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swordsandholly · 4 months

Text

Across the Way

Chapter 4: New and Old Problems Alike

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Fat!Reader

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

MDNI | cw: fainting, some medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

You haven’t texted them, even three days later. That little sticky note haunts the surface of your kitchen counter. It taunts you - tells you that you should text them and at least give them your number. That you’re being a terrible neighbor. They might need you too, after all. Even though you can’t figure out why they might for the life of you. On the other hand, you can’t help but feel wary about it. Men don’t take an interest in you - people in general rarely take interest. It’s hard not to feel suspicious, as pure as you’re sure their intentions probably are.

More so than any of that, you don’t know what to say. If it had been day one you could have just put your name, but now you feel like you need to explain. Or at least be funny or something. Tossing and turning on your designated rest day about what the hell you should do.

You’re overthinking it. You know that. You can’t stop, either.

They just seem so cool - so put together. So unlike you. You want to impress them. You don’t want to ruin the first possibility of friends in this new life you’re building for yourself.

Eventually you work up the courage to send off an initial text to each of them. Just to give them your name to save if they so choose - plus an extra thank you to Simon for giving you their numbers in the first place. Something simple and borderline cold. Too cold, maybe? Maybe you sound irritated. You hope not. You just want them to like you. Friends in new places are hard and to have someone around you who gets how it feels to need accommodations would just feel so… lovely. Your phone may or may not go flying onto your bed while you bury your face in your hands out of sheer nervousness.

You don’t expect it to chime about a minute later. Right as you’re staring to calm down, of course. It sends your heart violently pounding all over again.

J >> Bonnie lass!

J >> So glad u texted!!

>> Sorry it took so long lol

Oh, you could just slap yourself. You don’t have anything better than that? At all? Christ.

J >> Nah Nah

J >> No worries

J >> Actually I was wondering if u would mind if I came by tomorrow

J >> Just to chat

J >> need an excuse to get out of the house

“How the hell does he type that fast?” You scoff to yourself.

>> Yeah, come by anytime.

>> totally

>> yea sounds cool

>> rad, man

A message from Simon pops up mid your internal battle with how to respond, replying with a simple thumbs up. Very in character, you think. He knows how to be nonchalant. What would Simon say? Something casual, maybe a little formal.

>> If you like. You’re always welcome.

Okay maybe that was too much like Simon. You sigh heavily m before adding,

>> I’m trying out a new blueberry loaf

>> If you want to test for me :)

Better. That’s a little better. With another heavy sigh you decide to drop your phone into your nightstand for the rest of the day. Your heart really cannot handle this much emotional pressure.

~~~

You sort of end up just forgetting about the texts. With your phone out of sight and out of mind upstairs in your apartment it almost catches you off guard when Johnny comes striding through the door just before close. He’s dressed more casually than the last couple of times you saw him - having broken out the summer shorts and a graphic tee for some band you don’t recognize. It suits him, though.

“Hey, bon.” He grins.

“Hey.” You smile back, finishing with putting up your stocking baskets before dusting off your hands and turning around. “Simon closing up?”

“Aye.”

You hum. “Come on back, I’ll get you a slice of that loaf I mentioned.”

Johnny follows you quietly. Uncharacteristically quietly. That’s okay - you don’t have a problem with hanging out in silence. It doesn’t feel tense, surprisingly enough. He leaves Riley out front again. Should you get her a dog bed? Maybe if he comes by consistently. That would be nice. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“It’s sort of a pound cake but fluffier. I might make an icing for it but I don’t know if that would be too sweet…” You trail off, focusing on plating up the piece. You’re not sure what compels you to try and make it pretty for him. Probably something you could blame on your grandmother. She did have an obsession with presentation.

Johnny hums loudly after taking a bite, talking around the mouthful. “Y’should totally make an icing.” He swallows roughly. “Si would go crazy fer this.”

“Oh?” You smile. “I’ll send some home with you.”

There’s a lapse of silence while Johnny chews on his slice of bread and you pack up some in a paper bag for him to take home. The only sounds in the room comprised of your cutting and folding and the hum of the cooling oven.

“You’re being weirdly quiet.” You blurt, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. “I, uh, I mean that isn’t a bad thing! I don’t mind… I just, uh, was… sorry, never mind…”

“Well I did come wit’ a bit of an ulterior motive…” Johnny admits, glancing off to the side shyly. It’s a show, you think. Johnny doesn’t seem the type of man to have felt shy a day in his life.

You tilt your head. “Oh?”

He dusts off his hands and grins. “Let us take ye out! In celebration of yer first full month.”

Has it been a month already? “Oh - no, no you don’t have to-“

“C’mon! It’s a big accomplishment.” His smile is so bright that you almost believe his idea that you’ve done something great.

“…alright.” You give a tentative smile. It’s hard to believe they like you enough to want to hang out casually in the evening. Hard to imagine anyone liking you that much but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s a pub down the street - the one on the corner. Want tae meet us there around six?” Johnny gives you that lovely smile. How could you ever say no to a smile like that?

“Okay.”

You spend far too long changing in and out of clothes and fussing with your hair. Up-do’s and buns and braids. A tank top then a sweater then a t-shirt. There’s no reason to feel this stressed over it. It’s not a date or anything. Besides, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Either way you look like a frumpy dumpling. Eventually you land on jeans and one of your designated ‘going out tops.’ At least it’s a good excuse to wear something other than work clothes or loungewear.

Excitement and anxiety thrum under your skin like electricity as you make your way down the street. You feel painfully nauseous - stopping once or twice just to make sure you aren’t about to throw up for real.

The pub is surprisingly quiet when you enter. Obviously somewhere only real locals hang out - there’s no theme or really any decor in general. Just a bar, some booths and a couple pool tables. You scan the floor a few times, not seeing either Johnny or Simon (not that they would be hard to miss). Eventually you just grab a soda from the bar and slide into one of the booths closer to the back. A quiet spot facing the door where you can easily watch for them.

As time ticks on you begin to grow increasingly nervous. Did you get the time wrong? No, no you triple checked. You even wrote it down in your planner. Your leg begins to bounce furiously, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Did they decide to ditch? You wouldn’t really blame them. They’re way out of your league when it comes to friends. Maybe Johnny had an emergency? Should you call Simon? If he had an emergency it would make sense that they would forget to notice you. What if something really bad happened? What if-

The front door opens and Simon’s wide frame strides through, holding the door for Johnny and Riley to come in behind him. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, willing your leg to stop bouncing with a pinch to your thigh. Why are you always so damn dramatic?

Johnny lights up with an ear to ear grin when he spots you, bee-lining for the booth while Simon casually walks up to the bar. It’s almost comedic, the way he dwarfs the counter. Johnny leans on the side of the booth, waiting for Simon, you think.

“Glad ye could come out.” He looks you over, eyes flicking from your plain top to the very practical, not at all stylish up do that you landed on for the evening.

You do your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Me too…”

Simon comes back with two beers in hand and slides them onto the table. He scoots into the inner booth to give Johnny the outer edge. Riley happily sits beside his leg and practically grins at you in a near mirror image of Johnny’s. You’d never do it while she’s on the job, of course, but part of you wants to give her a pat on the head and coo at her for being so polite.

Johnny gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry we were a bit late-”

“Johnny redid his hair about five times.” Simon butts in, not reacting at all to Johnny’s sputtering protest. He glances at your half-drunk soda. “Want me t’ grab you a beer?”

“Oh, no, I’ll just stick to coke.”

They blink at you. Simon cocks his head slightly. “You sure?”

You chew your lip. “Uh, alcohol tends to aggravate my symptoms is all...”

“Then why’d ye agree to drinks? We coulda gone somewhere else.” Johnny frowns.

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I… maybe this is over sharing but I’d rather go out and be kind of normal than just… not ever. Y’know?”

His expression softens. For having such icy blue eyes they are so, so warm. “I get it.”

“How’d you two meet anyway?” You blurt, taking a left turn to get the conversation off of you. It’s the first question that comes to mind. Maybe it’s rude - maybe you’re prying too much already.

“Military.” Simon grunts. “SAS.”

“Si retired wit’ me after I was discharged.” Johnny points to his scar the same way he did when you first met. “Russians scrambled my egg a bit.”

“Couldn’t do the time apart…” Simon murmurs, eyes locked on Johnny’s face. It’s vulnerable. More than he’s used to - you can see it in the way he tenses after saying it.

Something passes between them that a deep, wounded part of you desperately wishes to understand.

You can’t help but start giggling to yourself. They both give you an incredulous look. “Sorry, sorry - it’s just, that’s like… totally a romance book premise. It’s sweet. Really.”

“Och, aye. Wouldn’t know it t’ look at him but Si’s a real romantic.” Johnny bats his eyes at the other man, who just rolls his in response. The corner of his scarred mouth quirks up subtly.

“SAS…” You repeat, staring at your drink. “That’s like Navy Seal shit, right?”

“We worked with them a few times, yes.” Simon nods. There’s an air of ‘do not ask anything more specific’ in his voice.

“Huh.” You take that for what it is and sit back, squinting at them. “You don’t look it, honestly.”

Johnny laughs. “Tha’s just cause ye havennae seen Simon with his gear on. The Ghost.” He wiggles his fingers along as he makes a stupid, spooky sound effect. “I domesticated him.”

Simon scoffs but doesn’t deny it, just takes a quiet sip of his beer.

“Riley’s a vet, too.” Johnny pats her head. “Got too skittish around loud noises but she transitioned into a service dog nicely.”

“Now she’s just spoiled.” Simon rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. You get the strong feeling that he’s the one doing the spoiling.

You find yourself relaxing as the night goes on. Slouching in your seat rather than sitting ramrod straight and nervously twiddling your thumbs. They never press you to drink, never insist that you’ll be fine with just one. They take your statement as fact and it isn’t brought up again. That shouldn’t be as significant as it is, now that you think about it.

Johnny’s words begin to slur a little bit on his fourth, no maybe fifth, beer. You aren’t sure. It’s very cute, the little blush that forms across his cheeks. Simon loosens up, too. He slings an arm around the back of the booth and Johnny readily tucks himself into the open spot. You find yourself wondering about their military career again. You can’t picture either of them committing violence - especially Simon. Sure, he’s big and gruff but he looks at Johnny so, so softly.

Simon is the one to call it a night - though you have a feeling its because you nodded off a couple times. Not out of boredom, you try really, really hard to pay attention to Johnny rambling about the chemistry of different explosives. He makes it interesting, somehow. Really it’s just that you’ve been awake for… holy shit almost twenty hours!

“D’you need a ride?” Simon asks as you exit the pub, hands firmly shoved into his pockets.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how to interpret the look he’s giving you. It’s intense, but not annoyed or displeased. He has such a weird knack for unreadable but distinct expressions. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to get good at deciphering them.

You jump when Johnny takes both your hands in, kissing the backs of them with a sloppy, drunk smile. “Thank ye fer comin’ out. “

Somehow your face feels hotter than a damn oven. You tuck your hands to your chest, kicking shyly at the sidewalk. “Th-thanks for the invite. We, uh, we could do it again sometime?”

You glance up hopefully, praying that you didn’t misread the situation. You’ve done that before - thought people liked you more than they did. Johnny just grins wider somehow and nods excitedly.

You watch them walk off in the other direction, hand in hand. Johnny giggles about something loudly and you can see Simon’s shoulders shake with a far more silent laugh. All the way until they disappear down the street.

The sheer amount that the image hurts your heart makes you feel evil.

~~~

The pub changed something. What, you don’t know. Either way, you fall into an easy pattern with Johnny and Simon over the next couple weeks. Exchanges of food, leftovers or morsels about to turn, little visits back and forth between your shops. Johnny continues to stop by after close, just hanging around with you while Simon closes up shop.

You can’t deny how much you look forward to hearing that door chime followed by a too-loud greeting from Johnny. How your heart flips in your chest when those bright blue eyes peek around the corner into the back room or light up while trying a new recipes you’ve been testing. You’re still a bit awkward - unsure how to react when he throws an arm around your shoulders or listens oh so intently while you talk about nothing important.

Things can’t ever be all sunshine and rainbows, though. Not for you. A new problem has arisen as summer truly sets in - the comfortable spring breezes giving way to nothing but bright, unfiltered sun. One you didn’t expect to impact you this much living this far north.

Heat.

It’s hard to breathe in the back room while you’re baking. Hard to keep your water and salt intake high enough to compensate for how fast you lose them. You might as well get a permanent saline drip attached to you at this point. You definitely didn’t google if that was physically possible. Your budget for liquid IVs and other supplements nearly doubles. Standing over the massive oven in the back room has your head swimming a few times. You end up resting longer on your weekends, unable to keep up like you could in cooler weather.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, the summer here isn’t like back home. It will pass quicker. Plus, you at least have methods of dealing with it now other than crossing your fingers and praying.

“Bonnie!” Johnny suddenly appears in your doorway - that charming smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Ye made it up Main Street yet?”

“No?” You tilt your head and try to ignore the way your vision spots momentarily at the motion. “Why?”

“Ye dinnae hear about the summer festival?” He leans on your counter. You shake your head. “It’s a yearly thing. Not that big a deal but they have some fun games an’ it’s nice tae see everyone out an’ about. Si an’ I are about tae head down. Come wit’?”

You hesitate. The exhaustion in your body tugs at your spine. Your limbs feel heavy. This morning really got to you - out of towners who must have come for the festival flooded your shop the moment it opened on top of your Saturday regulars. Not that you’re complaining, really. It’s easily your best day so far. You want to go with them, though, despite the ache in your back and the sting in your joints. It sounds so fun and it’s never a bad idea to take part in your new community’s festivities.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You smile. You can tough it out for an hour, then come back home. Yeah, just an hour. You’ll be fine.

You hadn’t noticed Simon leaned up at the entrance to your shop. Your eyes lock on his arms. This is the first time you’ve actually seen him in short sleeves. You can’t help but stare at his half-sleeve tattoo - all skulls and bombs and other military motifs. Faded and sun worn. Yeah, if you’d seen that sooner you definitely would have picked up on the whole military thing. You bite your lip to keep from snickering about it.

You can hear the music drifting from the speakers down the street. A few kids run by with balloons and cheap carnival prizes. It almost reminds you of the Spring Fling back home, just missing the extreme American flag theming across every booth and vendor front. Now that you’re looking around, you can actually see several booths that have been sponsored by various businesses in the area. Even the post office has a snow cone stand. The deeper you get into the event, the more flamboyant the decor becomes. Multicolored streamers and pennet flags connect stands, creating an almost canopy effect.

Simon stops rather abruptly at a booth, waiting behind a few teenagers tossing rings onto bottles. You stop with Johnny about two feet away. What’s he thinking? Simon doesn’t seem like the type who would be too entertained by basic carnival games. Even so, he steps forward and passes over a couple bills to the vendor as soon as the teenagers leave.

“Si’s really good at these. Watch.” Johnny grins beside you.

“Aren’t they rigged?” You raise an eyebrow.

Johnny doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his husband as he lines up one of the rings. You have to lean slightly to see around the breadth of the man - the multicolor rings almost cartoonishly small in his hands. Cute. Your eyes get impossibly wide with each toss, every single one landing comfortably on the bottle necks as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if this isn’t one of the most commonly rigged carnival games.

“Holy shit…” You mutter, still staring.

“Aye, tha’s a SAS sniper for ye.” Johnny laughs. “Glad tae see it still comes in handy.”

