie. It was red and white, split down the middle – some sort of merchandise shop had been selling it, and honestly Izuku hadn’t gotten it because it was meant to resemble Shouto. He’d swear on his grave he didn’t purchase it because it was merchandise for Shouto, who had become something of a rival after high school; but then, he’d been so drawn to it, he doubted that there was any other reason he needed to have it that day.

The threading was worn with how many times he’d washed it, now. Somehow he always ended up getting it dirty. He’d have to wash it again when he got home, he thought bitterly, with the rain having soaked him to the skin. He thought idly about all the times Shouto steamed the water off him when they trained in the rain, how Shouto warmed him from the inside out. He tugged on the hood of the hoodie more, pushing open the grocery store door.

Despite the lack of people on the roads and sidewalks, the grocery store was quite busy. Especially for a Thursday morning, Izuku thought to himself as he scooped up a basket. He walked past an old woman who lived just down the road from him chatting to another woman, not as old, about a horrid storm passing through.

Ah, that was why it was so busy. He’d been working such long shifts he forgot that their town was expecting a thunderstorm to roll through and knock out the power. He supposed he should buy himself some food that didn’t need to be refrigerated or baked for that evening.

As it always happened when he went to the grocery store hungry, he left with much more than he needed. Carrying the grocery bags had never been a problem for him, but carrying them in the rain (which came down much thicker now) and wind put a damper on things. He stood on the doorstep of his apartment, fumbling with the bags and his keys when someone called out to him.

“Oh, do you need some help?”

Izuku knew that voice. He nearly dropped his grocery bags and his keys when he heard that voice. He turned around slowly, and of course, of all the times Shouto should be assigned to patrol his town…of course it would be now, now that Izuku stood wearing the silly Shouto hoodie he bought on impulse years ago now.

But – well, it didn’t feel so out of place, as Izuku gazed over Shouto’s own outfit. He looked like he might have been out for a jog, with the hoodie and joggers he wore himself. The hoodie that, in faded print, had the word ‘DEKU’ scrawled across the front.

“I-Izuku?” Shouto stuttered, taking a step back.

“Hey, Shouto,” Izuku grinned sheepishly. His hood slipped down and, while the hood had only done a bit of good keeping his hair dry, now his hair clung to his cheeks with the rain. “What’re you doing here?”

He tried to sound casual, but seeing his ex—well, whatever they were—standing there in a DEKU hoodie while he wore a Shouto hoodie made him a bit nervous.

“Vacation,” Shouto replied with a bluntness that Izuku hadn’t forgotten. “Can I help you with your bags?”

“So chivalrous,” Izuku teased back. “I’m fine. Do you want to come in and dry off?”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“I have stuff to make cold soba.”

Shouto froze. Izuku laughed, maneuvering the bags in his hands to insert his key into the door. “It’s really easy to make, you know. Really quick, too.”

Izuku had the top-floor apartment. It couldn’t be called a penthouse, but it certainly was nice; a wall of windows normally would let in a gorgeous sunrise, but today it seemed to darken the room, what with the gray clouds outside. Every once in a while, though, lightning would flash and lighten the room – if only for a moment.

Shouto sat at the counter while Izuku put groceries away. Neither of them spoke, let alone mentioned the other’s merchandise. Though Izuku’s eyes did wander to the worn lettering on the front. Did Shouto wear his hoodie as often as Izuku wore Shouto’s?

“So, vacation, huh?” Izuku broke the silence between them as he packed away the last of the canned food into his pantry. “In this small town?”

“I suppose I can tell you, since you’re a hero, too,” Shouto pulled at his drenched hair.

Izuku wordlessly walked down the hall to his linen closet and pulled out two towels. He tossed one to Shouto, who had followed him to the end of the hall to see what he was doing. “I am a hero,” Izuku affirmed.

“They wanted me to work here,” he said hesitantly. “With you.”

“Is that why you were waiting outside my apartment for me?” Izuku teased, though he felt his heart begin to thrum faster in his chest remembering the time they spent working together in high school.

“No,” Shouto countered quickly. “I had no idea where you lived.”

Izuku laughed. “I’m teasing, Shouto.”

“Oh,” the latter relaxed. Izuku threw his towel around his shoulders and reached forward, taking the towel from Shouto’s hands and gently rubbing it into his wet hair. Shouto tensed, but only for a moment. It felt wrong to touch him again, to feel the temperature difference of Shouto’s hair and skin even through the towel; but then, it felt so right at the same time, like he had to make up for years of lost time.

A few seconds later, Izuku let go of the towel. “Oh! You can take a hot shower, if you want,” he nodded towards the end of the hall. “Down and to the right. I’ve got some clothes that’ll probably fit you.”

They were about the same size, now that Shouto stopped to really look at him. He looked down, but only slightly, to see Izuku; the latter was probably only a few inches shorter than him now. Their build was practically the same, too. “If you’re sure,” he said finally.

“Of course I’m sure,” Izuku scoffed. “You’re soaked.” He paused. “Can you still do that thing where you make the water evaporate off you?”

“I can,” Shouto said with a hint of a smile. “Why? Want me to warm you up like I used to?”

Izuku blushed at that. “No, I’m going to go take a shower myself. I was just curious.” Another pause. “…Does it work on clothes, though?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve washed this hoodie so many times that it’s coming undone, and I don’t really want to wash it again because it got rained on.”

That ghost of a smile on Shouto’s face spread into a full-blown, charming grin that Izuku had only seen maybe twice in his lifetime. “You mean your Shouto sweatshirt?” he said.

Izuku flushed a deeper red, attempting (and failing) to cover his embarrassment with his hand. “Y-you’re wearing a ‘Deku’ sweatshirt,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but Shouto.

“I think it’s cute,” Shouto decided finally. “That you’d wear my merch.”

“I didn’t get it because of you,” Izuku insisted, then, stamping his foot down the way a child might when trying to convince an adult of something.

“So you just wandered into the hero merch section and picked up a hoodie that looks like my hair on accident?” Shouto appeared to be having a field day with this information, the way his tone shifted ever so slightly towards condescending.

“That’s like, exactly how it went,” Izuku grumbled back. “How about you?”

Shouto shrugged. “I think you’re a good hero,” he said finally. “If I can support you even by wearing a sweatshirt with your hero name on it, I will.”

Izuku thought he might melt at the flame of his high school crush being rekindled in him at such a disastrous rate. His cheeks felt like they’d begin steaming with heat – the way Shouto’s used to when he got embarrassed. “That’s kind of you,” Izuku squeaked finally, looking down at his red shoes. His feet were getting cold; despite his shoes being mostly waterproof, they’d soaked through in the heavy and unending rain.