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh at that. Almost more of a sigh if it weren’t for the shaking of his shoulders. You love it - their little dynamic. The bond between them that’s so strong it’s almost visible.

“‘ere.” Simon turns to you suddenly, holding out a cheap little carnival prize. You can’t even begin to decipher what it’s supposed to be - some sort of furry puff ball with big, embroidered anime eyes and two felt antennae sticking up out of it’s purple head… body… thing…

Your face heats. “F-, uh, me?”

He shrugs. “Suits you. Riley will just chew it up if we take it home.”

“Aye. She’s so good with everythin’ but cheap plushies.” Johnny snickers.

You glance down at the dog in question - her dark eyes glued to the toy in Simon’s hand. Her tail thumps against the ground where she sists dutifully, but you can see the desire to snatch the thing away in her twitchy ears and pleading eyes. You snort, taking the stupid thing and tucking it under your arm with the prayer that they don’t notice the heat now spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

“Thanks…” you murmur, already mentally deciding where to add it to the mess of stuffies covering your bed already.

Somehow you end up walking between them down the street - Simon on your left and Johnny on your right with Riley in tow. You stop at a few other games here and there. All pretty basic. Johnny absolutely kills at the dunk booth.

Simon tires his hardest to help you with your terrible aim, “Just visualize it. Y’have t’ account for the arc.”

You get to the point of sticking your tongue out in concentration. Even so you only manage to knock down a couple of the wooden ducks at the ‘Dunk-A-Duck’ stand. You do, however, win one of those rock candy sticks at the guessing booth. You just hand it off to Johnny. It’s probably not best to load up on sugar in your current state.

Johnny excitedly points to different buildings giving you a rundown of the history of his hometown as you walk. Simon seems to barely be listening. He’s probably heard this a thousand times. Prattling on about the old town square, the church bell that a bunch of teenagers spray painted one time (Johnny was not involved, how could you accuse him of that?)

You find yourself focusing on your feet - keeping each step even and fast enough to remain on pace with them. One, two, one, two, one, two. The air begins to thicken. Muggy and heavy on your skin. Your breaths become shallow and fast. You can’t catch it, the air seeming to get stuck in your throat rather than reaching your lungs. Spots begin to dance across your vision. You stumble over nothing.

Not now! Come on! You’ve been doing so well!

Riley presses against your leg acting as a counter weight. Your body moves on instinct to grab whatever you can - hands wrapping around something strong and covered with cloth. An arm solid as rebar. Hopefully it’s someone you know. All you can see are colorless shapes.

“Gonna pass out - don’t freak!” You gasp before your legs give out.

It’s not that you go entirely out - it’s rare that you fully black out. It’s more like being stuck. Limp and fuzzy and confused. Almost like sleep paralysis. There’s voices and people moving around you. Someone has picked you up, you think, based on the swaying motion and the passing shapes around you. Maybe that’s just vertigo. A door bell chimes.

You finally begin to really come to when something icy is pressed to your forehead. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that you were gone, but it takes much longer for the world around you to come back into focus.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, eyes stinging. Even after all these years it’s so damn embarrassing. You blink, the distinct mural that decorates the ceiling of the post office slowly coming into view. Johnny said a big time traveling artist painted it back in the nineties.

“Ye alright?” Johnny murmurs, crouched down beside you. Riley sniffs at your hand, seeming satisfied when you finally move it on your own.

You nod slowly. “Overheated…”

“Give her this.” Someone says. An event medic, you think. The boys must have flagged them down. Fingers press to your pulse point, a light shines in your eyes and you follow it. A quick check of vitals. Johnny shoves a water bottle in your hand as soon as the medic decides you’re fine to move - the contents distinctly murky from some sort of electrolyte pack that’s been shaken into it.

“Up y’get. Slowly does it.” Simon helps you sit up with a hand on your back. It’s so gentle. You don’t miss how he cages in your body the way only someone intimately familiar with caretaking might. Fully ready to catch you if you go limp again.

You sip slow, eyes glued to the ground. You feel so fucking stupid. Can’t even walk down a street without creating some sort of scene. They’re never going to want to hang out with you again, are they? You can’t go out drinking, can’t walk around a festival for longer than a couple hours. You distracted Riley. What if something happened to Johnny while you were having your spell? She might not have alerted correctly because of you. She might have gotten confused and then he could have gotten hurt. He might have-

“Ye really should drink tha’ instead of glarin’ at it.” Johnny pulls you from your thoughts. He’s now sat with his legs crossed beside you. Riley’s head rests in his lap. She seems calm. Content now that the emergency is over and happily lying on a cool floor.

You hum, chugging the last bit of it quickly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Simon says curtly. “Does this ‘appen often?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore… usually my medication keeps me stable.”

“Do ye need a doctor?” Johnny tilts his head slightly. There’s no judgment in his tone - in either of their tones. Just calm concern. It probably shouldn’t make you want to cry as much as it does.

You shake your head. “I’ve got liquid IV at home. Just need to sleep it off.”

Hopefully. In reality, a pain flare up is inevitable now. You just won’t know how bad until you’re fully in it.

“Let’s get ye home.” Johnny says, knees popping as he stands.

“I-I’m fine!” You insist, mentally preparing to get yourself up off the floor. “I can get home on my own - I don’t want to ruin your time.”

Johnny levels his gaze onto you, so serious it almost looks angry. It doesn’t match his face. “We’re not leavin’ ye tae get home alone like this.”

You’re caught off guard when an arm slides under your back and another under knees - lifting you like you weigh half of what you do in reality. Like you’re a paperweight instead of a boulder. You blink up at Simon, far too surprised to be embarrassed. At least at first. You splutter out a poor attempt at convincing him to put you down. Excuse and reason after reason and excuse. They roll off him like water off a ducks back. Your face burns as he steps out of the post office with you neatly tucked against his chest - Johnny and Riley in tow.

If you allow yourself to be honest, to give into that weaker part of you (or, at least, the part you consider to be weak) you could possibly admit that this feels nice. Being cared for feels nice. Having your body up against someone else feels nice. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you outside of a polite handshake or accidental bump. You sink into it despite yourself - relaxing against Simon’s chest. They were right, you wouldn’t have made it back. Your head is too fuzzy and there’s that telltale pain in your shoulders radiating up to your neck that signifies an oncoming Bed Day.

It doesn’t take long with Simon’s lengthy strides to get back to your building. You probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up to that running. Well, you can’t really run much at all so you definitely wouldn’t. A stupid, muddled train of thought that melts into the hazy bog of your current mental state. Even Johnny trails a few feet behind. Neither of them speak, marching in determined silence. You attempt to subtly check their faces for any anger. You’d understand if they were angry. Most people would get angry. You interrupted their day out with your useless drama. All you get is a wide, bright grin from Johnny when your eyes eventually meet his.

Simon puts you down with all the care in the world. As if you’re made of fine china. His hand stays on your upper back - planted firmly between your shoulder blades and ready to catch you if need be. Your vision swims a bit, your joints feel like jelly but you manage to dig your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door.

“Here.” Johnny plops the puff ball back into your hands just as you turn to say goodbye. To say thank you - to apologize profusely.

Your brows raise. You completely forgot about it while swimming around in a sea of embarrassment - he must have picked it up for you. You hug it to your chest with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You shift your weight side to side, psyching yourself up for the crawl up the stairs. Probably literally. You don’t think you could stay upright if you tried to walk them like a regular day, or even with an aid. Like a regular or semi-regular person. Fuck.

Johnny follows your eyes up at the staircase. He must sense some hesitation in you. “Do ye need help up?”

You bite your lip, staring at the ground. Standing in one place seems alright, but the thought of climbing is so daunting, even with the cane you have stationed at the bottom of the steps for that exact purpose. It’s embarrassing. You’re young, you should be able to walk up some damn stairs. It isn’t even that many. It’s barely a full flight. Just one story of stairs for fuck’s sake.

“Hey.” Simon touches your cheek, the action snapping your eyes to his in surprise. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

He picks you up again in the same fashion with barely a grunt, taking his time up the steps so as not to jostle you. How many times has he done this with Johnny? you wonder. That’s the only explanation for how good he is at keeping your equilibrium so even. You wonder if he practiced - if he took caretaking classes. He probably did. Does he keep up at the gym just so he can take care of his husband? Simon might be quiet and a little formal, but he exudes dedication.

“Sorry it’s messy…” You murmur when they reach the top of the steps. Glancing behind you, you see Riley sitting patiently at the bottom. Johnny must have told her to stay. “Haven’t gotten to fully unpack…”

You’ve been spending too much time in bed on the weekends. Fucking lazy.

Johnny just laughs. “Ye shoulda seen the first place Simon an’ I had.”

“Wasn’t that bad.” Simon argues, carefully setting you down on the couch. His hands hold your waist to steady you. They’re so warm… It feels wrong to be disappointed when he lets go.

“We hadnae figured out a system yet.” Johnny huffs, hands on his hips. “We ended up hirin’ a specialized maid service the dishes got so backed up.”

You scoff, laying back against the couch with that stupid carnival prize still in your arms. Like it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. The tears that have been stinging your eyes this entire time continue to threaten to spill - a myriad of blinks and careful breaths the only thing keeping them back.

Johnny sits beside you slowly. You can’t meet his eyes. “Do… do ye want tae tell us what it is? Ye donnae have tae - it’s up tae ye. Just if somethin’ happens again…”

“We’d like to be prepared.” Simon jumps in where Johnny trails off.

You chew your lip, still staring up at the ceiling. It splits and that coppery taste coats your tongue for a moment. “I, uh, it’s called POTS. There’s different types but basically my body can’t regulate blood flow and pressure right…” You shrug. “Like I said my medication usually keeps me mostly okay.”

It’s the pain that really gets to you usually, but you don’t need to start dumping on them about that. There’s no reason to spill your guts about things they can’t fix.

“Thanks fer tellin’ us.” Johnny smiles. You stiffen slightly when he reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear. You tilt your head, still resting on the back of the couch, to meet his eye. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll lock the knob behind us. Call if ye need anythin’.”

“Okay.” You nod, keeping your eyes down and picking at your nails. “Sorry… about all this… I didn’t - I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Donnae apologize.” He says softly as he stands. “Never apologize. We’re your friends, aye? Friends help friends. Tha’s all there is to it.”

Simon gives you a discerning nod behind him, expression both soft and deeply serious.

Friends? They consider you real life proper friends? Really? You can’t help but beam up at him. “Yeah.”

A/N: I’ve re-read this chapter so many times that it’s total mush in my brain which tells me it’s time to be done with it.

Bonus: I made a Pinterest board for this fic

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sixosix · 1 year

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can you do an aether x reader lil one shot please!!! my baby gets no love ;( I'm fine with any story or plot but maybe one where they've been travel buddies for a while and his feelings have just been bottled up over time and he just explodes in to a confession and then some cute fluff from there!!!!!!

a/n wc 1.6k there are tears in my eyes as i write this i love aether sonmuch. also sorry if this is all over the place i was trying so hard not to turn it into another 10k word fic…. ft. lyney

aether doesn’t vividly recall the moment his feelings blossomed. there was no pinpointed moment, only all of it growing restless inside him.

he likes to keep his team to four people maximum, oftentimes none at all—just him and paimon to worry about as they move from region to region, friends made yet no proper strings attached. it’s for everyone’s sake, as aether doesn’t plan on staying too long in one place. that’s how it should’ve been.

you appeared one day, demanding to take you in his team. just for liyue and then you can separate ways, you said.

“i’m visiting my awfully quiet lover to break his silence. i need to figure out why i’ve stopped receiving letters,” you explained, blinding him with your bigger-than-life personality.

and because aether is a weak, weak man to people who don’t know how to back down, he agreed, albeit hesitantly. “alright,” he said in defeat. “just liyue?”

“just liyue,” you affirmed, beaming as he’s accepted you probably easier than you expected.

just liyue is a lie, and he should’ve known it the moment he had to confirm it. he didn’t bother with formal introductions and keeping conversations, knowing he wouldn’t see you again anyway. it didn’t help that paimon adores you, expressing her loud disappointment when you have to part ways with them.

paimon floated lower than usual. aether sighed. “should’ve known you’d grow to love someone who spoils you with sweet madame more than me.”

“hmph! y/n’s nicer to paimon than you!”

but he does see you again some time later, facing a large tree, kicking it out of frustration. it’s pouring heavily; your clothes are soaked.

“am i scary?” you asked when aether and paimon approached you, staring ahead, fists trembling.

“what’s wrong?! did something bad happen?” paimon fluttered around you nervously, unsure if she could touch you.

“he’s not dead, at least,” you said bitterly. “just too cowardly to tell me that he doesn’t love me anymore. i suppose it was better breaking up face-to-face than through letters.” you sighed bitterly, shoulders hiked up to your ears as a fresh wave of quiet tears washed over you, muted by the rain. “this is embarrassing, getting dumped because i was too much.”

“it’s not. you came all the way from mondstadt just to see him. didn’t he at least care about that?” aether asked, which might’ve just been his longest sentence yet. why were you out here soaking? if it were him, he wouldn’t have been so rude to leave you astray during a thunderstorm.

“i can’t force him, if he doesn’t want to see me. i’ll be alright, i promise.” you rest your forehead against the bark of the tree, water sliding off your cheeks—aether isn’t sure if it’s the rain or your tears.

he understands, possibly more than anyone.

and aether—still a weak, weak man when it came to people breaking down in front of him, knowing what it’s like to lose someone so dear to you—gently says, “xiangling told us there’s an event holding place here later. you’re coming with us.”

just liyue was already a warning in itself that it would never be just as that.

you weave yourself in his life as if you were always there, fitting in like you haven’t met him and paimon just a few days ago. he tries to convince himself that he’s doing this to cheer you up, but you’ve been making him smile more than they do to you.

he would turn to his side and see you feeding him a chicken-mushroom skewer after a short battle, insisting even when aether says he’s not as injured as you may think. he would turn to his side and see you and paimon laughing over something he missed and find himself grinning as well.

he would turn to his side when you tug on his sleeve, shyly asking if he’s willing to take you to inazuma as well because you didn’t want to stay in liyue if they weren’t here anymore.

“sure,” aether would say. he’s a weak man, and you were holding on to his cape, looking so adorable that aether wanted to melt on the spot. but that’s a normal reaction to cute things, probably.

taking you to inazuma turns into bringing you along to sumeru, then eventually fontaine, until everyone is convinced you’re a staple in aether’s adventures: aether, paimon, and y/n.

this is what it’s like to have a good team, aether persuades himself. a good team, a useful asset, aether reminds himself sternly as you slice a ruin cruiser off of existence with fierce anger in your eyes and a stick of tricolor dango in your mouth. you wave at him after, beaming, and his heart does something weird.

and now, when some of his friends suggest that he lays you off even just for a day so he can have three other people who work together seamlessly with him, he dismisses it quickly—without thinking. he already works best with you by his side. if they want to come along with him, they have to accept they’re coming along with you just as well.

“thanks for letting me join you,” you whisper one night, lying on the grass and watching the stars with him. you turn your head and meet his eyes, smiling softly.

“of course,” aether says. of course, because now he can’t imagine what it’s like to not have you with him. “i’m the only one who can handle how scary you are.”

you scoff, gently punching his arm as he laughs. “shut up, idiot. you know what i mean.”

i know, aether wants to say. but would that be too much? aether doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to replace someone important in your life this quickly.

you are scary. you’re terrifying him with all these unwanted feelings he doesn’t know what to do with. but aether wasn’t lying, either—he can handle fear just as well.

and now, as aether watches lyney grin and kiss the back of your palm, aether’s chest burns with something unpleasant, sitting in his stomach and urging him to take action. a rock under his shoe. he does not like it, not one bit.