“I’m going to go shower,” Shouto changed the subject. “Hang your clothes up and I’ll dry them when I get out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Sure,” Izuku replied with a curt nod. Shouto turned and shut himself in the large guest bathroom, complete with a soaker tub and waterfall shower. Perhaps Izuku should have told him he could take a bath, if he wanted.

He turned the opposite way in the hall and entered the master suite, throwing his clothes to the wood floor haphazardly. Closing his bedroom door didn’t quite register to him (he lived alone; he never closed doors behind him). He hung his clothes once he’d stripped them all, pulling out a different outfit to change into once he got out of the shower. His master bathroom was even larger than the guest bath, and maybe if Izuku hadn’t been so cold himself he’d have offered up his own shower, but he longed for nothing more than to stand under a rain of hot water for a pleasant change today.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in there – twenty minutes, maybe – long enough for Shouto to call out to him from the bedroom doorway. “Izuku, clothes?”

“Sorry!” Izuku yelled back, suddenly remembering he’d promised dry clothing to Shouto. He turned off the faucet quickly and threw on the pair of pants he’d grabbed, rushing back into the bedroom with his hair dripping water down his back.

Shouto stood at the doorway, as Izuku had suspected, with one of Izuku’s towels draped loosely around his waist. Over the years of heroism he’d obtained more scars from battle; Izuku’s eyes wandered aimlessly between them, counting them. That is, until Shouto cleared his throat and Izuku flushed with the embarrassment that he’d been openly ogling his ex…whatever they were. He still didn’t know, and he still didn’t want to ask.

“Sorry!” Izuku snapped his eyes away from Shouto, instead choosing to turn his back to the man in the doorway in favor of searching his drawers for clothing. He pulled out some sweats that fit him rather loosely, tossing them towards Shouto without looking. “These good?”

“Yeah,” Shouto replied. “Thanks.”

He heard the sound of his bedroom door shut and Shouto’s soft footsteps crossing the hall to one of the guest bedrooms, and finally he let himself breathe. He’d done a bad thing, a ridiculously stupid thing by inviting Shouto into his home, especially knowing full well that whatever feelings he had for the boy hadn’t fully subsided. Every time Shouto came on the news, Izuku recorded it. He needed to make sure Shouto stayed safe. He had only gotten more reckless as the years went on.

Izuku put on a tee shirt, then – some old tee shirt from his college days, with Uravity scrawled across the front in loopy, cursive letters. He’d only gotten it in the first place because he and Ochaco were dating, but he’d kept it even after they broke up. She’d become a celebrity across the globe with her rescue work and now mainly resided in Hawaii. Izuku kept thinking he should call her, but every time he picked up the phone he realized he didn’t know what to say.

He scoffed. It seemed that way with a lot of his old friends, now. The only person he had even remotely kept in touch with was Kaminari, who lived in a neighboring town doing electrical work on the side of his hero gig. Everyone else had either moved away or cut ties.

Izuku padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. He grabbed another dry towel from his closet (with little regard to the number of towels he’d already used that day alone) and began vigorously rubbing his hair dry. The storm had only gotten worse, he noticed with the darkening sky. Supposedly, it was noon, but it looked like early morning with the lack of light outside. He flicked on the lights in the apartment. They flickered stubbornly but ultimately stayed on, much to Izuku’s relief. He’d hate for the only time he contacted Kaminari to be when he needed some electrical work done.

Not much later Shouto emerged from the guest bedroom. The joggers he wore were just a tad tight, and a little short in the legs. The tee shirt fit him snugly, though, and it took everything in Izuku to keep from tracing every shadow of muscle with his eyes. Although, while he kept his eyes level with Shouto’s, he noticed the latter seemingly memorizing the way his own arms looked bulging out from a college tee shirt.

“Lunch?” Izuku asked nonchalantly, but it became harder to ignore Shouto’s eyes on him.

Quickly, Shouto looked up. “Yeah,” he murmured finally, meeting Izuku on the other side of the kitchen counter to once again prop himself on a barstool. He seemed perfectly content watching Izuku cook him food.

They’d cooked together often in the dorms at U.A. Izuku held onto those memories fondly. Much of his high school experience he tried to forget – the nights he’d go to Shouto’s room because he couldn’t sleep, or the nights Shouto would come to him because he’d had a nightmare. The nights they’d spent exploring each other, starting with holding hands and gradually moving to shy kisses, then more passionate ones, then exploring every other—

“Izuku.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re mumbling.”

“I still do that?” Izuku wondered aloud, digging through the fridge. He ducked his head inside to hide the blush inevitably crawling up his cheeks.

“I always liked that about you,” Shouto mentioned offhandedly. When Izuku looked up, Shouto was observing his nails with something of a disinterested look on his face. He buried his face back into the fridge, searching around for what, he couldn’t remember.

He grabbed for the ingredients he’d purchased earlier that day for cold soba. It had become a staple meal for him, since it was quick to make and he knew by heart how to make it. His heart ached nearly every time he prepared it, though; not having someone to sit and eat with did a number on one’s emotional state, especially after getting so used to eating surrounded by friends and family.

He got assigned to his small town shortly after he left college. It wasn’t a great position, at least not at first; despite his hard work in high school and college, he was still viewed as an intern for a majority of his first few months with his company. Shortly thereafter, though, he was discovered – fighting some mammoth Quirk-having man trying to take out the town’s elementary school really brought to light what his Quirk meant. From there it was a relatively smooth road to where he was now – living in this small town as a cover, traveling for work practically every week to larger cities. He was what the business called a “fill-in” hero, quite close to what All Might had been. Though, All Might wasn’t ordered to go where the trouble was, he just happened to be where the trouble attracted itself to.

Neither of them spoke as Izuku bustled around the kitchen. He’d gotten used to working alone. Shouto thought, a couple times, he could jump in and help; but then he knew what a klutz Izuku had been in high school, and though he supposed he had no idea what Izuku was like now, he didn’t want to risk soba ending up on the floor. Especially since he was so hungry.

They ate in that same silence. Even as the lights flickered in time with the roaring wind and booming thunder outside, they said nothing, opting instead to sit across from each other at the dining table and use the storm outside as ambient noise. Hesitantly, Shouto’s foot nudged into Izuku’s, the way they’d become so used to doing in high school when they sat and ate with each other.

“What happened to us?” Izuku blurted, finally, and he likely startled himself more than he startled Shouto with the way he jumped at his own voice.

Shouto looked up, then hummed to himself. “What do you mean?”

“We used to be so close,” Izuku flushed.

“Well, you know what happened.”

Shouto was right; Izuku did know what happened. He hoped something would have changed in the past several years. But then, Endeavor was still around, and he still had a tight grasp on nearly every part of Shouto’s life.

Shouto worked under Endeavor. He had since the moment he left high school, and he continued to even seven years later. At one point, during their third year, Shouto had promised Izuku he wouldn’t let his father have such a tight hold on every aspect of his life; and yet, nearing their graduation Shouto ended whatever their relationship was. Izuku had always thought it had something to do with Endeavor, not just because of his dislike for him but because the news of his relation to All Might had just gotten out.

Their friendship ended abruptly. There was no falling out, nor did they drift apart. Shouto left Izuku without explanation, without last words, without even a goodbye, and yet Izuku still lost sleep thinking about Shouto today. Even after Shouto had called Izuku just after they began their first year of university, crying and drunk after some party, talking about how he missed him and his father was responsible for coming between them. Even after several more calls, which Izuku let go to voicemail because Shouto’s slurred voice became too painful to respond to.

“Why did you let me in?” Shouto asked.

“Because you were outside in the storm,” Izuku replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Because for a kind heart like Izuku’s, it was the simplest thing in the world. Shouto watched Izuku on the news a lot; he’d earned the nickname ‘Kind-Hearted Hero’ for all his good deeds. Shouto wouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

“Right.”

They migrated to the living room, lounging on separate couches. Izuku turned on the television and flipped through his favorites list – a bunch of hero channels from different regions of Japan, others a bit more foreign like the Hawaii news. He caught a glimpse of Uravity’s pink costume on the Hawaii channel and left it, watching one of his former best friends rescue civilians from a magma villain who had emerged from one of the volcanoes. Shouto seemed disinterested the moment the villain left the screen, so Izuku flipped to something else.

He settled on some third-rate movie to serve as background noise as his gaze settled instead on Shouto. Before the former could say anything, though, Shouto blurted out an apology. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and the words carried more weight than perhaps anything Shouto had said to Izuku before.

“For what?” Izuku replied nonchalantly, but he knew.

“For not realizing that you meant more to me than my old man.”

Izuku shifted his gaze out the wall of windows, watching the raindrops race down the outside of the window panes. He remembered well the ugly taste in his mouth when Shouto told him nearly a year later that his actions reflected his father’s wishes. It almost hurt worse knowing that Shouto would leave him for his father’s sake rather than leave him for his own. “He’s family,” Izuku said, as that was how he’d reasoned with himself in the past. That was how he quelled his tears on the nights he especially missed Shouto next to him – which was, to say, most nights.

“He’s not family,” Shouto replied harshly. “He’s my old man. Family for me was our class at U.A.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Dancing in the commons when Jirou played music, and having spontaneous game nights when Momo decided to make a game board, that was family,” Shouto cut him off. “And Kaminari charging everyone’s phones when we went on training camps, and Sato baking cookies every Sunday and having us help him frost them.”

Izuku let out a bitter laugh. All the memories he had of U.A. had been drowned out by Shouto, and therefore tainted. He hardly remembered what it had been like to dance around to Jirou’s music with Ochaco by his side instead of Shouto, and by then it became too painful to remember the way Izuku’s head rested so snugly against Shouto’s shoulder. Or the days that he and Shouto helped frost cookies and one (or both) of them ended up coated in frosting for the other to lick off when they found a moment to themselves. All of it, every part of his U.A. family, started with Shouto.

“You ruined that for me,” Izuku said quite casually, considering the blame he laid on his best friend’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispered back.

Izuku didn’t know how to accept his apology. How, after seven years, could he simply forgive Shouto for the love he’d missed out on? Did Shouto even love him anymore? He supposed that hurt even worse than forgiving him – the thought that Shouto had come all this way just to find out he didn’t love Izuku anymore. Would he have even come in if he didn’t?

“You’re mumbling, Izuku.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They sat for a moment, looking at each other. The lights flickered again. Izuku hoped they would go out so he didn’t have to keep looking at Shouto’s face, tracing the detail of his grown-up features. Even before they graduated Shouto wore a bit of baby fat, but now with age his jawline had sharpened, his cheekbones elevated and prominent. Had he not the recognizable hair and even more recognizable scar, Izuku might not have noticed him.

Ah, and the ‘Deku’ hoodie. That helped, too.

Shouto tentatively came to sit next to him. “I know you can’t forgive me, no matter how kind hearted you are,” his voice had dropped to a whisper. “I’m just asking you to listen to what I have to say.”

“Sure,” Izuku murmured back. He watched the way Shouto’s lips moved as he spoke.

“I quit my old man’s agency.”

Izuku’s jaw fell.

“I gave my resignation and he told me never to come back. So I researched what agency you worked for, Izuku, and asked them to assign me to you.” He bowed his head. “I’m your subordinate, unofficially. They were supposed to announce my hiring into the company this coming Monday.”

Izuku laughed, then, startling Shouto. “What’s so funny?”

“You’d willingly hire in under me,” he practically choked on the laughter forcing itself from him. “Shouto, you’re the number three hero, and you decided the best course of action was to work under the number two hero?”

Despite his old age, Endeavor remained the number one hero. Izuku strategically refrained from mentioning him.

“I just needed to see you again,” he insisted. “I know that what I did to you hurt you, and it only took me seven years to realize that my father’s happiness was not my own.”

It was everything Izuku had wished for. Nearly the exact words he’d always dreamt of hearing, so why did it feel so…unsatisfying? Why did it sound so ugly to him?

“This wasn’t the way to do it, I don’t think.” Izuku’s voice was quiet. “Not by putting yourself under me. I never wanted that.”

Shouto’s lips settled into a frown. “What did you want, then?”

“To be your partner,” Izuku replied easily. “To work alongside you, then come home to you every night. Is that so much to ask?”

“Izu—”

“Was that ever what you wanted, or did you just lie to me?”

Izuku had learned to manage his bouts of tears in his college years, but it was for naught, now; they fell down his face freely, like the rain outside. Bitter and cold, but much quieter. He didn’t hiccup or sniffle like he would usually crying this much. Shouto watched him, waiting inevitably for that pained wail that usually accompanied Izuku’s tears – had almost always accompanied them whenever he made Izuku cry – but it didn’t come.

“That was always what I wanted,” Shouto murmured finally. “But it was never what my old man wanted for me.”

“It’s fine,” Izuku whispered, but it was most certainly not fine. He’d dedicated his three years at U.A. solely to his love with Shouto, and sure, maybe he’d been naïve to believe it could last, but he’d at least hoped he could have a few more years. Maybe.