“uhh,” paimon shifts nervously mid-air. “paimon thinks you should stop glaring daggers into lyney before he notices.”

“glaring daggers? i’m not glaring daggers,” aether hisses. his fingers are starting to ache with how painfully he’s clutching his sword. “no daggers here…” he curses as he watches you grow increasingly flustered.

the sight startles him. not your expression, not lyney’s clear provocation, but aether’s stance towards it.

“i thought we’re friends with lyney again?” paimon asks, terribly confused.

“the best of friends,” aether says, marching over to the scene. paimon makes a disbelieving noise.

lyney smirks knowingly as aether gently tugs on your arm. “oh,” lyney says, all sly, more of a fox than a cat, “i didn’t know you were already spoken for. i do apologize for the misunderstanding.”

you glance between an amused lyney and an irked aether, dazed. “i’m not…?”

“your jealous boyfriend says otherwise,” lyney snorts as aether bristles.

aether glares heatedly at lyney, even as the latter backs away with a smug grin. “y/n, let’s go. there’s nothing else to do here.” he’s being rude. he doesn’t care. his mind is blank—or maybe it’s running miles per minute, and he struggles to keep up.

and because you always listen to aether, you let him drag you off, nearly failing to wave goodbye to a chuckling lyney. lyney calls for paimon, distracting her as aether continues walking away from the scene.

you turn to aether, barely able to keep up with his hurried steps. “whoa, whoa, hey, aether—aether, are you okay? your face is so red.” you touch his cheek, and he crumbles. “aether.”

he halts, frowning at the ground. frustrated.

“aether, is there something wrong?”

that’s the thing. aether doesn’t know what’s wrong. he was content with watching you from afar—content with your stars slowly aligning with his as he stands back and watches it happen. he was content with not doing anything about it. but not doing anything about it would mean everyone else thinks you haven’t got aether wrapped around your finger.

“sorry,” aether says. to the painful beating of his heart, restless with unexplained fury. “i didn’t—”

“…idiot.” you always tell him that. you’re the only one who calls him that, but he knows that were they to try, he wouldn’t let it slide so easily. “it’s okay to admit you’re jealous. it’s cute.”

it is not lyney’s flirtations that tip aether over; it’s the sweet smile you give him, the gentleness of your gaze, and your face so close to aether’s that you and him share the same breath. what tips him over is all of it crashing down on him, as daunting as a fight, as abrupt as the beat of his heart:

oh. oh. is that it?

aether doesn’t vividly recall the moment you wormed your way in. maybe it was the moment you jumped down from a tree branch and scared the wits out of paimon, only to demand nervously he take you. maybe it was the moment he softens when your shoulders shake and rain pours relentlessly overhead. maybe it was the stab of jealousy seeing someone else try to steal you away from him when you so obviously belong to him as he belongs to you.

it doesn’t matter.

“i want you,” aether says, then blinks when you do a startled take. “no—no. i mean. i… like you. and i want you to stay. here. not with them. not anyone else.”

“stay right in front of you?”

“in front, beside—doesn’t matter.” aether grows weak, limp as he presses his forehead against yours. “i just want you.”

“okay,” you smile, tipping your chin to kiss his cheek. his heart soars. “that’s all i needed to hear.”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #aether x reader #aether x you #aether x y/n

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ninyard · 3 months

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I would absolutely love to see something about Betsy and Andrew post Easthaven!

a lil snippet of bee and andrews first session after easthaven that i dont want to get long as hell but will probably end up that way anyway??? (tw drake/thanksgiving/easthaven you know the drill)

It was a Wednesday, as it had been a thousand times before, and at ten to the hour Betsy thought about her first session with Andrew.

She thought about his humourless laugh, and how he'd dramatically left the room less than twenty minutes into the session. She remembered how he smelled like stale tobacco and smoke, how he smiled at her, and pushed her limits.

Betsy thought about the second time she met Andrew, the third time, the fourth time. How he'd slowly started to crack himself open and let her in, how he'd allowed himself to trust again.

Betsy thought about their last session before the holidays.

Talking about his family had always been a sore spot for Andrew, uncharted territory most of the time, with far too many boundaries and ‘do-not-talk-about’s to be worth exploring further. They had dipped their toes in on a handful of occasions, tense discussions more often than not shut down as soon as Andrew felt the conversation becoming too close.

They’d made progress, that being said - they’d spent that last session before the holidays speaking about one of the last times Andrew had seen his cousin’s family in person. How interested he was in seeing how their dinner would pan out, about how he couldn’t wait to see the look on Neil’s face when he realised what he’d gotten them into.

(Betsy would not forget Neil’s face for quite some time; stoic, unbothered, with blood on his clothes and no emotions other than Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.)

At five minutes to the hour, Andrew swung open the door with a room-shaking bang. Betsy waited for him to sit down, but he stood there for a moment too long, watching her, and only when Betsy fixed her glasses did she see why.

Betsy had never met this Andrew before.

His eyes did not have much behind them, and it startled her to read his emotionless expression. This didn’t even look like him - it looked more like Aaron, the brother who did not speak, who did not sport the same medicated smile that Andrew had for over a year. It didn't take long for her to realise it was the absence of that medicated smile that made him look so wrong; it was as natural on Andrew's face as the clouds were in the sky. Him stepping into her office without it was as if he'd stepped through the door with a new hair colour, or piercing, or a bizarrely colourful outfit he'd never worn before.

“Andrew,” Betsy smiled. At her voice, he shut the door to her office behind him, and made his way over to the couch at the back end of the room. “We’re overdue a few formalities - happy New Year, for a start.”

He didn’t respond while she made their usual cocoas, and so she filled the silence with meaningless chatter, things that she knew he didn’t care about, but were words nonetheless. She got a better look at him as she placed his mug down, and caught his eyes, glued to her, waiting, watching. Perhaps the light was playing tricks on her, but he had subtle yellow marks on the skin of his face where bruises had faded to almost nothing.

“I don’t think it’s what you want to hear but I’ll ask it anyway,” Betsy checked her seat was clear before sitting down. “How are you feeling? It’s really great to see you.”

It was impossible to tell if the pause that followed was Andrew’s hesitation or reluctance. Was he not speaking because he had nothing to say, or because he didn’t know what to say at all? It was not Betsy’s place to fill that silence, either. If any session were important to hand him the reigns, this was it. He had to do this himself.

It was ten minutes, or an hour later before he spoke. “They shouldn’t have called you.”

“When?” Betsy asked after a pause. When he didn’t answer, she continued cautiously, “In Columbia?”

His lack of a response was response enough. His dead stare, his tired eyes emphasised by un-creased cheeks, his smile nothing more than a hard line across his lips.

“They had no choice,” she said, calm and measured. “You know they had to. You know why they had to."

"They shouldn't have."

Betsy had spent over a year trying to understand Andrew, to figure out whether his smile was genuine or chemically manufactured, trying to figure out what he meant when he spoke in riddles. They'd reached a point of understanding, a point in their therapeutic relationship where she could read him well enough to know what he needed her to say. This felt like square one again. This felt like trying to read a completely new patient.

"Why?" Betsy asked, and she tilted her head ever so gently when he looked her way. "What would you have preferred them to do?"

Andrew paused, and was slow to look away before he spoke.

"I don't know."

It was quiet, and there was something else in the room, something in his voice. Something that told Betsy he meant it. He didn't know. He didn't know what had really happened to him, he didn't know who he was anymore, he didn't know why he didn't want them to call the only person who truly understood, because all of it was far too real. Betsy being there only made it official.

"Talk to me," She said, careful not to change her tone, careful to avoid falling back into the typical therapist mode that Andrew had always despised. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Andrew stared at the wall for a moment before finally moving himself into a more comfortable position, taking off his shoes slower than he usually would, tucking them up beneath him on the couch. He shut his eyes for just a second, and then turned his gaze on Betsy.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, and Betsy felt her stomach bottom out. "Why Easthaven?"

"We agreed on it." She said slowly, trying to hide the defensiveness in her voice, trying to hide the fear that an unmedicated Andrew had started to regret his decision to come off them. "I told you why-"

"That's not what I'm asking." He interrupted with a gentle shake of his head.

When they'd spoken about it, it'd been a messy scrapbook page of pasted reasonings and a scribbled out pros and cons list. There were several different truths as to why Betsy pushed for it, a truth that had been hard for others to understand, but a truth that Neil seemed to understand the best.

"Tell me why." She offered. "Why is that something you want me to answer, when you already know?"

"Because I need to hear it without all the noise."

Easthaven had always been the plan - it was difficult to concisely explain the choice as to pull forward Andrew's timeline of events, but it was something Betsy had had to explain over and over again. To her superiors, to the boards in Easthaven, the courts and parole officers that didn't understand it at all. It had been almost hardest to explain it to Andrew himself, bruised and bloody after a night of retraumatisation and a concussion that left him barely able to focus, who's only coping mechanism was to make jokes to cover the fear that he hadn't even been allowed to feel.

Betsy took a deep breath and took off her glasses before saying, "Do you remember laughing?"

Andrew looked away as quickly as the words had left her mouth. She couldn't read his face well enough to tell if he was remembering, or if he couldn't remember at all. It was a silly question though, she thought, knowing how crystal clear Andrew's memory had always been, but perhaps she wondered whether between the haze of withdrawals and events of that night had led his reaction to become somehow buried amongst it all.

Andrew had kept his past a secret for so long, even to her, that he'd nearly given it his own statute of limitations in a way - nothing can be done about it now. Betsy had promised not to pursue any legal action, perhaps against the protocols she was required to follow, for the sake of his honesty way back in the beginning. For the sake of his openness, Betsy was willing to do anything. Andrew had allowed enough time and distance to pass before he handed over even the tiniest of details about the abuse he'd faced as a child. Enough time had passed that he felt as though they were nothing more than stories. Drake would never be in his life again, whether it be for justice or for some sort of closure, so, to him it felt safe to talk about. Any time he'd found his way into a conversation, the son of the mother that could've been, it was obvious how much it bothered Andrew to talk about it; the way his eyes glazed over recounting the details, the way even the mention of his name stilled him as if he were a mannequin on display. But Drake alone was far enough away from the Andrew that sat in her office months beforehand, and he felt like it was okay to divulge the truth.

But against all odds, Drake had come back.

He'd found Andrew, he'd put his hands on him, an adult now, more capable of fighting back, but still in Andrew's eyes he'd won again. It had been funny to him, the night of, that after so many years he'd finally, naively, stupidly allowed himself to feel safe. He had stopped looking over his shoulder each and every night before he got into bed. He had spoken Drake's name freely in a therapeutic setting without fear of repercussion. Yet he had looked him in the eyes again. Yet he'd felt like that child all over again, and years and years of progress were destroyed in an instant.

And Andrew laughed.

A terrible sound, a joke in the face of shock and trauma, a flick of his wrist as if the bruises that circled it were not enough to tell him that this was not to be brushed away. Betsy remembered sitting across from him that night as if it had been only the night before. She remembered the awful sound of his hoarse laugh as well as she remembered the painfully long drive from her sisters home to Columbia. She remembered it almost as well as the foggy conversation she'd had with Abby over the phone.

She looked across that room at him now, his demeanor that of a stranger, and sighed.

Why had she done it?

For him. Anything else was irrelevant - the season, the courts and their mandated recovery timeline, the opinions of anyone who thought they understood. All of it had been for him.

To keep him alive.

To keep him safe.

"I'll tell you," Betsy lifted up the cocoa she'd sat on the table between them, to rest her lips on the warm ceramic. Andrew watched her as she spoke, and she watched his chest rise and fall after a purposeful deep breath. "But Andrew, I need you to let me finish."

#if i dont find somewhere to end this it will become a Novel #so #here's a chunk of it <3 #mine #andrew minyard #betsy dobson #aftg #all for the game #ask

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sierrrraaawwwwwcgtcvh · 10 months

Text

Small veneer n velvet headcannons

TW: MENTIONS OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT!!

honestly? I feel like he’d definitely be clingy.

he’d be around you every chance he’d get. After shows, he’d immediately come up to you. He’d expect you to shower him with praise of course, it made his day even better.

He’s definitely someone who loves cuddling. He would be both the big spoon and small spoon depending on what mood he’s in.

I feel like he’d also LOVEE kisses. He’d maybe want them from you all of the time. Short and sweet.

he’d want you to do his makeup for him. Go with him to buy clothes.. maybe even buy matching yachts or cars!

Veneer doesn’t stand up for himself. HOWEVER, if it’s for you? He’ll stand up for you no matter what.

“I got you babe, don’t worry. They don’t know what they’re talking about. I love you so much.”

You’re in a bad situation? No worries, Veneer always shows up at the right time.

~~~

You’d been waiting for Veneer in front of the restaurant. You were about five minutes early so you didn’t think he’d show up soon. You wore the best formal clothes you had.

You took out your phone, checking the time. You sighed. It was only a few more minutes of waiting now.

“Hey there, pretty lady. What’re you doin’ out in the cold so late at night? Surely, you don’t plan on spending the night out in the cold?” You felt someone put their hands on your shoulders as you immediately tensed up. You turned around.

“I’m sorry, Sir. But, I’m waiting for my boyfriend. Please go?” You tried to be polite, but it didn’t work on the man.

“Oh, please. As if you could ever have a boyfriend. Say, let’s go back to my place.. I can give you the ride of you li-!” He got cut off by a large buzzing sound. He collapsed to the floor and you backed away.

“Ugh, I hate men like that! Babe, are you okay? I’m so, so, so sorry I’m late.” Veneer held a tazer in his hands as he stepped on the man’s body. He walked up to you and slowly put his hand on your cheek.

“Wanna go somewhere else? I’m sorry our date got ruined..”

Velvet would definitely make sure you’re on top of your skincare routine. She wants you to have the best skin.

Velvet would definitely be the big spoon. Unless she’s in a really bad mood.. then it’d be small spoon for her.

She’d want you to shower her with both praise and gifts! I feel like she’d love it if someone bought her gifts.. even if she already had it.

I think she wouldn’t be that good of a communicator when it comes to relationships. But, she’s all ears about becoming better.

She’ll always listen to what you have to say. If someone bothers you? They don’t even exist anymore.

“There’s NO way he just said that to you. Don’t listen to him sweetheart, he doesn’t know you like I do. You’re very beautiful.”

If someone has wronged or is planning on wronging you, Velvet won’t hesitate to step in and defend you with her life. She might drag her fans into it if it’s a mega situation.

Velvet would LOVEE going on dates. She’d probably wanna go somewhere fun, like an amusement park perhaps?

~~~

While on an interview once, Kid Ritz told the viewers. Along with Velvet and Veneer, that’d you were probably just using her for money. That’s how people were with celebrities.

“Yeah! Say, Velvet. Aren’t you in a relationship right now? They’re probably only using you for money, y’know… how most people are with celebrities they’re with? Am I right?” He laughed.

Velvet was NOT laughing.

“What did you just say..?” Velvet snapped at him. “I’ll have you know, that they aren’t using me for money! They have their own money, they earn it themselves! Don’t you dare say that again. You really are pathetic. C’mon Veneer, we’re leaving this dump.”

Later on, you showered Velvet with kisses and love. You were very happy she defended you. You’d never even think about using her money. You had your own that you worked for.