“It’s not,” Shouto shot back, his fists balling in the joggers Izuku had let him borrow so sweetly. Hell, if Shouto asked, Izuku would probably let him borrow a thousand dollars without asking so much as why. “I can never give you back those years,” he whispered.

Izuku thought for a moment. “I’m calling the agency,” he decided finally.

“Wha—why?”

“To tell them you’ll work at the same level as me or you won’t work there at all,” Izuku replied with a wave of his hand. He fished his phone from his pocket.

Just as he did so, about to mention needing a charger, the power flickered. It did not come back on, this time.

“Shit,” Izuku grumbled. Shouto stilled; he didn’t know that he’d ever heard Izuku swear before.

“Izu,” Shouto murmured, “it’s a nice gesture, but—”

“Don’t call me Izu,” Izuku bit back. “Not now.”

Shouto stilled. It had just slipped out, but then, it felt so wonderful rolling off his tongue again. The name he’d called out so many times before, back in high school, the name he’d pleaded on the phone while his words were slurred by the liquor he’d downed during his university years, the name that clung to the inside of his mouth like peanut butter since the moment he saw Izuku again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He’d never meant the apologies to his father before, the ones for becoming friends (and even lovers) with All Might’s prodigy. But the apologies kept tumbling from him with Izuku, and he meant each one more than the last; every ‘I’m sorry’ only atoned for one of the minutes, no, one of the seconds he’d stolen from Izuku.

Izuku hung his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he muttered finally. “I’m being childish.”

“I don’t think so,” Shouto replied simply.

The wind howled outside. Izuku had opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the loud booming of thunder from beyond his wall of windows, and a crack of lightning illuminated them. In that moment, Shouto saw the tear tracks down Izuku’s cheeks, and he reached blindly to cradle the other’s face. He entirely expected Izuku to draw back, but instead he was met with Izuku pressing his cheek into the outstretched hand. Izuku melted into his touch, and that pained cry Shouto had heard so many times before during their time at U.A. shattered the silence that had settled between them.

It felt like an eternity, but only a few moments later Izuku collapsed into Shouto’s chest, gripping at the tee shirt he’d loaned him and letting his tears spill messier, louder. “Damn it,” Izuku hissed between hiccups and moans.

Shouto wrapped his arms around Izuku. His fingers threaded in Izuku’s hair, knotted and frizzy from the vigorous towel-rubbing earlier that morning. He tugged carefully at the knots, carding his fingers through his hair delicately. The sobs still came, but they were fewer and further between and instead replaced with more ragged breathing. It felt like high school again – Shouto had helped Izuku fall asleep on restless nights so many times combing his fingers through his partner’s hair, and the menial task often lulled himself to sleep, as well. But the thunder outside woke them up each time they so much as thought about sleeping.

Izuku’s bitter laugh rang through the living area suddenly, loud compared to the roaring winds and even the thunder outside. “You know just how to calm me down, huh?” His voice sounded cold, a little distant, even. Like he wished Shouto didn’t know how to calm him down.

“Is that a bad thing?” Shouto replied, tugging loose one last knot before letting his hand fall to the back of Izuku’s neck.

Izuku hummed, thinking. “Maybe not,” he decided finally.

“Why only maybe?”

“I mean, if you ever became my enemy you could just pull my hair a little and I’d fall right asleep,” Izuku said pointedly. “Then you could kill me or kidnap me, or whatever.”

Shouto hid a snicker behind his hand. “You’re joking, right?” he asked between soft laughs.

“Well? I need to stay on my guard,” Izuku replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’d never hurt you,” Shouto replied, gently cupping Izuku’s cheek once more. He wiped some of the wetness away with his thumb. “And I’d certainly never use that trick to kidnap you. Jeez, Izu…ku.”

The power didn’t come on for several hours. Shouto heated some canned ravioli for them for dinner, and Izuku dug a few candles out of storage to put around the apartment. “You can stay here for the night,” Izuku said as they sat around a candle in the living room, trying to play Quirk’s chess by the candlelight.

“I wouldn’t mean to impose,” Shouto replied quickly.

“There’s a guest bedroom,” Izuku said, knocking aside one of Shouto’s pawns with a weak Quirk. “And…my bed is big enough, too.”

Shouto didn’t need the light to know that Izuku was blushing. He could tell by the slight tremble in the latter’s fingers as he took Shouto’s pawn and set it on the ground to the side of the board, where more than half of Shouto’s pieces lied by then. (Izuku always had been way better at Quirk’s chess; not only because he’d collected a chess set of strong Quirks, but because he was an amazing strategist, especially when Quirks were involved.)

“Your bed certainly sounds more welcoming,” Shouto thought aloud, “but I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t,” Izuku countered quickly. He coughed. “I-I mean…it’s not a bother to me.”

Their game of Quirk’s chess finished quickly. Izuku won – partly because Shouto was eager to get some rest, partly because Izuku was quite easily the best Quirk’s chess player in damn near the entire country. Shouto lit his finger to function as a candle as they made their way down the hall to Izuku’s bedroom, and he held a ball of flame so Izuku could see while he dug around for a spare set of pajamas. Shortly after he and Izuku had changed (backs turned to each other) into pajamas, Shouto dried the clothes hanging in the closet. By then, they had mostly air-dried anyway.

Shouto crawled onto the large king-sized mattress shortly thereafter. Izuku had gone to use the bathroom one last time, and when he crawled into bed beside him there was little hesitation; Izuku curled into Shouto, like they’d done so many times before, like they could resume right where they left off. But it was different now; Izuku had certainly bulked out in muscle mass, and he’d gotten a bit taller. Still, Shouto’s arm draped across his waist, and Izuku tensed – only for a moment, before relaxing into him.

“I missed this,” Izuku breathed.

“I haven’t slept well since I’ve slept with you,” Shouto admitted in the same breathy tone.

Izuku rolled over, the need to hold Shouto just as strong as the need to be held himself. He wrapped his arms around Shouto, tangling their legs under the plush covers of his bed. His head fell below Shouto’s chin. They’d fallen asleep like this before, usually after tough villain encounters or draining class training sessions, when all they wanted from each other was physical contact. Instinctively, Shouto’s fingers found Izuku’s hair once more. He combed his fingers through, though Izuku’s hair wasn’t nearly as unruly as it had been earlier that day.