Later in the night.. Velvet and Veneer got their fans to start attacking Kid Ritz over messages for what he said.

“Thank you so much for being here with me, my love.”

#veneer x reader #Velvet x reader #trolls 3 #trolls band together #velvet and veneer

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reidslovely · 1 year

Note

there were two things that came to mind the first being peter yelling at her and he’s never done that before so reader trying to avoids him for the rest of the day and when she does interact with him she’s silent or acting almost robotic

the second one that came to mind was them getting into a fight and her trying to quit

i see your second thought being super plausible honestly, but let’s combine them. peter is very particular about his schedule and follows it to a t for the most part. the fight started the first or second week she works for him. all over a missed appointment and she swears she wrote it down, but peter is upset because he doesn’t have time for this meeting. he’s got lab time, and a presentation today. he doesn’t have time to meet with this potential investor today.

“what do you mean you missed a appointment!” peter yelled. the slight raise in his voice shocked her as well as him. he cleared his throat and left his suit jacket on the back of his desk chair. “can you not operate the shared calendar i swear doll it’s like you’re completely helpless sometimes.”

that comment strikes a nerve, and it doesn’t help she’s already on the verge of tears from him yelling. peter’s never made her feel so small. in fact he’s only ever been encouraging. and supportive of her she wasn’t helpless, she was learning the ropes of this company still. and her boyfriend being who he was didn’t help, everyone else just assumed she batted her eyes and but her lip to the position.

“well i’m sorry pete.” she jokes dryly lightly trying not to show her hurt. “we can’t all be a super genius”

“yeah but i expected better from you.” all over a calendar

he walks away annoyed. she doesn’t know if it’s with her or the situation but the tone of his voice alone makes her sick to her stomach. she brings him his lunch quietly and doesn’t bother to eat with him like she usually does. she keeps their interaction short and firm.

“doll can you make a call for me?”

“sure.” she nodded not even looking at him as she takes the paper.

“doll.” his voice sung out later, “will you get these filed for me?” he kissed her temple hands on her shoulders squeezing. she shrugged him off nodding.

“right away mr. parker.”

he was thinking of a way to apologize. sending flowers to her desk probably wouldn’t do much and may insight a few scoffs from other employees. not wanting to embarrass her he settled on waiting till they were alone in the building to formally apologize.

but she comes into his office a few hours later before they leave to go home with her two weeks in shaky hand.

“doll..what’s this?” peter asked reading over the paper, hand reaching out for her shaking one pulling her closer to him.

“i don’t wanna work for you. i’m..i’m scared it’ll ruin our relationship.” she mumbled out tears threatening her eyes. peter’s heart swelled in his chest feeling lodged in his throat. “and i really like being your girlfriend and i love you and i don’t..i don’t want you to yell at me over a stupid google calendar.”

“oh doll..no. i was upset earlier i didn’t mean it. i wasn’t even upset at you it was just time stress.” he sat her on his knee. arm wrapping around her waist holding her in place to look at him. “i wasn’t mad or disappointed at all. i know i said something really hurtful and i’m very sorry. and i’m even more sorry for yelling at you.” she sniffled as he spoke, her hand resting on his chest flattening out some wrinkles. he whispered softly to her his free hand rubbing her side.

“i want you here. okay? but if you want to quit i understand and i won’t stop you but i’ll be sure to use my words more carefully and i will never raise my voice again. i am so sorry and i’m going to do better.”

the care in his voice made it easy to believe him, that and his big doe eyes staring into hers assuring her this was the truth.

“don’t ever yell at me again and i’ll stay.” she bargains. peter laughed bobbing his head.

“deal.”

“and i want a raise. for dealing with you here and at home” peter laughed this time throwing his head back.

“i’ll talk to human resources about the ethical standards about that.” he responds standing her up off his lap. as he packs up his office for the night.

“m.j.’s your human resources officer i think she’ll agree with me.” you hummed turning the light off as they left the room.

#bambi talks #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter smut #andrew garfield #bambi and friends #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm spiderman #tasm peter imagines #tasm peter parker smut #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x self insert #ceo!peter #ceo!peter parker

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the1975attheirverybest · 1 year

Text

A Strange Encounter

A/N: requested Matty X writer OC is finally here. Sorry about the delay. Idk if this is a longer fic soft launch or not. Just a thing I wrote

Warnings: none

———-

Matty swore he could feel the sweat running down his back. He glanced around the room, his anxiety rising as he failed to spot any of the faces that he’d expected to see here tonight. He’d spent the better part of the year wearing ties onstage, but, for some reason, in this moment, his tie felt suffocating. He loosened it slightly but quickly fixed it back up, feeling like a fish out of water at this charity event.

Scanning the room for a quiet place to take refuge in, he spotted the open bar and rushed towards it.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbled to himself rushing in the direction of the free alcohol. As he approached the bar, he became aware of a solitary person, a woman, sitting atop one of the barstools, her back towards him, drinking alone. She turned around as she felt him get closer, giving him a polite nod.

He nodded in return, flashing her a quick smile.

“What can I get you, sir?” the bartender offered.

Matty almost ordered a glass of wine, but, on a whim, he turned towards the woman instead, “what’re you having?” he gestured towards her glass.

“A Cherry lime tequila.”

“is it any good?”

She nodded.

Matty turned back to the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having, please.” He sat at the other end of the bar, losing his battle against the tie.

Moments later, the bartender returned with Matty’s drink in hand. The woman watched, out of the corner of her eye, as Matty whispered a polite ‘thank you,’ and took a sip of his drink. She noticed his face scrunching as the drink pour down his throat.

“How is it?” She asked, pressing her lips together to hide her amused smile.

“G- uhh- good.” Matty lied. “I’m Matty, by the way.” He moved one bar stool closer.

“Claire.”

He smiled softly, thinking of the next thing to say.

“So…Claire, what’s your vibe?”

“My- vibe?”

Matty swore he could see her skin physically crawl. He giggled, embarrassed. “That- is the dumbest thing that I’ve ever said in my entire life.”

Something about the way that he could instantly poke fun at himself without looking self-conscious softened her towards him.

“Let me try this again. Like an adult: you hear for the writers’ charity thing?”

“I am.”

“Me too!” His tone was a bit more enthusiastic than he’d hoped. “I’m a songwriter.” He offered up, calmer now, adjusting his demeanor. “Never been to one of these things before. To be honest, I kind of hate them. Fuckin rich people trying to make themselves feel better about the dystopian world that they’re partly to blame for by hosting fuckin fundraisers and chairing charitable foundations.”

Claire took a sip of her half empty glass, nodding as Matty spoke.

“So, what about you. You a writer too?”

She smiled, “yeah, I am. Fiction, though.”

She could see a light flash across his face. He leaned in closer, “that’s fuckin cool. Anything I might have read?”

“No.”

Matty frowned at her immediate, emphatic answer. “Why- not? Are you not any good?”

“Oh, I am. I just…” she adjusted her feet underneath her, sitting up straight.

“Just what?”

“Just don’t think it’s the kind of fiction that you would read.”

Matty’s lips parted, ready for a retort, but none came. After a moment of silence, he finally thought of something. “You’ve only just met me. You don’t know what kind of fiction I read.” His tone has an edge to it, but he remained composed.

“Oh, but I do- guys like you- the hair gel, the

loose tie, the general aversion to formal settings…you probably read Jack Kerouac and Kurt Vonnegut, and, like, David Foster Wallace.”

“Ha! Jokes on you. I’ve never read Vonnegut.”

His response caught her off guard, making her laugh.

“But, yeah I’ve read On The Road….and yeah I like David Foster Wallace.”

She had a triumphant look on her face. “Pale

King?”

“No, Infinite Jest, actually.” Matty watched her expression shift again. His turn to feel triumphant.

“You’ve read all of Infinite Jest?” She whispered, as if the revelation were some kind of secret.

“Twice.”

She studied him closely, pleased with the unexpected turn of their conversation.

“And…” Matty took a sip of his drink. “For your information, I also like Joan Didion, and Virginia Woolf, and Flannery O’Connor.”

She giggled, taking Matty aback by the effect that the sound of her laughter had on him. He looked away from his drink instantly, eyes focused on her.

“So you’re saying you’re not a complete cliche?”

He nodded. “Well, what about you, then? What kind of fiction do you like?”

Her lips curved into a smile as she heard his question, she leaned in to meet him halfway, but before she could speak, a well-dressed member of the venue staff approached her and whispered into her ear, pointing to the watch on his wrist.

She nodded, turning back to Matty with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me, I- I’m afraid I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you, Matty.”

For the second time tonight, Matty found himself speechless. He wanted to say something, anything at all, but when his lips parted, no sound came out. Instead, he watched her walk away, getting smaller and smaller the further she got away from him.

***

The rest of the night droned on as Matty attempted to make polite conversation with screenwriters, journalists, and authors of various kinds around his table. He couldn’t help pulling out his phone to check the time, every time there was a lull in conversation.

In front of him, the event organizer stepped onstage announcing that the last speaker of the night was up next. It would be the host of the fundraiser and chair of the organization, Claire Jones.

Matty’s head whipped around, looking up from his phone and watching as Claire took the stairs from the side of the stage, walking towards the lectern.

He recalled the snide comments that he’d made to her about his disdain for these kinds of events and the people who organize them. He felt embarrassed. She must think he’s a complete asshole. Unsure if he should be looking at her, or how to control his facial expressions appropriately, he decided he’d be better off staring at his shoes until her speech.

Matty thought that, realistically, her speech couldn’t have been more than a few minutes long, but it felt like ages. He struggled to even register her words as his own echoed in his head. He sat there, wondering if he should apologize, wondering if it mattered, if she cared one way or the other, and wondering why he cared so much.

The sound of applause filled the room, Claire Jones stepped off the stage, esteemed guests began to move around tables and mingle, shaking hands with each other, hugging, catching up, and exchanging numbers.

By the time that Matty had made his way to the other end of the room, Claire was nowhere to be found. He walked the perimeter of the room a couple of times, hoping to spot her, but when he failed to find her, he defeatedly meandered towards the exit, sticking his hand into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The nighttime breeze was merciful on his face. He hadn’t realized that he’d felt suffocated until he’d made it outside. He stood on the sidewalk, leaning against the building, smoking his cigarette. He was surprised to find himself disappointed that he’d never see Claire again.

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy x oc #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader

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twiceasfrustrating · 1 year

Text

A Difference of Opinion 2

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: GN/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Main Character/Reader, Barbatos, Diavolo

Additional Tags: Yandere, Conniving, formally sick burns all around, antagonistic tension, non-consensual kissing

Summary: The only thing that matters to you is that Diavolo thinks of you as an equal. You may not entirely understand the politics of the Devildom, but you know you would be good for him and his ideals if given the chance. Diavolo’s attendant, however, silently disagrees and always finds a way to let Diavolo know.

A/N: One of the enablers won. They basically poked me until this came out. Only a year and a half later.

Word Count: 3919

Diavolo invited you to tea. Just you! Not Lucifer or Solomon or Simeon. Only you! He wanted you enough to ask to see you alone. You were positively delighted as you knocked at the front door of the palace, waiting to be let in. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the pleasure of being greeted by Diavolo as you had wished.

Instead, Barbatos glared at you for only a split moment as he opened the door, eyes burrowing so deep that it seemed he was trying to pierce straight through your eyes and into your brain. Just as quickly, as if he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to greet visitors in his master's stead, he corrected his expression to a painfully formal one. Disappointing. You were hoping to watch him lose his composure a little longer so you could mock his unprofessionalism.

"Welcome," he said with barely restrained contempt. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" The unstated wish for you to remove yourself from the premises hung heavy in the air.

Unfortunately for him, you didn't care what he wanted. "Diavolo invited me. Didn't he tell you?"

"Ah, yes," he smirked, "he did tell me to expect a guest, but from the way he spoke I thought it would be someone important. That was my mistake."

Oh how you wanted to ring his neck. "Are you claiming that Diavolo's precious exchange program isn't important? He would be so heartbroken to hear that."

"Please refrain from spreading falsehoods like that. Such baseless rumors would be the true detriment to his morale." He opened the door wide, motioning for you to step forward. "Lord Diavolo is in the drawing room. You may see yourself there."

“Oh? You won’t see me there? And here I thought you prided yourself on being Diavolo's loyal dog – I mean, his beloved butler.”

“Please,” he tried and failed to hide the annoyance in his voice, “we both know I have better things to do with my time than walk you down the hall like an infant. But if that’s what you wish, I would not deny any guest of the Young Master’s hospitality. I would hate to think that even the most unworthy failed to see the extent of his generosity.”

“No thank you,” you said as you stepped inside to let him close the door at last. “I think I’ll be able to find my way there without the assistance of a nanny.”

“That is wonderful to hear, because we do not have one.” He bowed to you, but it was clearly in jest; not low enough to show respect, his head still turned up so his eyes stayed locked with yours, and he was too quick to stand back up and walk away before you could take your first steps.

It must have been destroying him inside to know Diavolo cared about you enough to invite only you to a private tea with him. The poor butler probably had to realize by now that he would never be able to compete with you, the personification of all of Diavolo's ideals.

It was fun to watch him try though.

You knew the royal palace more intimately than the back of your own hand at this point. Every turn and corridor held a story you could recount with exceptional detail and elegance. That painting on the wall was the one you first asked Diavolo about when you couldn't think how to start a conversation. That wooden podium was the same one you'd stubbed your toe on and Diavolo had worried about you so much that he carried you to your destination. Around that corner was the room where you'd listened to him quietly humming to himself from just outside the door before Barbatos had found you and ruined your private moment of peace. Further down the corridor was where Barbatos had unceremoniously dragged Diavolo after you'd attempted to rescue him from the endless pile of paperwork and forms that kept him away from you.

The drawing room wasn’t far into the palace, but each step reminded you of another precious memory you secretly shared with Diavolo inside of your heart. Everything he did was simply too wonderful to neglect or forget. Soon, you wondered if your heart may just explode from trying to keep them all contained, and, if it did, would Diavolo help you pick up the pieces? You would die of embarrassment if he saw everything inside of you displayed and laid out so shamelessly, so vulgarly.

The thought made your face run hot and you had to take a moment to temper yourself as you finally reached the entrance to the drawing room. In front of Diavolo, you would do him no less than proud. You would be his perfect human through and through because that was what he deserved.

Taking one final breath to calm your frayed nerves, you finally opened the massive, ornate doors in front of you.

And nearly burst a blood vessel as you saw that Barbatos had beat you back to Diavolo’s side.

Despite the unwelcome sight, you kept your face cheerful by focusing on the sight of Diavolo already seated and wafting the aroma of his tea upward to enjoy the fragrant scent that flooded the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said as you let the doors close behind you and walked toward him.

His face lit up even brighter than before as you walked closer. “No. You’re never late!”

“Actually, My Lord,” Barbatos interrupted, “they were supposed to be here nearly two minutes ago.”

Pedantic as always.

“What’s two minutes between friends?”

Bless Diavolo’s pure heart.

You took your seat at the table and smiled pleasantly at Barbatos as you dared him to pour you a cup of tea, as was expected. He did so with a polite smile expression on his face, but notably overfilled your cup so that it would spill slightly over the rim if you did not pick it up carefully.

For a moment, you genuinely considered letting the tea overflow onto your hand so Diavolo would fret over you, but that would also allow Barbatos the opportunity to critique your manners. It was better to behave immaculately in front of Diavolo.

You picked up your tea cup with a condescending smirk as subtle frustration crossed Barbatos face at your steady hand keeping the cup level.

“What were you two talking about?” you asked, knowing that they had been speaking of something or other before you opened the doors to the drawing room.

"Oh! Don't worry about it." Diavolo lifted his tea to his lips, seeming to avoid having to speak further about it.

"Do not be so humble, My Lord," Barbatos cut in. "You've managed to finally convince one of the oldest noble families in the Devildom to hear out your vision for the future. Such things should be applauded. Your goal is closer than ever before."

"You flatter me," Diavolo chuckled as he set down his cup. "But I am glad."

You set down your tea, using your pinky to cushion the bottom of the cup so it didn’t clink against the wooden table as you had been begrudgingly instructed some time ago by Lucifer and Barbatos when they were teaching you the basics of high class manners. Thank goodness they had too, otherwise you may have slammed the porcelain cup against the table and shattered it in the process.

"I'm sorry," you said with a smile to try and appear more affable. "I don't think I quite understand the good news."

After all, the only thing you heard was that some haughty demon too big for their breeches had made a move on your prince.

"Oh!" Diavolo's face practically glowed as he began to speak. "The House of Lords and I have never quite seen," he paused, searching for the right words, "eye-to-eye on our relationship to the Human and Celestial Realms. They've had issues with my plan from the very beginning and having that kind of strife between me and them has been… difficult.

"But," he beamed, "the House of Abaddon has finally agreed to meet with me to discuss our future diplomacy with them."

"Having their support is a great boon, since they are one of the oldest noble families." Barbatos did not smirk outwardly, but you could hear it in his voice as he silently berated you for your lack of Devildom political structures. "They command a great deal of respect and power among the others."

You shot Barbatos a brief glare that seemed to leave him entirely unaffected.

What was more pressing now was recalling which demons belonged to the House of Abaddon. Considering they were a noble family, that meant they were most assuredly invited to Diavolo's balls and soirees, which meant you had surely seen them at some point since you often attended those same parties as the symbol of Diavolo's precious ideal future. The issue was that the demons from the House of Abaddon weren't coming to mind. Neither their demonic faces nor their human facades came to mind.

Who could they be?

"Young Master," Barbatos intruded in the conversation yet again, "I believe you have forgotten that they are from the human realm. They are not familiar with the noble families or their members."

Diavolo looked shocked for a moment before laughing boyishly and blushing so brilliantly that it made your heart skip a beat. "You're right, Barbatos. I should explain, shouldn't I?"

Oh, Barbatos was a sly fox.

He hadn't pointed out your confusion out of a sense of altruism. He had done it to highlight your ignorance. The divide between you as a human and Diavolo as the future king of the Devildom was now made apparent and seeing you as anything other than an outsider in this situation was now impossible. There was now a fissure between where you and Diavolo stood.

A fissure that only grew wider as Diavolo began to speak.

"The new head of the House of Abaddon took over only a few years ago. He's been stabilizing the family since the last head died unexpectedly." No doubt due to outside influences. "I believe you met him once before. His name is Apollyon."

That name sent an icy cold trickle down your spine because you had indeed met Apollyon. He was a handsome demon with thrice spiraled, corkscrew horns and black-scaled wings that he often kept folded back. He also had an eye that somehow reminded you of that brief moment of panic you had when you found yourself falling up the stairs after missing a step.

"Now that you say the name, I do recall meeting him."

He was one of the leeches that had been clinging to Diavolo lately. Whenever he looked at you, his one good eye was always twinkling with contempt for your presence because you didn't pretend to be swept up in his false charisma. Unlike Diavolo who was so easily taken with even the lowest of scum if they smiled at him and showed even the most vague of interests in his ideals. Despite his ability to tell when someone was lying, Diavolo seemed to overlook all fibs and falsehoods when it came to advancing his planned future.

"I wasn't aware that he was a friend of yours."

"Well," he held the word for a beat too long, "we've known each other for a long time."

Ah! So not a friend. He would be more appropriately described as a potential business colleague. Somehow, that was more frustrating. In order to turn Diavolo’s attention away from a demon that promised to advance his grand plans, you would have to break his innocent heart. Doing something to harm Diavolo like that was outside of your comfort zone. You would have to get creative with sabotaging his efforts.

Every plan you could think of ended poorly though. Either you failed to convince Diavolo, or he overlooked Apollyon’s antics for the sake of furthering his goals, or you ruined your own relationship with him. When you were up against Diavolo’s ultimate plan, you would never succeed. It was that drive that made you love Diavolo, but it also frustrated you to no end.

You set your cup back onto the table and stood from your seat.

“I apologize, but I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back soon.”

Diavolo’s eyes squinted for a moment before he opened and closed his mouth.

“I understand.”

You excused yourself, going into the hall and walking toward the bathroom so you have privacy to think through your next move, but failed to make it there. Instead, you broke down in the hallway out of frustration. Tears started to slowly run down your cheeks as you tried to formulate any kind of plan that would free him from whatever hold this lying demon had on him. No matter what you thought of, though, you couldn’t separate Diavolo from him so long as promised what Diavolo most wanted; the future. And if you tried to push the issue, you would be the one who was pushed away. Not gotten rid of, but you would damage your relationship beyond repair.

The tears only fell faster as you tried not to scream.

How could you show Diavolo that Apollyon was manipulating him just to say he had the future king as an ally?

You felt so lost and hopeless as you stood there.

That was until a voice like nails scraping against your eardrums broke you out of your planning.

“You seem to forget that lying to the Young Master is not an option.”

You knew that voice. Of everyone that had to see you like this, it just had to be him. He was probably loving the sight of you broken down so hopelessly, wiping fat streams of tears out of your eyes with the palms of your hands.

Well screw him!

"Are you already letting your terrible butler facade slip? It's rude to stand around and watch someone cry."

"Do not flatter yourself in thinking I care about what state you happen to presently be in." Barbatos reached into his pocket for a black handkerchief which he held out to you with only two fingers. "Lord Diavolo is kind enough to worry about his guests, but often needs a reminder that he does not have time to waste on their emotional outbursts. Clean yourself up and return to him at once so you stop causing him distress.”

You sneered at him, no longer attempting to play at being civil with him. "They're using him. You see that, don't you? How can you pretend it's not obvious?"

These demons didn't respect Diavolo. Every single one of them saw him as nothing more than a naive pawn in their political games; a piece they called king but that they all danced around as they took the entire board for themselves. He was too kind to see how thoroughly they were trying to use him.

"Unlike you," he spit the word out with so much bile that you thought it would erode the very air around him as he folded his handkerchief up again and returned it to its proper place, "I have faith in my lord. If he believes the next step to achieving his vision is to align himself with the nobility, then I will support him."

"Then you'd watch him be torn apart by wolves hungry to take whatever bits of his flesh they can in their pursuit of power."

"I understand that it's not my place to question his choices."

"Oh right," you laughed dryly. "I almost forgot that Diavolo sees you as nothing more than a serv-"

You couldn't finish the statement as your back hit the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs. Barbatos had your wrists pinned above your head, gripping them tight enough to bruise. His eyes flickered and glowed an eerie, iridescent green as he glared down at you. His gaze danced with loathing and spite at your mere existence. His horns were already protruding from his head, proving that he had lost his calm.

"With all due respect," meaning none, "Shut. Your. Mouth." He accentuated each word, practically spitting in your face, and fangs gleaming in the light as he opened his mouth.

Your heart hammered in your chest as your throat went dry. For once, he actually looked like the demon he was rather than the butler he played at. Still, you refused to show him even the slightest ounce of fear.

"What? Are you going to finally tear my throat out? Poor Diavolo, having his exchange program ruined by someone he trusts. I suppose it's fitting since every other demon around him is a liar too."

"I would never dare to ruin Lord Diavolo's precious program, especially when he's making such great progress." He lowered his head, stopping when his face was only a hair's breadth from yours. "You, however, could stand to improve your manners."

"You mean like this? Get be-"

Again, he quickly silenced you. This time though it was by pressing his mouth against yours, teeth clashing together as he swallowed down your shock. His tongue slipped by the flurry of gnashing teeth as he silently tried to establish his dominance in this exchange, so you bit down with all of your might to punish him for thinking so little of you.

He pulled away not because it hurt but because he refused to let you get away with that. His own fangs harshly teased at your bottom lip, sinking in until you felt them break the skin and the faint taste of iron filled your mouth.

"You-"

No other words managed to leave your mouth as he grabbed your face with his hand, squeezing until your mouth was forced open so he could shove his tongue down your throat again. A deep growl that originated from his chest rumbled all the way through you as he licked the inside of your mouth and sucked at the blood running from the wound he'd given you.

When he finally pulled away, you turned your head to the side and spit out a glob of red just to get his saliva out of your mouth.

"Disgusting." It was the only word to describe him and what he'd just done.

"Spitting is an awful, dirty habit," he chastised with harsh, hazy eyes glaring at you as if he hadn't just had his tongue and, therefore, spit in your mouth.

"Then you better clean it up, Mr. Belvedere."

Again, always mocking him for his role like a spoiled child. It was as if you seemed to assume so assuredly he could never break away from.

"Again, I ask that you kindly shut your mouth." This time, the words sounded sweet, but you could hear the poison dripping from them despite his best efforts.

More so than usual, however, you weren't in the mood to play around with him. Your lips curled up at one side and, with a devilish smirk, you asked, "What would Diavolo think if he knew you were harassing his exchange student?"

What was disquieting was the smile he gave in return. "He'd think you were so very weak and small and in need of protection. Someone that could never stand at his side."

You could feel the deep frown that carved itself across your face as he let you go and stepped back.

His usual distantly polite smile dawned his face yet again as his appearance reverted to his more human facade. "Do feel free to tell him everything that happened here. I will acknowledge my wrong doings against Lord Diavolo's precious, delicate exchange student without hesitation."

He really was infuriating.

Without even sparing him a glance, you wiped the back of your arm against your mouth and stepped around him. As you walked and he followed at a respectable distance behind, you brushed away whatever frustrated tears were left and held your head high.

“Did you really have to resort to putting your revolting lips on me?”

Barbatos walked calmly beside you, as if nothing had happened. “Did it upset you?”

“Immensely.”

“Then yes. It was a requirement. Plus, my hands were full.”

You scoffed. “You really should switch professions. There is nothing about you that seems pleased to serve others.”

“Others? No. Lord Diavolo? Most certainly.”

And someday, you would find a way to ruin their relationship as well. After all, the only person Diavolo needed was you. You could find a way to make his dreams come true without a single other person interfering.

For now, however, you would have to tolerate his liar of a butler.

When the two of you reached the drawing room again, you had both reverted back to fake smiles and formal niceties. He even had the decency to pretend he was joyed to open the door for you and let you back inside.You had the common sense to thank him, despite wanting to spit at him, as you walked inside and returned to your seat with Diavolo.

He looked at you with a face full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I was overwhelmed by everything you were talking about,” a tactical half-truth so he hopefully wouldn’t see through you, “so I left to get a little space and calm myself down. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

You reached for your tea, finding it had cooled in the interim and smirking internally as you held it toward Barbatos.

“Sorry to bother, but it seems I need a new cup of tea.”

Barbatos smiled politely at you, but you could feel every ounce of anger pointed your way. He poured you a cup without complaint though, so you would forgive him this once.

Now, it was time to establish your position in Diavolo’s life. Rather than focusing on ruining how he saw others, you realized that you had to strengthen your own. Or, better yet, you could accomplish both goals at once.

"Diavolo," you smiled as you picked up your fresh cup of tea, "would you mind if I joined your meeting with Apollyon?"

Both Diavolo and, more importantly, Barbatos looked at you in shock.

"Why would you want to do that?" Diavolo asked.

"When I took my time to process everything, I had a thought. I think it would be good for me to go as an exemplar of the merits of cultural exchange between the realms. It's easier to envision the future when you can see where it leads, after all."

Barbatos frowned, but Diavolo smiled so widely that you could see all of his teeth.

"That's an excellent idea! You should definitely come with me! It'll be exciting for you to see more of the Devildom!"

"I'm looking forward to it," you said as you placed the cup to your lips and took a sip. Now it was time to switch the conversation topic to something other than work and politics. “Oh, did you know that they opened a new charms and curses warehouse in the strip?”It was simple: if the divide between you and Diavolo was about being king of the demons and a random human, then you had to remind him that you weren't a regular human; you were the human he chose. As long as Diavolo never forgot that fact, you could keep the fissure named Barbatos from creating a rift that would tear you apart from your beloved prince.

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me main character #yandere chronicles #mine

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mortemoppetere · 4 months

Text

[ a letter arrives to the Jones household with a poorly-scrawled ‘EMILIO C.’ on its envelope and no return address. inside the envelope is a note written in very familiar handwriting, and it reads: ]

Never knew how to start a letter. Always felt too formal. So… here it is.

Figure you’re thinking I’m dead. You’d be right, if not for our mutual [ author paused for a long time before writing the next word ] friend. Alan. Fucker found me in the mountains & hauled me off. The details don’t matter, just thought you'd… wanna know. That I ain’t dead.

Sorry I walked out on you. I shouldn’t have left it like that. It just hurt, knowing too late I coulda helped. Shoulda told you what I was doing. Shoulda said bye, at least. Hope you can forgive me for that.

We moved far away from that fucking town. Don’t think I’ll ever be back, considering the way I left it. But… I wouldn’t hate seeing you. Whenever you got time, I mean. I got nothing but time these days. Alan sold the realty business, wanted to open up a little game shop here. Fucking dork. [ author was smiling fondly to himself here ] He’s really into these little model towns. Guess there’s some games that use shit like that, and little figurines… anyway. Got me a proper leg. Could run now, if I wanted. Outrun you, I bet. Some kinda fancy eye surgery, too. Can see a little better. I ever tell you I was mostly blind in my good eye? Probably not. Weren’t so good after all.

Gonna try out this retirement thing for real. If it works for me… could work for you. Think about it. Know you don’t care bout much else outside of those shitstain vampires, but it’d be a crying shame if one of them got you. You got more to live for than that.

Hope Ophelia stayed with you. Figured she would, she’d taken to you pretty well. If not… she’ll be fine. She’s tougher than she looks. [ author walked away from the letter for days before coming back and continuing this thought ] Didn’t like what I had to do to her. Didn’t wanna hurt her. But… had to deal with her mum. For Desmond. You understand.

Take care of yourself, you stupid fuckin muppet. I love you.

Rhett

To say that the letter is an unexpected one is an understatement.

For months, Emilio repeated the same tired mantra: Rhett is dead. If you say a thing enough times, it makes it easier to swallow. You can digest it, you can put it to bed. The words never went down easy, but he said them all the same. Rhett is dead. Rhett is dead. Rhett is dead.

It was a hollow thing at first; a thing that didn’t feel quite as real as he hoped for it to. He tried to turn it into armor, tried to let it protect him. There was something Rosa told him once, stroking her sleeping son’s hair and looking haunted in a way he wouldn’t understand until his own daughter was born. He watched his sister look anywhere but her child’s face, and when she said, hope will kill you quicker than anything else, he hadn’t understood it.

Years later, when he dragged himself across a living room already covered in blood, it made much more sense.

It’s better, he knows, to let the terrible thing be true than it is to believe it isn’t. It’s better to accept the blood on the floor before you push the door open, better to understand that corpses are the only thing waiting for you before you hold them in your arms. You can survive the world’s end, but you can’t survive it twice. You can’t hold hope in your throat without choking on the pieces when it shatters like glass inside of you.