Izuku fell asleep first. He always fell asleep first, and back in high school that gave Shouto time to observe the boy’s gorgeous features. He’d tried to count Izuku’s freckles multiple times, but he always fell asleep doing so. Even with their close proximity, the unnatural darkness of the sky made freckle-counting near impossible, but Shouto still took the opportunity to relish in the ways Izuku’s face had changed. His cheeks carried much less baby fat than they used to, but he still looked much younger than he was; those big doll eyes always made him look so much younger and more innocent. He had a slit in one of his eyebrows, and where Shouto had just thought it was a fashion statement earlier that day, he could see now that there was a ghost of a scar through the arch of his brow. He grazed his finger idly over the mark, wondering if he’d obtained any other scars. Then, knowing Izuku, he definitely had.

Somewhere in those thoughts and his fingers breathing over Izuku’s skin, Shouto drifted to sleep as well, and he slept through the night for the first time in almost seven years.

***

Six Months Later

“Shou, we’re going to be late!”

Izuku bustled around the living area of their apartment. He tried (and failed) to fix his tie as he did so, looking everywhere for his other shoe. Shouto came down the hallway holding the red shoe triumphantly, his own shirt untucked and unbuttoned with his tie around his next. “Apologies, Izu,” he said in his slightly-sarcastic tone, “I was busy looking for your shoe.”

“Thanks,” Izuku huffed. “I’d ask you to fix my tie, but you look like you’ve got your hands full.”

Izuku threw himself onto the couch while Shouto buttoned and tucked in his shirt. Izuku thought he’d never get over the ease with which Shouto tied his tie, kelly green like his hair. “Do you need me to tie yours, too?” Shouto asked, though he knew full well he didn’t even have to ask; he’d tied Izuku’s tie for him nearly every day for the past six months, now. He knelt down and tied it for him without waiting for a response. Then, once he’d finished doing so, he tugged the tie and pulled Izuku’s lips to his own.

Izuku kissed him, pulling back after a moment with a squeal. “Late! We’re late!”

“Calm down,” Shouto replied. “They can’t well start the meeting without their two best employees, can they?”

“Let’s go,” Izuku said, jumping to his feet. He grabbed Shouto’s neatly-tied tie and pulled him towards the door of the apartment.

The agency headquarters building was a good thirty-minute drive from their apartment. The drive, as always, consisted of Izuku and Shouto reviewing villain sightings and plans of action. Shouto drove – Izuku still refused to get his drivers’ license, and now he had a valid reason to. They pulled up to the front of the agency just as Kaminari trotted up, wearing a suit of equal savvy as Izuku and Shouto’s own. “Hey!” he waved, panting just slightly. “At least I’m not the only one who’s late!”

“We’re not late,” Shouto called back. “Everyone else is early.”

Izuku laughed.

They walked into the building together. Most others were required to show their badges before they entered; but the number two, the number three, and the number seven heroes were not. They strolled past reception, making casual conversation as they went. They were in the middle of a discussion of who would win in battle – Izuku with a hand tied behind his back or Kaminari – when Shouto pushed open the large conference center door. “Sorry we’re late, everyone,” he called with a bow.

“You’re not late,” Aizawa countered from the other end of the room. “The rest of us are early.”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #tododeku #fanfiction #ao3 #tddk #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #angst?#some angst idk

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

Note

Yass requests are open!! Can I please request some yan kirishima finding out his darling (male or female) is head over heels for tetsutetsu? Or maybe vice versa?

I’m not that big of a Tetsutetsu fan, but I hope this is alright. Kirishima is still my best boy, even if he gets a little jealous sometimes.

Like everyone, Tetsutetsu had his role in Kirishima’s story. He would be a groomsman at your wedding, and a third-wheel to your dates for the years that proceeded that. A witness to two soulmates falling in love, and more importantly, a testament to the fact that you and Kirishima were always meant to be, even as students. It would be romantic, it would be beautiful, it would be destiny.

That was how things were supposed to go, that was how Kirishima thought this was going to happen.

Then, you and the silver-haired boy in question managed to… muddle a few of the details.

Kirishima had been ecstatic when he first saw the two of you talking without him. What could be better than his best friend getting along with his future partner? He’d been even happier to find out that you two trained together, and ate lunch together, and studied together after school whenever there was an exam (an even when there wasn’t, on occasion). Seeing you two talk so naturally was perfect, even if he had to invite himself to your ‘hangouts’ to do it. And the way you’d blush when your eyes met Kirishima’s as you laughed at one of Tetsutetsu’s jokes… you were so beautiful, and he was so glad you two got along.

But, then he started noticing how well you two got along.

It was small things, at first. The way you’d lean into Tetsutetsu’s side during ‘movie nights’, all the passion you seemed to have during sparring matches, how you’d stare at his hand like you were playing with the idea of holding it, sickeningly sweet, sickeningly romantic things. Things you weren’t supposed to be doing with Tetsutetsu. Things you weren’t supposed to be anyone. Save for Kirishima, of course.

He considered the possibility that you were trying to make him jealous. Kirishima wanted to believe that this was a joke, that you didn’t really want a shitty replica of your actual lover. He still wonders if you noticed the way he started making excuses, even if it was only for a week or two. The way he walked a little slower, left the classroom later, trailed after you rather than running to your side. He just needed confirmation. He just needed to know.

And he did, soon enough. Even if he wished he didn’t.

He wasn’t there, but you were still acting like that. All touchy, all lovey, all sweet. You weren’t as subtle, either, not when you thought no one could see the way you acted around him. Asking if he could text you when he got to his room in that worried voice, kissing his cheek when he complimented you, fucking clinging to Tetsutetsu’s arm. Kirishima had to sit down, after that. He ended up getting detention, just because he couldn’t fathom the idea of going back to his dorm. The same dorm you were in. The same building as him. And even after a reprimand from an annoyed Aizawa, he could hardly stomach walking through those gates, almost doubling-over when he caught you raiding the pantries for a quick snack.

Again, you were so nice, asking him what was wrong, offering him one of the protein bars you’d been hoarding and nearly calling Recovery Girl. He was your friend, after all. Your buddy, your pal, your completely platonic companion. And you just cared about your friends so fucking much.

Heartbreak hurt, Kirishima wouldn’t lie about that. But, he was nothing if not determined, and he’d prove that to you. Tetsutetsu was a phase, a blip. And Kirishima would prove that to you. He was understanding, merciful. Losing a mistake wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as realizing you were with the wrong person, he was sure.

No, this was for the best. This was good. Tetsutetsu would see that, in the end. He would understand. And if he survived the lesson Kirishima would teach, Tetsutetsu would forgive him, too.

But, first things first. It’d been too long since Kirishima had spent a night alone with you, and that was something he should fix before he does anything drastic. Hesitantly, he unlocked his phone. There was a quiz tomorrow, something about the regulations of agencies.

He could work with that.