As time went on, as he learned more about what happened to Rhett, the words became easier to digest. Rhett is dead, he told himself, and he was angry. He loved the anger, he nurtured it. Anger was so much easier to carry. Rhett is dead, he thought, looking at his niece’s anguished face, and it’s okay. Maybe it’s better. He knew it was a shitty thing to think. He knew he was a shitty brother. But, Christ, wasn’t shitty better than shattered?

And then, there was that stupid letter.

He recognizes the handwriting on the front the moment he sees it, just as he had in the living room when Ophelia showed him the note that chronicled her mother’s death. The scrawl is so familiar that he often wonders if it’s written on his lungs, if it’s carved into him in a way only he could ever see.

He spends a long time just staring at it. He hovers over the garbage can, ready to toss it without reading it at all, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He tells himself he wants closure. He tells himself he needs the truth. He tells himself the letter will change something. He knows none of this is strictly true.

The envelope is opened slowly, and with trembling hands. There’s no one there to see it, and he’s glad for that. He feels weaker in this moment than he has in a long time. He clutches that letter with one hand and a bottle with the other, and he knows one is a crutch and the other is a weight but he isn’t sure which is which.

It’s the handwriting that strikes him first, just as it was with Ophelia’s letter. He sees it and, in an instant, he’s back in Mexico. He’s watching Flora unfold a secret note that she doesn’t know how to read, he’s laughing as she thrusts it into his hand and orders him to tell her what it says. He’s looking Rhett in the eye across the table, he’s telling her it says something stupid like tío Rhett smells bad or papi is more handsome than tío Rhett, he’s laughing at his brother’s outraged protests.

He sucks a breath as the world comes back to itself. He’s not in Mexico. He’s alone in a kitchen that still doesn’t feel like his. That little girl is gone, and Rhett isn’t dead but Emilio still isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. Rhett isn’t dead, but everyone else is. Is that any better?

He reads the letter slowly. The page blurs more than once. His face is wet, and he pretends it’s sticky sweat instead of what it is. He tries to imagine Alan peeling his brother off the side of a mountain, half dead. He tries to decide if it was a good deed or a sin. He thinks of Ophelia on the couch, her world shattered by a letter so much like this one. He takes a swig from the bottle.

His chest hurts. Rhett is happy, maybe, or as close to it as people like them ever can be. He got his eye fixed, and Emilio was too shitty a brother to ever even realize it needed fixing to begin with. He got a new leg, and maybe he could outrun Emilio with it, because the flesh and blood one he dragged out of Mexico seems to get worse and worse with each sorry step he takes on it these days.

Rhett is retiring, he says, and he thinks Emilio should do the same as if it’s ever been an option for him, as if there’s any part of him that isn’t just a hunter. Blades don’t retire; they rust and fall apart and are thrown away. Emilio wants to scream. He wants to rip the letter into pieces the moment he sees Ophelia’s name, wants to march off to wherever his brother is now and shake him or punch him or never speak to him again.

It hurts, he realizes. He wasn’t sure he fully understood it before, but it hits him now. It hurts. Rhett had everything Emilio lost in Mexico. He had a daughter who loved him, who looked at him like he hung the fucking sun. His daughter’s mother was wary, but she was willing to forgive. (Would Juliana?) He’d had everything Emilio found bleeding on that living room floor almost three years ago now, and he’d tossed it away like it was nothing. Was that a forgivable thing? Was vengeance for something that happened decades ago worth losing what he’d had in the moment?

It’s hard, then, not to think of his own vengeance. Emilio knows he won’t make it decades. He knows he won’t be looking back on this moment twenty years from now, knows he’ll be bones and dust and less than a memory by then, but he wonders about it all the same. Could he give up his vengeance for anything? For Teddy, for Nora, for Wynne? For himself, someday? He knows the answer. He always has. Vengeance beats in his chest like a second heart. Maybe it was the same for Rhett.

He sits in the floor for a long time, just holding that stupid letter. He stares at it until the world fades out of focus, until he’s looking without really seeing. He breaks the bottle at some point; he’s not sure when, but the shards of glass slice into his palm, and he thinks he likes it more than he should. He wants to get up and get another bottle to drain, but his leg hurts. Everything hurts.

So, Rhett is alive. And it should put the world back together, but he feels like it breaks it all over again. It’s hard, he thinks, when a thing is true for so long and stops being true all at once. It’s hard to think something for so long and then be told that reality is something else. It feels like a loss he doesn’t have a name for; a grief he can’t quite compute.

After a while, he gets his feet beneath him again. He stands over the garbage, he hovers there for a moment. He wills his fingers to loosen, but they maintain their death grip on the page. The paper is rumpled, and he can’t remember if it started that way. There’s a little bit of blood on the page. He thinks it looks like it’s supposed to be there.

He doesn’t throw the letter away, even if he thinks he should. He doesn’t show it to Teddy, either. It feels like a secret, the way he sneaks it into the craft room, the way he folds it up into something tiny and puts it behind Flora’s photo on the table that will serve as their ofrenda in a few short months. He stares at the photo after, at the little girl who read so many secret notes with breathless giggles.

Is it fair to wonder if he’d give up his vengeance for her when she is the one he’s avenging? It’s a question without an answer. It’s not an understandable thing. He asks it anyway, turns it over in his mind. It makes his head hurt, but it’s the kind of pain he welcomes. It takes his focus off his leg, his chest, his everything. He tries to chew on it a while longer.

He leaves the craft room, eventually. He feels like he’s sneaking around, like he’s afraid of being caught even if he doesn’t know who would catch them or why it would be a thing to fear. The world is heavy on his shoulders.

He gets another drink.

#submission #ironcladrhett #rhett: goodbye #alcoholism tw #sibling death tw #child death tw #i had to put this under a readmore #bc i had a lot of thoughts and feelings #anyway #everything's fine i'm fine #don't look at me

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bringcal · 2 years

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Why I think Jake has NPD as someone who is also a pw/NPD.

Just a heads up, this isn’t to say Jake is evil, wrong, or abusive. He is a random character. There is nothing wrong in having NPD, and I swear to fucking god if I see someone in the notes say I’m ruining his character by making him “bad” or look like an “asshole” I’m going to scream. Jake is a good person. NPD doesn’t make you bad. Also note I’ll probably say “narcissist” or “narc” rather than pw/NPD even though the latter is more formal and respectful. I personally just don’t mind it.

Poor self esteem regulation

With NPD, self esteem and ego is entirely dependent on the validation and attention of others. Though narcs may not value what everyone thinks, if you’re particularly close to them or they think you’re on the same level as them or higher, your opinion on them and reaction to them will completely change how they feel about themselves. This is one of Jake's key features to who he is, as it seems with every single interaction he has, he is in constant chase of validation from others. We see him express high amounts of shame over himself when he feels like he doesn’t do something right, such as when his friendships were heavily strained because of him. This leads to assumptions of how other people think of him, and of himself.

Like pw/NPD, he also gets sudden, strong ego boosts when perceiving validation and approval:

But can also immediately crash when people question his worth, which vriska does right after.

Also like to add, he also experiences power struggles with people he thinks aren’t as ‘good’ as him. In Jakes way, this hierarchy manifests most on morality and judgement. Though he ultimately dislikes Caliborn, he accepts Caliborn's promise of making him a better person as he sells it to Jake that it’s in his best interests, but still takes any chance he can get to kick down Caliborn a notch to get him back for insulting him and his friends rather than being subservient.

Jake is very impressionistic to get what he wants.

Jake talks in a really unique way against the other kids, in a way that's more impressionistic and vague in order to be liked. He follows the beat of others drums in his own way to seem likable, slightly changing the way he talks to different friends he has so they will like him more and he can feel more accomplished. This is nothing new that Jake does this to a point of almost seeming like he is constantly a part of a script of a movie. This is also the thing many people point to when talking about Jake’s unintentional ( or maybe arguably intentional ) manipulation.

Even with the relationships he makes, he tends to go with the flow on what others want to make of him, thinking their happiness and approval they’ll express will be exactly what he needs, without thinking too far on the relationship and emotions itself.

Jake is highly involved in himself without realizing it.

Jake, In many early conversations gets called a douche or an asshole for how he carries himself through conversation. In many conversations. He can be almost insufferable with the way he talks about himself forever or tries to make other peoples topics about himself. A huge misconception is that narcissists know what they’re doing and they make everything about them because they only care about themselves, which really isn’t true. Jake cares about his friends, and doesn’t really fully realize when he starts focusing on himself during conversation. However, He’s labelled as a douche and creates many problems he doesn’t intentionally want to cause because of it, later being considered an idiot because he doesn’t actually realize how self centered he can come across.

Jake is highly interested in fantastic views of himself.

Jake is highly involved in wanting to be the hero and get the girl. His view of masculinity is completely warped by the ideas he saw on screen, and this has led him to fantasize about himself being the hero, getting the girl, and being liked. Narcs heavily rely on fantasy and daydreaming about themselves and their own goals as a way of ego regulation and comfort, also shaping their identity with it. Anything a narcissist finds cool? You better know they’re going to want to embody it. We can see this attitude early in his introduction, fantasizing about kissing his ultimate fictional crush, and thinking of himself as way more active and adventurous than he actually is. He also actively finds comfort in fantasizing about these things.

Though this doesn’t fit super tight into this section, Jake also feels as though he is special, indicating that he doesn’t think anyone would really understand him. This isn’t in the way he thinks he is better than everyone, but in a way that isolates him and can only be understood by certain people, such as caliborn, who is also self centered but, unlike jake, disregards and exploits others very overtly, which is why they don’t get along too well in the end.

Jake has problems with affective empathy.

Something really important to know is that empathy, sympathy, and compassion are different things. Empathy is feeling what another person is feeling, Sympathy is feeling bad for someone's predicament, and Compassion is actively helping someone in their situation. With NPD, affective empathy is strained while logical empathy isn’t. Affective empathy means accurately feeling what another person is feeling. This means feeling the same sadness someone feels. While logical empathy is not feeling the emotion, but logically understanding the reaction the person is having.

Jake, time and time again, shows very limited empathy for his friends, and doesn’t really think about how they feel. While this is exceedingly obvious when him and Jane have a whole argument while Jane is setting up her birthday, this is also obvious in other situations.

Here, Dirk is surrounded by fire, yet Jake doesn’t really wonder how Dirk himself is feeling, only wondering on how to act as fast as he can, which is more compassionate without empathy.

Though, of course he was probably just panicking too much, which is fair. This is another example, where Erisolsprite is clearly upset with the way Jake has been handling his relationship and finds it draining to everyone including himself, but Jake takes it more personally without considering why he said this in the first place:

You can kind of see the jist here. Characters such as Roxy show way more concern or interest in others' wellbeing. Not that Jake doesn’t, but when he does he usually takes it personally, applying how the news effects himself first than about the other person, and relies more on being compassionate without really thinking it through. He does experience logical empathy though, seen with roxy, where after it being explained to him realizes that what he said is slightly inconsiderate at the strength of emotions over this topic:

I didn’t provide many examples here because I was rushing but I could go on. This, at the very least, would make him meet the criteria for Narcissistic personality disorder. Other traits I would’ve liked to touch on was his strong envy over others, but this trait is rather mild against the others. Though, It’s worth quickly pointing it out.

Reading Jake from this lens is rather interesting and just thought to talk about it a bit.

#i also think hes autistic #jake english

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akascow · 2 years

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their coach said they were so close they could probably read each other's minds. little did coach know, iwaizumi could, well, everyones in fact

it's usually just jumbled thoughts people have about life as they pass through the hallways, grumbles about tests and whatnot, but a distant thought catches him off guard one day:

‘god i wish i could kiss hajime right now’

the voice was unrecognizable, though they always were, always sounding more like hajimes own inner voice than actual people he knew

he was used to compliments from fans, but for some reason this one stuck with him, felt genuine. they used his given name, no formalities no family name, it was unusual to say the least, but he couldn't stop thinking about it

at least until practice

he'd gotten used to oikawa's inner thoughts over the years, his best friend usually inwardly making fun of his obsessive fans or quietly cursing out his opponents, or his monologue tangents about volleyball, he found it endearing, something only he knew about his friend, and something he felt more connected to him with, like a secret look into who tooru actually was as a person, even if it on was one sided.

they could tell each other everything, well, almost everything. hed refused to tell anyone about his,, powers? if that's even what you'd call it. he assumed it would weird people out, after all you wouldn't want someone you know being about to hear your thoughts on blast 24/7

for the most part hajime tried to ignore others inner thoughts, he was decent enough to know it was probably some kind of an invasion of privacy or something, whether they knew it or not, and he'd seemed to get pretty good at tuning people out, the thoughts just turing into everyday background noise for him

practice was always great, an easy way to take his mind off other minds, get into the game even if it was only for a short couple hours, it was just something to focus on other than background noise.

he was finished cleaning up in the locker room, everyone had gone home, or so he'd thought

he heard the thoughts before he heard the slams of the volleyballs against the court.

iwaizumi peered into the gym to see oikawa trying to perfect his serve yet again.

the same thought he's heard from his best friend thousands of times before: ‘gotta get better, gotta beat’ hajime just stared, tooru will never see himself as others do, never see how amazing he already is.

he just sighed and loudly pushed the door open to make his presence known

oikawa jolted and looked over, startled

‘oi hajime i didn't see you there hah’

hajime? no iwachan?

the sun was setting for the day forming dancing golden shadows against the walls through the windows, and highlighting the sharpest but softest points of his friend

woah

he could feel the warmth on his back

‘you should've been packed an hour ago, what're you still doing- actually don't answer that. i already know the answer’

oikawa just gave a sheepish grin, the same one he always gives when he's caught overworking, a way-too-common occurrence

‘cmon i thought we were gonna walk home together’

‘oh! right sorry i’ll get ready- hold on don't leave without me’ oikawa scrambled to clean the volleyballs from the floor and put back the net

he'd never seen him move so fast, weird

hajime grinned to himself and walked to the doorway, oikawas inner ‘shitshitshit’ mixing with the night cicadas being the only thing he could hear.

tooru came out a few minutes later and they locked up and started their walk home, though the conversations (inner and outloud) were weirdly,, quiet…

they watched the sun set as they always do, went to the corner store to grab last minute snacks and walked to their houses; their nightly routine.

nearing their street where they always went separate ways, hajime glanced up to say goodbye, but stopped when he looked at oikawa's strained face

this is weird

‘what's happening, what's wrong with your face’

‘ >:o my face? you should see yours, ya angry porcupine’ oikawa looked fake-hurt, but he seemed like he needed to say something more, and struggling

‘okay well is that all then’

oikawa blinked and frowned, ‘uh yeah i guess uh see you monday then’ but iwaizumi could hear a single inner word contradicting him ‘no’

‘right, okay, bye…’

he watched oikawa turn and walk down his street

he turned his own way wondering what his friend possibly needed to say but just couldn't face-to-face, though his answer came in a single inner line silenced by distance.

‘i love you hajime’

? haji-

he stopped dead in tracks

…oh

#full fic in the reblog if u wanna see #here u go heres what my brain decided to come up with at 330am as i was falling asleep #enjoy… or dont idk #oikawa #iwaizumi #iwaoi #800 words woopsie

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balladofthewhitehorse · 2 years

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14, 19, 28, and 46 for whomever you'd like!

Thank you for your ask! I appreciate it, I’ll answer these with England (and others, depending on my muse which is- fickle. Love how my brain can spend an hour and a half researching a singular event in Irish history, but not even lift a neuron to glance at my still unfinished fics).

Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected?

This is a kind of hard one to answer given the lack of a curriculum or even any formal schooling outside of the clergy in the Anglo-Saxon era (the era I consider England to be spawned into like some shrub come to life); He would’ve mostly learned hands on from his father and his brother, learning how to defend himself and speak latin (Wessex would’ve most likely taught how to write in runic, with England learning how to write latin later on during Alfred the Great’s reign, who’s known for promoting education during the Saxon times and proposing for primary education to be conducted in English - making it more accessible to the those that weren’t just clergy or nobility, most likely).

The same would go for Scotland and Wales (in their own respective languages too, with Wales obviously learning Cymraeg while Scotland learned Gaelic and later on Scots as the language developed); All three of them are more familiar with learning skills as they go, far better with their hands than anything else. England even had a short while with Normandy learning French (and of all things, embroidery, mostly from sitting with France who acted as a bit of an impromptu babysitter whenever Normandy was away or too busy to focus on this new territory he’d gained).

The idea of sitting at a desk, listening to the teacher tell you things is a bit of a Victorian thing.

That. Is exactly what Northern Ireland is very familiar with: The poor mite was often a bit of an odd-one-out, initially homeschooled until Ireland decided it might be better for him to interact with people…more his age (or at least looking more his age). He did find it hard to connect, it is not uncommon for England, Scotland and Wales to forget that Northern Ireland at his core, no matter how youthful, that he is a nation. Northern Ireland had a bit of a tendency to flare up or argue with others, known to the teachers as a bit of a trouble-maker - which, of course: Scotland, Wales, England and Ireland all simultaneously gave one another the side-eye, wondering just where that came from.

The reality of it is that Northern Ireland is a deeply empathetic individual - and he’s very aware of all the little things that stop him from being allowed to simply exist. He takes part in the football club (but of course,) and the rugby club - as well as Irish hurling, mostly because it’s something he and Ireland can do together (like it or lump it, Ireland is probably the closest to understanding N. Ireland than anyone else here). Northern Ireland is prone to thinking his problems are very, very small compared to the others - it is hard to get a word in edgewise when they won’t stop talking about this or that battle (England, in particular, seems to have zero remorse about casually remarking on his father’s death occuring right in front of him).

But, nations have a way of feeling the impact of things on their land; Physical, Mental…it’s all the same to them, and Northern Ireland is a student throughout all of this…sucks, innit?

What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

England? England? England hasn’t even begun to crawl entirely from his disillusions.

The first one is the fact Wales doesn’t consider him a brother anymore. It was quite the shock when he realized, and initially England was very defensive; He was quick to push the blame onto her and spew vitriol. In recent years, it’s…better between them, but England always feels subtly disappointed that they’re not as close as they used to be - and well, all signs point to England as the main reason why, which…

Is the second disillusion. England is not a pleasant person to know; His actions have reasons, they’re guided by (twisted) morality and it’s not surprising that he’s like this. Yet, it must be said that England does not recognise himself as the villain, does not immediately connect the dots that all the things that have happened between then and now with Scotland and Wales, are entirely because of him. Spite, bitterness, loss…certainly, Scotland and Wales had their moments (Wales did ambush England in the midst of a forest and nearly decapitate him, but to be fair, England was invading her), but England was slow on the uptake to say the least and extremely arrogant, with…quite frankly alarming conceptions of what family and protection were - Normandy wasn’t exactly the grandest role model, but it’s not enough to wash England of the blood. He realizes this now, of course, and it’s a great shame - but perhaps the next disillusion is most likely…

The idea that he can never get better. It seems foreign to him that he could get better; He seems almost content to stew and it’s…tiring, frustrating trying to change when you know things are never going to go back to before. England struggles with the concept, with the satisfaction of retribution denied; Scotland and Wales are not going to retaliate, they are not going to seek revenge on him - nor is anyone else, and this deeply unsettles England who is all too familiar with the old adage of an eye for an eye, and a knife for the ribs.

As for the disillusions of the past, I will quickly two below:

The idea that Normandy cared for him as more than a vassal: England took a long time to come to terms with the fact his brotherhood was less than ideal and it was unfair of Normandy to have just left him with France, though at this point England was already winding up to fight with her, vicious and dog-toothed.

The idea that France was little more than a villain; For a long time, he tucked away any pleasant memories that had been shared between them - England had a tendency to think in shades of black and white back then, viewing France as an oppressor in its entirety. To him, she seemed to be a grown-up - but now, England views such a time as the feuding between two children; One of which was only a little older than the other.

Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

Hmm, I’ll answer this one for Scotland because I think it’s a tad easier with Scotland in comparison to Wales and England; He’s quite introverted for the most part, preferring peace and quiet in comparison to more social pursuits, but Scotland does have one close friend: Ireland. Obvious answer, but it just makes so much sense. While certainly they’ve had their ups and downs, with Scotland not always seeing eye to eye with Ireland (they are two individuals after-all, and there are plenty of situations where Scotland did not always do right by her - do please remember Scotland’s role in the Ulster Plantations/British Empire), but fundamentally they have each others back these days.

Scotland and Ireland have almost the same neuroses; Scotland doesn’t like insects while Ireland feels queasy about the prospect of mould, and so they tend to be very clean about their spaces around them. They’re also quite similar in humour, being very dry and quick-witted, with Ireland often affectionately teasing Scotland (‘’William Wallace wasn’t a drag queen-’’ ‘’He’s wearing a skirt and has a full face of foundation, Scotland’’ - Derry Girls, 2022). It’s not uncommon for some people to assume they’re dating, but Scotland is an AroAce icon and Ireland is just not into Scotland in that way.

I am not…really sure what the question means by ‘how did they make their choice’ mostly because it was more of a natural conclusion to them. Something that just happened naturally over time, through periods of ups and downs, finally settling into something comfortable. A good friendship, one that got them through periods of time, and perhaps the one that makes them feel the most close to human.

Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

This is going to make the England-Stan Anon (pspspsps) very annoyed, but England is fat, always was to varying degrees. He did have an awkward growth spurt from chubby little rosy-cheeked infant to some sort of lanky teenager, but filled out quickly; Lanky teenagers have no place on a battlefield and England had to get used to wearing suits of armour…especially given his weapon of a choice was a fucking war-hammer, is anyone surprised to find him quite thick-set? As he grew up, he rounded out - and these days, England is more a little soft than solid due to a lifetime now mostly sedentary - and in his opinion, much more happy. Gone are aching muscles and hunger pangs, gone was the constant need to be on-guard, and now he can just enjoy the sweet treats he desires.

(Sweets back then were far, far less affordable.)

England is about 5’’9, just shy of beating Wales’ height; And yet, he still seems to tower over others, in part due to how he carries himself - constantly a brooding expression on his face, thick (one scarred and the other a prosthetic) arms crossed over his chest, big round belly only making him seem that much more formidable. Yet, one can recognise that England feels more at ease - He doesn’t walk so fast anymore, far less in a hurry, and he seems to genuinely for the first time take care of his appearance; England’s hair was a bird’s nest of greasy hair, England going in spirals and just simply hacking it off, too frustrated to do anything with it and just…generally feeling terrible about how he looked. He rarely thought about what he wore, mostly utilizing whatever fit the standards of the time - and now those expectations, those weighty standards are gone and England is much more satisfied now.

For a start, he’s not hiding his scars so much - he used to be ashamed of his missing arm, but these days, England recognises it as another part of himself; He’s more accepting of his disability and much more attentive about how he dresses and whether or not it makes him happy. Good lord, England absolutely went mad for the punk scene when it swept through England, I’ll tell you that much. He still has the studded leather jacket in his closet and wears it on occasion - and his hair is longer now, more brushed and genuinely healthier.

So in short, England’s in a much better place about his physical body.

#hws england #hws scotland #hws wales #hws france #hws ireland #hws northern ireland #aph england #aph scotland #aph wales #aph france #aph ireland #aph northern ireland

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 2 years

Text

Collar x Malice Unlimited Yanagi Aiji SS Day After Talk

I’d assume that this story came in one of the booklets that were bundled with the game... but I have no idea which one.

as always, my translation may not be 100% as I do not translate from Japanese.

Collar x Malice Unlimited Yanagi AIji SS Day After Talk

translation by KumoriYami

"I'm full, dinner was delicious today."

"Hehe, it was just some simple food, ah, let me clear up the table."

"You made almost the entirety of dinner, so the dishes again be cleaned up by you."

"...Thank you, then we'll do it together."

Seeing her shy smile, the corner of my mouth also curled upward unconsciously.

——At this time, we normally have dinner at my house or the office, but today Ichika said that her parents sent wine from her hometown, so I came to trouble Ichika's house.

"Anyway, is it really okay for me to take the rest of the wine back?"

"Of course, I don't usually drink by myself, so if it's at Aiji-san's place, I can accompany you for a few drinks when I go there for dinner."

"In that case, I'll take it then. It's great that your parents' attitudes changed too."

"Well....Perhaps that's thanks to Ajii-san, because my parents really care about saving face, so maybe they're intending to curry favour.. "

"Well, don't belittle yourself, things will be fine."

"It's as you say, sorry, I tend to do that without realizing when talking about home/family."

"I understand what you're thinking, but it doesn't matter since I'm here."

I handed the dishes I washed to Ichika, and she wiped them dry with a towel.

Seeing her solid [the term here is more "secured "] smile, I once again felt that it wonderful for me to be my girlfriend's moral support.

——It wasn't that long ago, that I formally proposed to Ichika. After completing the marriage application, we went to her hometown to visit her parents to ask for their permission.

Her parents were more respectful/earnest than I expected but they didn't appear to be superficial.

Besides, I wanted to prioritise Ichika's mood, so as long she and her parents were able to decently get along, there was no need to force them together. After all, the way the two of us spend our days peacefully was more precious to me than anything else.

"Um... Aiji-san."

"Hm?"

"Um, tonight.... do you want to stay over?"

"....Where's Kazuki?"

"Nn... He's staying at Isshiki-san's place today."

"Then there's no reason for me to refuse."

"That's great! I'll make some dishes that go well with alcohol later, would you like to try some other flavours of nihonshu [Japanese sake]?"

"That's a good idea, sake from Niigata [a prefecture in Japan] taste good, and the one we drank over dinner wasn't satisfying."

"Ah, then you need to take a bath first, I'll get the hot water ready!"

"Hm... but there's no need for you to be in such a hurry...."

Before I could finish speaking, she slipped on her slippers and ran away excitedly.

…….Although it was a common occurrence, her adorable reactions always made me want more.

(This was really challenging my rationality.)

Rather than what's hinted at from staying overnight, it would be better to say that I was looking forward to certain things.

But not all the time since if she found out what I was thinking, I'd feel extremely embarrassed.

Which is why I try to act as indifferently as much as possible.

(.......However, as things stand right now, I'm afraid that that the fact of how I'm not a rational person has been exposed long ago.)

It would be better to say that recently, she's been exploiting my entanglements and desires to tease me more often...

Although we've been dating for so long... No, it's precisely because of how long our relationship has gone on for, that there's this offensive and defensive battle everyday.

(To others, we're probably lovestruck fools, but this process of seizing the initiative is also quite fun.)

While I was thinking about this, I finished washing the dishes and sorted out the seasonings to put back on the shelf, I suddenly thought of something.

"Aiji-san, the hot water will be ready in ten minutes, and as for the snacks that go well with sake——"

"Say, Ichika."

"? What is it?"

"Let's take a bath together."

"……………….What!?"

Once I finished saying that, as I expected, her eyes widened and her face looked shocked.

Although I was already satisfied from seeing her expression that like that, as these opportunities seldom came, I still wanted to try it.

"You're quite shocked, wasn't your proposal earlier like this."

"Eh... this... um..."

"The bathroom here is quite spacious."

"Aiji-san, are you drunk?"

Ichika's face turned scarlet, and she lifted her head to fiercely stare at me.

......This was a bit unexpected, and her adorable expression made me feel wonderfully jealous——I absolutely could not let any other man see it.

I smiled as I slowly approached her, but the way she kept taking steps to retreat somewhat made me feel heart-broken.

After retreating all the way to the wall like this, I gently approached her.

"It's impossible to get drunk with that amount of alcohol. If you're not willing, it's fine to forget it?"

"That sort of question is too unfair... just wait you, let me think...!"

After saying that, she pushed me out of the way and ran out of the kitchen to sit down on her bed, and stared at the sheets in anguish.

Seeing her serious expression, I truly sympathized, since I had a similar experience, which was from the "suffering" that came from choosing between reasoning and desire.

(Did I overdo it with the bullying...)

However since she didn't immediately reject my proposal, that was already a large enough opening.

But since I was feeling somewhat embarrassed, I was lost in thought as I sat in the living room and stared at the TV. About five minutes later, she stood in front of me.

"Sorry, as expected, I'm still... feeling shy..."

"Nn...I always feel a bit sorry for Kazuki."

"Speaking of which... Aiji-san, are you deliberately teasing me?"

"How could that be? I truly do want to take a bath with you."

"Ugh... Although I really do want to challenge myself..."

From the way she was whispering, I smiled and comforted her by saying "don't force it." At this time, the thermometer on the wall made a pleasant sound. It was the beeped to indicate the hot water was ready.

"The water's ready, I'll wash up first."

At the same time, to express my apologies, I gently patted her head.

Seeing how Ichika had a bit of regret on her face I went into the bathroom.

(......I got carried away again.)

After slapping my face with water, I let out a loud sigh.

I've really had less in control in these sort of situations lately, and while I still had some self-awareness, I however would always get carried away, and needed to reflect on it for now.

I told her before that I was originally a conservative person, and didn't like trying anything new.

It could be said that I was a complete blockhead, even if someone asked "what do you want to do with your love", I wouldn't have any special answers for that sort of question.

But now... if there's something that she wants to do, or if there's something that will make her happy, I want to do it for her without having any regrets.

After all, my intention for doing these sorts of things, was just to see more of her various expressions.

(To get over this.... No, although it's a bit strange to evaluate myself that way, I guess that I've started doing things that match my age.)

But even so, if I do something that distresses my lover, I still need to reflect on it.

While I was thinking about this, I lowered myself into the bathtub full of hot water, and tried to wash my troubles away in the water——

"Um... Aiji-san."

"Hm?"

Suddenly, I heard her voice in my ears, and at the same time, I shifted my gaze towards the bathroom door.

——The bathroom door slowly opened.

"....HA!?!? You..!"

"......Can we take a bath together?"

"......."

I lost to her.

That surrender-like word passed through my mind.

Her tempting figure wrapped in a bath towel appeared outside the door, and she secretly glanced at me.

The long hair which was coiled behind her head, her bare shoulders, and her fair legs, all caught my attention.

"....Is it no good?"

She would have rushed in without saying anything, this was definitely revenge for my earlier actions...

"No, don't worry about those trivial things, hurry up and come in, you'll catch a cold just standing there."

"Nn, thank you."

Did she get rid of her feelings of embarrassment? Or did the reason for her hesitation disappear while I was in the bath?

I don't know what she thinking, but she appeared very calm, and obediently waled in and closed the door behind her.

"Um...can you stop staring at me so much?"

"No, since you've already come in, just give up."

"I'll take a bath first, so please turn around and don't look!"

"I understand, I'll pretend I didn't see anything, don't worry."

"...Are you upset?"

"A bit."

"Hehe, this is payback for your ill intentions just now."

"I think that's...."