You could feel your heart speeding up as you came to Kirishima’s door, heat surely rising to your face. But, at this point, all you could do was hope Tetsutetsu wouldn’t notice, that he’d just smile and laugh and fall in love when he saw you. It probably wasn’t good that you’d spent well over twenty minutes trying to pick out the perfect ‘casual’ outfit, something that screamed you weren’t trying to impress him, but that was a problem you could worry about after he’d asked you out.

Barely a second after you’d knocked, Kirishima opened the door, grinning and pulling you into a suffocating hug. You returned the gesture, slapping his arm softly when he’d successfully drained the air from your lungs. Even when he pulled away, you were given a light kiss on your cheek, something you only playfully rubbed away. He was always affectionate like that, acting more like your older brother than your classmate. It was something you welcomed. Appreciated, even.

“Is Tetsutetsu already here?” You asked, your eagerness betraying you. You forced yourself not to glance behind him, if only to keep from seeming rude.

“Nah, he canceled a few minutes ago. Kendo wanted to do something with him and… you know how those two are,” Kirishima explained. A sympathetic expression was plastered across his lips, but you couldn’t help but frown. “It’ll just be the two of us, if that’s alright. I could ask Katsuki-”

“It’s fine! Bakugo kinda scares me, when he’s studying.” Your enthusiasm might’ve been forced, but Kirishima accepted it, moving the side and letting you in. Papers were already scattered across his bed, textbooks thrown haphazardly on the floor, but you just sighed. You’d see Tetsutetsu tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, too. Tonight could be about Kirishima, about your friend rather than your crush. You turned back to him, with that in mind, attempting to smile more genuinely. “We should spend more time together, anyway.”

Kirishima just nodded, his eyes not meeting yours. “Absolutely.”

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mythlived · 5 years

Text

When Josie was little and Patroclus had just arrived, she hid from him. Always. When her parents had told her they were taking him in, she was excited for the weeks leading up to his arrival and—as five-year-olds do—began to pick out things she owned that she thought he might like or pointed out things in stores that she wanted thought suited him. She drew him a “Welcome” card at school ( which Pat still has, tucked safely in a picture frame so it won’t get damaged and where everyone can see the words “Welcome Patrus, Love Jo” scribbled in green crayon on purple construction paper ), she picked out a new outfit for herself for the “Welcome Party” she planned, and even went so far as to get Ares a puppy-party-hat. But when the day came and Pat showed up, she heard the door open, heard her parents talking to him while she sat beside her grandma, and then bolted. All she knew was that he sounded older than her and therefore scarier. She couldn’t handle it. She’d been bamboozled. She thought she was getting a little brother ( their parents had told her otherwise more than once ) and didn’t like that she’d been betrayed. She did not like this. . . this Patrus. So she hid in her room and refused to come out, no matter who asked.

The first time she ever actually saw Patroclus was two days later, when she was hiding in the kitchen pantry and he opened it to get something for her mom, only to find her staring up at him, completely and utterly caught. She remembers he just grabbed what he was looking for after pausing for a moment and then shut the pantry door back like it had never happened. Like she wasn’t even there. She had been both pleased and also insulted. He had barely even acknowledged her. She was here first. Patrus needed to go. She told her dad as much when he was putting her to bed, but he’d simply frowned at her and told her she wasn’t being very nice like she’d promised—a low blow to one so small—but then asked why she didn’t like him. . . to which her response was that he was old and mean. When prompted to explain how he was mean, Josie told him: He ignored her ! The audacity. But then her dad pointed out she’d been ignoring him this entire time, so he was probably just being polite and trying not to bother her. Clearly, Patrus had Mom and Dad wrapped around his finger already. It was time for war.

So the following morning she arrived at breakfast and immediately told her mother that Patrus had spit in her cereal. To which her mother had sighed and pointed out that Patroclus ( who was Patroclus ? ) wasn’t even awake yet. Josie told her that didn’t matter, because Patrus did it, not this Patro. . . Partoc. . . Pat-man. She didn’t understand why her mom just laughed. The traitor. So she tried again the following day: Patrus kicked me today. This time when they were all seated at dinner for the first time because all grandparents were over. She achieved some satisfaction from the way Grandma, Nan, and Pa reacted, looking at the boy with wide eyes and a little gasp from Nan. She also achieved some satisfaction from the horror written across Patrus’ face. He deserved that. But then she got in trouble for lying because Patrus had been grocery shopping with Dad that day while she and Mom had gone to the mall. . . which was a small kink in her plan. She had taken a nap since their mall trip and forgotten.

What she didn’t expect was for the tables to turn on Week Three; for Patrus to launch his counterattack. It was when she heard a door close that she jumped off of her seat to go hide herself in the linens closet in the hallway. ( It was her hiding spot for laundry days because it smelled nice with all the clean towels and sheets. ) But when she opened the door, she froze because there he sat. Patrus was in her hiding spot. He knew. And yet, he looked startled, like he hadn’t expected her. ❝ Can I help you ? ❞ And he said it like he shouldn’t be somewhere else. Anywhere else. She couldn’t figure out why he was there. Why he was sitting in her linen closet. On laundry day. So she asked, ❝ What are you doing ? ❞

She felt strange when he looked at her like he didn’t understand what she’d just said. But it was his reply. . . his reply changed everything, ❝ I’m hiding from you. ❞ Horror, shock, disbelief, and betrayal all hit at once. She had won so many battles, but with just four words. . . just four words. . . she’d lost the war. So she did the only sensible thing and placed her hand on her forehead, swayed with the non-existent wind, and pretended to pass out in the floor. Perhaps her parents would find her and think Patrus had pushed her down and promptly get rid of him.

She was tempted to peek her eyes open when she heard him shift some of the linens. But she didn’t have to because he spoke only a moment later, ❝ Josie ? Are you okay ? ❞ He had no right to ask her such a thing when he was the one that had done this. How rude. A dragon wasn’t supposed to care about the knight they had vanquished. What was his problem ? Coming in here and trying to replace her only to ask if she was okay. Of course she wasn’t okay ! Who knew he was stupid, too ?

❝ No. I’m dead. ❞ She sighed dramatically and peeked one eye open to see that he’d left her linen closet and was sitting on the ground next to her, cross-legged and. . . was he smiling ?! She hated him ! He was glad she was dead ! What a monster ! She promptly closed her eyes again; she couldn’t bear to see her replacement take such joy in her fall. She was ruined. It was over. . .

Would her mom and dad get rid of her since they seemed to like Patrus better ? Maybe they would give her to Nan and Pa, since Nan believed that Patrus had kicked Josie. Surely that meant Nan liked her better ?

❝ Why are you crying ? ❞ Patrus’ voice was quiet, soft like she’d never heard it, like he was trying not to wake the dead. But too bad for him—she had awoken ! . . . But only because she couldn’t stop sniffling and had to sit up. Unfortunately, this brought her face-to-face with him because he had his face leaned against his hand and his elbows on his knees. She swatted at him even though he wasn’t very close to her and he sat up, hopefully surprised.

❝ Because I hate you. ❞ And she sobbed, because she didn’t feel any better after saying it. In fact, watching the way his face scrunched up and how he frowned, she just felt worse. Maybe if she explained more she’d feel better and he’d stop making that face at her. . . ❝ You’re scary and Mom and Dad like you better now. ❞

His face went from scrunched up to that startled look he’d given her earlier, like he hadn’t been expecting what she was going to say. Good. She liked this expression better anyway. It didn’t make her feel as bad. ❝ They don’t like me better. ❞

❝ They do ! ❞

❝ They don’t. ❞

❝ They do ! ❞

❝ They don’t. You know how I know ? ❞ He said it, all smug and with such finality that she paused in her crying, hiccuping as she stared up at him. She wouldn’t believe a word he said. She wouldn’t. In fact, she didn’t want to know how he knew.

❝ . . . How ? ❞ She had betrayed herself ! No ! Was there no one she could trust ?!

❝ Because they talk about you a lot. ❞ Simple. He said it like that was all the explanation it needed, like that had anything to do with it at all. But still. . . the way he said it and how he smiled at her. . . he couldn’t be lying. It had to be the truth. Was Patrus. . . actually not a dragon ? Perhaps he was a misunderstood ogre. No. She’d given in to the enemy too easily. . .

❝ They do ? ❞

❝ Mhm. Your dad was telling me the other day that you’re very good at spelling and when I told him I could tell from the card you made me— ❞ Josie gasped because she’d forgotten about the card—she’d shown weakness from the very beginning. . . ❝ —he told me how proud he was of you. ❞

Josie froze, staring up at Patrus. So her parents didn’t like him better after all. . . they hadn’t told him how proud they were of him. Had she worried all this time for nothing ? She sniffled and watched as the older boy reached up to grab a washcloth from the linen closet before reaching out to her very slowly. He wiped the tears from her face and then very gently prompted her to blow her nose before rolling the washcloth up to avoid getting her nose-germs all over his hands.

Something occurred to her, then. Did Patrus have anyone to tell him how proud of him they were ? Maybe that was why he was here in the first place. . . her parents had never actually told her why he was there. ❝ Patrus ? ❞

❝ Hm ? ❞

❝ Why are you here ? Where’s your mom and dad ? ❞ And she almost started to cry again when she watched the way his face fell and he flinched. She didn’t know why that reaction upset her so much, but she didn’t think that was a good question to ask. Maybe she should apologize or—

❝ Well. . . they’re. . . I don’t have a mom or a dad ? ❞ He sounded unsure, but she was afraid to ask anymore questions. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings anymore. . . She’d done enough of that in the last few weeks, she thought. After all, he seemed like someone whose feelings were easily hurt. A kindred spirit, of sorts.

Slowly, she stood up and wiped non-existent dirt off her pants before stepping toward Patrus and grabbing his face, pushing on his cheeks until he looked vaguely like a fish. ( And he just let her do it ! ) ❝ You can share mine. But you have to share. It’s bad not to share Mom and Dad, so you have to. ❞

Patrus looked at her and then just nodded, but he also huffed out a laugh. She didn’t know why. This was serious business ! What a funny guy. Or weird. And stupid. Oh boy, she had a lot of work to do.

❝ Come on. Let’s go play. I’ll introduce you to my friends next door and the neighborhood cats and dogs. ❞ She let go of his face only to grab his hand and tug him after her.

❝ Wait, Josie, I have homework. . . ❞ He sounded far too worried about work his school had sent home. Ridiculous. The neighborhood residents were much more important.

❝ No you don’t. ❞

#☁ ( gentle ) — hc.#this turned into a drabble #so it has a read more #oops #also it's Soff(tm)#♛ ( therapon ) ━ hc.#drabble tags tba.

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theofficialcunt · 7 years

Text

Simplicité - Chapter 4

Short chapter this time! Happy Saturday y'all! Special thanks to @veronicasanders for being my new beta for this story and helping me make this story 50303178283x better. Clap for that hooker! I hope you enjoy, and I’m gonna try and get back on schedule (Thursdays for those who don’t know). Have a great weekend everyone. ❤️

She walked out of her bedroom, grabbing a wine glass from the kitchen cabinet and poured herself a full glass of white wine. She patted her box of wine lovingly; it wasn’t the most spectacular wine in the world - but fuck she drank so much of it she had to buy the cheap $10 boxes so she constantly had it on tap.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Bianca raised an eyebrow at the text message before taking a big gulp out of her glass.

Courtney Act: Do you have time to talk tonight?

“Boxed wine? You’re a 40 year old trapped in a 25 year old’s body.” Adore snorted, walking out of her room curiously in a pair of sweats from her high school and an old concert t shirt.

Bianca smirked, still feeling weird about what had happened in the dressing room between the two of them. She had never had that sort of connection with anyone before. Love was a business transaction in her mind. You fuck, you kiss, and sometimes you pay for dinner. There were no overwhelming feelings clouding her judgement. She usually spotted someone attractive, swallowed her pride, and made it a goal to make them hers.

But there was something different with Adore. Something that said their relationship wasn’t fully professional. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. Fuck, and she was feeling this way on only the first week of knowing her.

“When you begin working for real, you’ll understand why I have this crap on tap.” Bianca joked, taking a big swig of her drink.

Courtney Act: Can I come over at 8?

“Who’s that?” Adore asked curiously.

Bianca groaned, looking between Adore and her phone. The last person she wanted to deal with right now was Courtney, especially with how much of a raging cunt she had been to Adore. She really didn’t know what the blonde wanted to talk to her about, but reluctantly she responded.

Bianca : SURE! NO HARASSING MY ASSISTANT WHILE YOU’RE HERE!

“Courtney’s coming over.” Bianca started. “So, if you wanna avoid her like the plague - which I’m sure you do; you can go in your room and lock the door. I’ll get you when she’s gone.”

“Ugh. Can’t she just see you tomorrow?” Adore sighed. She had enough of Courtney for the day. She honestly didn’t know how she was going to work with someone who blatantly hated her as much as she did.

“She’s really not that bad.” Bianca muttered. “Just a bit headstrong.”

“Well, I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Adore said, starting to walk away. “Wait. I came over here to ask you something.” Adore tapped her finger on her lips as she tried to remember. “Oh! Do you have Farrah’s number by chance?”

Bianca narrowed her eyes at her, before scrolling through her phone locating the number. She hastily texted the contact information to Adore, setting her phone down dramatically on the quartz countertop.

“Thanks!” Adore exclaimed as she skipped happily to her room and shut the door.

Bianca drained the remainder of her glass and immediately refilled it.

It was going to be a long night.

—————–

When the doorbell sounded, Bianca groaned as she dragged herself out of her bed and to the front door.

“I thought it was just you coming?” Bianca asked incredulously as Courtney and Bob pushed past her into her living room.

“That’s clearly code for, why the fuck are you here?” Bob smirked.

“Why the fuck ARE you here?” Bianca questioned, raising an eyebrow. She loved Bob to death, but Courtney usually didn’t team up with Bob unless…

“Bitch. You need an intervention. Where’s Adore?” Bob asked peering around the corner.

“In her room, avoiding you buffoons.”

“Smart girl.” Courtney commented, taking Bianca’s wine glass and sipping from it.

“Hey! If you guys are going to force me into an awkward intervention at least give me my goddamn wine.” Bianca scowled, snatching the wine glass. She led the way to her room, Courtney closing the door discreetly.

“Before we start, I just wanna say it’s not Adore I have the problem with. It..it’s you.” Courtney said nervously, biting her lip. Bob sat down at Bianca’s nearby vanity table, and pretended to be enamoured with her collection of makeup.

Bianca sighed, knowing damn well there was no escape from this inevitable conversation. It was a long time coming and she knew where Courtney was going with this.

“I was in a really bad place that night.” Bianca started, sitting down on the edge of her bed and crossing her legs.

“I understand that, and I was willing to forgive you but you never apologized. You never said sorry for just-”

“You were willing to forgive me?” Bianca shot back angrily. “My mom had literally just died when I came to your apartment that night. I was trying to confide in a friend-”

“Confide in a friend?” Courtney snorted. She threw her head back and laughed, letting a long cackle ring through the apartment. “Confiding in a friend is crying on their shoulder and watching ‘ Paris is Burning’ 50 times in a row. Not sucking my clit and destroying my favorite robe! Which, was custom made by the way!”

“Custom made by who bitch, Jo Ann’s?” Bianca sneered, rolling her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say to you. That happened months ago, can we just move on?”

“No, we can’t just ‘move on’,” Courtney hissed, making air quotes with her fingers “God, you’re so fucking dim sometimes Bianca! Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself?”

“Don’t you think I had the right to be selfish that night?” Bianca argued, standing up as she looked into Courtney’s eyes. “My mom died, I was hammered, and it’s not like you were complaining when it happened.”

“You didn’t have the right to play with my feelings like that Bianca. You knew how much I liked you! Whether or not your mom had just passed, you don’t fucking do that to someone,” Courtney seethed, opening the door. “Fuck you. This was a stupid idea. I’ll just see you at work.”

Adore quickly slid from behind Bianca’s opening door to the kitchen, pretending to look in the pantry for a snack. Courtney stomped out aggressively, with her head surprisingly held high. She made eye contact with Adore for a split second before she stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Did you hear any of that?” Courtney asked curiously.

“Uh, no.” Adore lied. “I was just getting a snack.”

“Good. Well, since you’re here I might as well tell you now.” Courtney shrugged, “I’m sorry for being a bitch to you-”

“You weren’t a bitch-”

“I was.” Courtney said abruptly, cutting her off. “It had nothing to do with you though Adore. So I’m sorry. Can we be cool at work now?”

“Um, yeah sure.” Adore stammered, taken off guard. “Maybe you can teach me some of your skills. I’m pretty sure my face will never look like yours, but a girl can dream.”

Courtney laughed, “Oh girl, no one’s face will ever look like mine. But sure. I have to prep you anyway for your clients on Saturday.”

“I have clients on Saturday?” Adore asked, eyes wide.

“Yep!” Courtney exclaimed. “Anyway, I better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.” Adore said perplexed, grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry.

Well, as much as she was confused by that whole interaction - she was happy to have her on her side.

—-

Bianca tried to overhear Adore and Courtney’s conversation in the kitchen, but they were talking too low. She would just have to ask Adore later. Who knows where her and Courtney stand at this point.

“Bitch,” Bob cleared his throat before he continued. “I’m your best friend and I love you so keep that in mind when I say what I’m about to say to you.”

Bianca just shrugged, knowing that whatever Bob was about to say was probably for the best. He always kept it real with her, which she appreciated.

“You knew damn well how much Courtney liked you, and you took advantage of that. Then on top of that, you treated her like a one night stand and pretended the night didn’t even happen when you saw her at work.” Bob sighed, taking a deep breath before he continued. “ Bianca, Courtney is your fucking employee. Not just a hoe you found at a bar near Wrigley field. She’s supposed to be your best friend when I’m not around. Which is never. I’m always around.”

Bianca laughed, thinking about when Bob used to feel threatened by Courtney. My, how things change.

“And now you have doe eyes living with you, and you look at her like she’s a slab of meat. Openly. In front of Courtney!” Bob continued. “ Do you understand how fucked up this whole thing is? You’ve barely known Adore 24 hours B. Get yourself together. That is your personal fucking assistant, not your personal play toy.” Bob got up and stood by Bianca’s bed as he stared down at her.

“Honestly, I love you and I know you’ve been going through a lot. But girl, you need to keep it in your pants. You owe Courtney AND Adore an apology. That’s all I’m going to say. I’ll see myself out.” Bob sympathized, as he walked out of her room.

What a bunch of rude cunts, Bianca thought bitterly as she laid down fully on her bed. They had the fucking audacity to come to her house late at night, stage an intervention - if you could really call it that - it was more like a Courtney-attacking-her fest featuring Bob being awkward in the corner until she left.

Courtney was way out of line for organizing that fiasco. If she thought that she could get under her skin, she was sadly mistaken.

Bianca wanted to resolve things with Courtney, she really did. She just wanted Courtney to be more sympathetic to her situation. Bianca had acted recklessly, and it was her way of crying for help. She didn’t understand why Courtney couldn’t put herself in her position.

No, no. She was not going to let herself fall down the rabbit hole. She could cry and moan and ponder about this all night, it would get her no where fast. If anything, it would get her 6 cups of coffee in the morning since she had such a long day tomorrow. As far as she could tell, she did absolutely nothing wrong and Courtney was the one with the problem.

But yet, Bob’s words were still on repeat in the back of her mind as she closed her eyes to go to sleep.

#simplicité #multi chap

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