As I spoke, she turned her back to me and unscrewed the switch on the shower head.

If I keep staring at Ichika's back, as I've always thought of myself as a pervert in this aspect, I had to move my gaze towards the ceiling to fight against my secret desires.

——Shortly after.

Ichika re-wrapped herself in her bath towel and sat down in the tub. And since there was one more person, a lot of the water in the tub overflowed.

"This is a bit embarrassing/shameful [the word I have here is "to lose face"]..."

"What?"

"Whenever the water spills over, I always feel that it exposes my body's weight, and it might be better to say that it's because I'm too fat..."

"Pfft... no, you, that..."

"Why are you laughing at this!!"

"Rather than that, why aren't you worrying about something else?"

"Eh... do you mean like skin care or something?"

"Why did the topic change to this..."

A woman's heart is really complicated. Perhaps, when I invited her, she was worrying about things that I could not understand as a man.

"Also, don't you think you're too unfair?"

"In what way?"

"Only you are covered."

"Uhm... even if you say that..."

I deliberately showed her a dissatisfied expression, and Ichika lowered her gaze in a panic. The bathroom immediately became silent.

In this silent bathroom, I heard her response.

".....Aiji-san, even though I didn't resist my curiosity and rushed in like this...."

"Hm?"

"I however have absolutely no idea about what should come after..."

"You... it's obvious that I can't resist you at all..."

".....Nn, sorry."

"Even if nothing happens in the bathroom, it won't change what the next location is."

However, since things have reached this point/stage, there was nothing to worry about.

Anyway since there was no one else here, and there was only me and her, only we could see each other.

(In fact, we had already been interested in each other for quite a while, haven't we.

In this narrow bathtub with nowhere to escape to, I slowly extended my arm towards Ichika.

When my wet fingers touched her cheek, she trembled like a frightened deer, and I chuckled at the way she looked.

"Alright, will you obediently come over here?"

".....Okay."

Even if my brain was still thinking rationally before I touched her lips, we couldn't soak in the bathtub for too long.

——But, once you feel the warmth of the other party, the string called reason/rationality in my mind instantly snapped.

I think this offensive and defensive battle will likely never end.

------end------

#collar x malice #CollarxMalice #collar x malice translation #yanagi aiji #hoshino ichika

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katrotica · 2 years

Text

The Start of Something New

This is a true story that happened pre-pandemic with a co-worker. Part 2 of this story (yes, it was continued)) is Canoe Camping. We still see each other occasionally for fun :)

___

About two months ago, a new girl started at work. She’s easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. For the first few weeks, I admired her from afar, seeing her around the office (and maybe taking the occasional detour to a meeting room past her desk) I didn’t even know her name, which is why when I got the meeting invite from Jessica, I didn’t think anything of it. My company is growing so fast that there are always new people. It was a kick-off meeting for a new project, and I wasn’t the only invitee either. Thank god.

The next day I set off to the meeting room, taking my now already habitual detour by her desk, and was disappointed when she wasn’t there. My disappointment changed to joy and excitement and a hint of terror when I walked into the meeting room and there she was. I swear I almost fainted. She has a physical impact on me usually reserved for, well, truthfully, Kristen Stewart. She doesn’t look like Kristen at all, but my reaction to her is very similar: slightly dizzy, speechless, awestruck, really. But while ogling Kristen on screen is perfectly acceptable, that’s totally not ok behavior in the workplace! Luckily her beauty was so paralyzing that it basically prevented me from doing anything completely idiotic and inappropriate. Instead apparently I managed to sit down at the table and totally ignore the fact that she was talking to me.

“Her name’s Kat.” Said my buddy Andy, who I’d sat down next to, as he subtly elbowed me in the ribs.

“Jessica was asking about your team and role, Kat.” Andy helped.

Andy had already worked out where my poor head was at (totally unclear how a straight guy was coping better than I was… that was a question for later) and seemed to know I needed back-up. I managed to tell Jessica who I was and what I did at the company. I can’t say I remember much about the rest of the meeting. I was in a bit of a daze. In the weeks that followed, I got to see much more of her, as we were working on a project together. Eventually I was able to not have heart palpitations around her, but it certainly took a while.

Words will not do her justice, but I’ll try my best. Jessica is Asian—probably Chinese, or maybe Filipino. She’s essentially exquisite on all levels, but I’ll try to break it down. First off, her skin is an absolute miracle. It’s just the most gorgeous shade of brown, and so smooth and clear—like a luscious fabric. The desire to touch her—and not even in a sexual way, just because her skin just looks so…. touchable —is intense. Her face, framed with amazing shoulder-length black hair, is remarkably beautiful. Bright and alive, her dark brown eyes sparkle in a way that dark eyes usually don’t. Her smile is ever so slightly crooked, giving it a playful mischievousness that makes you think she’s flirting with you every time she smiles (she’s not. It’s all wishful thinking). And, if that wasn’t enough, she pretty much has a perfect body. Petite but curvy in all the right parts, athletic and toned in all the other parts. Normally I’m not as attracted to so-called girly-girls. Nothing is hotter than a girl in jeans, sneakers and a hoodie for my tastes. Jessica is a lot more formal & fancy. She clearly loves to dress up, and she’s really good at it. She’s an incredible dresser—the clothes she wears, combined with her other-worldly beauty really make her seem like an actual supermodel. She’s a fan of black, often wearing tight-fitting dresses, sometimes with stockings, sometimes without (her legs look amazing either way). And she has a collection of shoes that are beautiful and fashionable and hot and awesome. I’m confident that whatever lingerie she has on under all those glamourous clothes is probably really really sexy.

After a few weeks of working with her and getting to know her, I got to a point where I wasn’t a useless idiot in her presence. My attraction to her, however, increased, as I discovered what a lovely and intelligent and funny person she is. I quickly arranged for Alice to join a Friday night post-work party so she could meet Jessica and see who I’d been carrying on about over the last few weeks. Alice was equally smitten and immediately suggested that it would be fun to try to get Jess as a new fwb. Which I agreed to right away (of course I’d been thinking that already for weeks). But it wasn’t going to be easy. I’d learned that Jess was single at the moment (that was good) but she talked about ex boyfriends quite a bit, and I wasn’t getting any vibes off her at all. I’m actually pretty bad at reading if a girl is flirting with me (I always assume she’s just being nice) but I was fairly certain that Jessica was in fact just being nice.

She knew now that I was gay—obviously having met Alice and seeing us together, and I wasn’t sure how exactly to let her know about the fun arrangement Alice and I have, without basically saying something awkward like “Alice and I love to have threesomes with other girls. Wink wink.” So I recruited by friend and genius storyteller, Andy. He’s basically my best friend at work, and knows all about my assorted sexual escapades. I told him that if the opportunity ever came up, I’d love it if he casually mentioned to Jess that Alice and I had had some threesomes with girls. I don’t know how exactly he did it, but he did—so at the very least, if Jess was in any way interested, she wouldn’t be hindered by thoughts that she was screwing up mine and Alice’s relationship.

In the weeks that followed, I got to know her even more, and we hung out more and more after work (with my group of work friends) We went out for drinks and food, we went dancing a couple times. Of course she’s an incredible dancer. So sensual and effected by the music. She’s one of those people who dances completely for herself, as though nobody is looking, even though literally everyone is looking! I tried to make something happen every time we went out (even bought Alice a bunch of times—she’s my secret weapon on these quests) but had come to the conclusion that Jess was pretty damn straight, and while she was more and more comfortable with me, she wasn��t interested in more than friendship.

There were a few dance nights when I thought maybe something was happening because she was closer and more touchy-feely than usual (which was amazing) but then Alice pointed out that she was probably just herding a little pack of girls to send some visual signals to onlooking boys who she wasn’t interested in. Which made sense. She got hit on even more than Alice! One particularly disappointing dancing night she accepted the advances of one of those guys and after dancing with him for most of the night, ended up leaving with him. (Alice says she would have left with him too!)

I’d managed to ask her about him the following day… curious if she’d landed a new boyfriend, and she responded saying that his looks were his greatest asset and she wasn’t likely to see him again, but that it had been a while since she’d been laid, so he’d fulfilled that quota. I was excited that she was sharing those kind of details with me, and had to bite my tongue not to shout out “any time you want to get laid you can count on me!”

Then on Friday night, things changed.

The occasion was a karaoke night with a bunch of friends from work, including Jess. I invited Alice along too (we make a great karaoke team). The place we like to go to is great because you can rent your own private rooms, that have nice seating and tables and hold around 12 people, so your group gets to choose the songs and you’re not singing in front of a bunch of strangers. I really love karaoke, but it’s way better when you know everyone there and don’t feel self-conscious or judged. It was a mixed group of guys and girls, some couples, some singles. Everyone was really comfortable and happy and having a great time. The drinks were flowing pretty freely, which didn’t hurt.

“What’s your favourite Taylor Swift song?” asked Jessica. I’d been unable to shut up about Taylor since seeing her in concert recently so my status as a die-hard Swifty was known by anyone who’d had a conversation with me lately.

“Well, that’s impossible,” I started while my mind immediately started thinking about what song I’d like to hear and watch Jess sing. Sadly, unlike many of her contemporaries, Taylor has no maybe-I’m-a-little-bi-curious songs (yet ;) and while I’m not entirely certain what the “bad” thing she did that “felt so good” actually is, I’ve come up with all kinds of scenarios of bad things she’d over and over and over again if she could, so I blurted that out

“I did something bad” I answered her with a smile.

“Oh, did you?” She winked back as someone queued up the song and she got up to sing.

And of course she was amazing at that too. The girl can sing! She got so into it! Dancing so sexily as she did. She’d do this little move when she’d sing the “over and over and over again…” part where she’d basically drop down with a little twist into a squat— as the notes went lower, so would she. Choreography that really needs to be shared with Taylor tbh. In fact, watching Jess’s performance would no doubt inspire Taylor’s first bi-curious song! Gorgeous, sexy woman singing a Taylor Swift song for me def creates a situation where a lot of buttons are being pushed, so my ability to assess whether I was being flirted with was even more unreliable than usual.

“Is she flirting with me?” I asked Alice.

“I think so.” She responded. “I hope she’s flirting with US.”

As Jess finished her song, Andy accurately read the sexual energy in the room and made a perfect suggestion. “Do your song!” He said to me and Alice. Our song, ever since we’d done it on our first ever karaoke night, was Selena Gomez’s “Hands to Myself”. We’d caused quite a stir the first time we’d done it, singing it together, while… not keeping our hands to ourselves ;) Ever since that first time, it had kinda been mandatory to do it every karaoke night, and right now was the perfect time to bust it out. We performed right in front of Jess, and while our show had always been a little steamy, we definitely turned it up a little more for this one. Our hands were all over each other. Caressing, holding, squeezing, cupping, fondling. And we didn’t limit ourselves to hands. There was quite a bit of other body part touching as well.

I was wearing my usual jean shorts and chucks with a tank top (it was a particularly warm night). But I’d put on an especially pretty bra, because I knew Jess liked pretty clothes, and I loved the little glimpses of lace you could see thru certain openings in my tank. Alice was wearing one of her little sundresses, that tightly accentuated all her delicious curves. The swooping neckline revealed her amazing cleavage. Her dress also allowed me the ability to teasingly pull the hem up ever so slightly whenever I was dancing behind her with my hands on her hips or waist. Which is what makes Alice so much fun. Personally, while the idea of public nudity is a major turn on to me in a fantasty scenario, irl the thought is mildly horrifying. Alice, on the other hand, is pretty comfy with it, so I get to live vicariously through her. This was a far cry from public nudity, but I did make sure that I pulled her dress up high enough to give Jess a little peek at Alice’s panties a couple of times. Once from the front, and once from the back. They were lacy and gorgeous and tiny, only covering what’s absolutely necessary. The flash from the back was more of her ass than her panties, if you know what I mean ;)

By the time the song ended, I was super turned on. Doing that with Alice always turns me on, but tonight was even hotter because it was clear that Jessica had quite enjoyed our performance. She clapped and woo-hooed and then stood up and gave us both a hug. She definitely held the hug a little longer than a friend hung. Definitely. Then the three of us sat down kinda in the corner. The seating in our room was basically like a giant booth that wrapped around three walls of the room. Like one of those really cozy padded restaurant booths. Jess sat right in the corner and essentially pulled Alice and I over and put us on either side of her. A few more songs were performed by other friends. Some Guns and Roses maybe? And Andy did an amazing rap song. I can’t remember what it was bc I was pretty distracted. Jessica was definitely snuggling with us. There was lots of giggling. Her fingers were absent-mindedly drawing little circles on both of our bare legs, which was sending little shivers right up my spine, and honestly making my pussy tingle quite a bit. We were chatting about pretty casual and easy things like music, and occasionally she’d ask a specific question about me and Alice — but nothing too risqué or sexy. I was starting to thing that this was likely as far as things were gonna go tonight, and I was super ok with that, when Jessica suddenly stood up and announced that she wanted to sing another song.

I knew that whatever this song was would be a big indicator of where things were headed, so when the first few notes of Ariana Grande’s “Dangerous Woman” started up, I nearly creamed my panties. She sang the song to me and Alice, and fuck. I mean, that’s a sexy song. And really not a song you choose to sing to a couple of girls whose thighs you’ve been finger-doodling on unless it means something, right? Do you have any idea how arousing it is to have a major babe sing “you make me feel like a dangerous woman” right at you?

“Define dangerous!” I wanted to chant back.

About halfway thru the song she sat back between us and took turns singing softly right into our ears, turning back and and forth between us. I was losing my mind. I wanted to kiss her so desperately. That was just what was at the top of my list of things I wanted to do to her. She finished the song and melted into the seat between us, exhaling softly and saying “god, I feel good. That was fun.” She was sandwiched between me and Alice, and we simultaneously each rested our head on her shoulder. It just felt like the thing to do, apparently. She was already back to drawing patterns on our legs with her fingers, so the more-than-friendly contact wall had already been broken by her. We we just following her lead, really. I lifted my head up, putting my lips right at her ear and whispered into it.

“The skin on your neck is still singing to me. Please can I kiss it?”

“Finally!” She exclaimed “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever make a move.”

So Alice and I both kissed her neck, our lips exploring her delicious soft smooth amazing skin, up and down her glorious neck on each side, as she dropped her head back and exhaled satisfyingly. I let my mouth wander up to her ear again, planted a small kiss it and then took the top of her ear into my mouth and just sucked on it a little bit. Just like the rest of her, her ears are beautiful. She seemed to like that, as I felt her body shudder a little when a very sexy moan escaped her parted lips. Before long Alice and I were each tongue-fucking one of her ears and she was sensuously wiggling around, her hands exploring our legs much more liberally than before, coming teasingly close to our pussies, but with a degree of hesitation.

She turned her face towards me and without missing a beat, replaced her ear with her mouth and locked into a very hot and sensual kiss that sadly ended as quickly as it began when she pulled away, briefly hanging on to my lower lip before disengaging completely. She did a quick 180 and repeated the kiss with Alice. The back and forth kissing went on for a while, each session lasting a little longer as Alice and I competed for her lips. She’s a fantastic kisser. Alice and I both resisted going in for a three-way kiss, because frankly, three-way kisses can be pretty awkward and difficult to orchestrate in a way where everyone is getting something good out of the experience. They look super hot in porn, but in reality they’re kind of a let-down for everyone involved. Taking turns is a lot more fun. Of course, usually in a scenario like this, the non-kisser can entertain herself by helping remove clothing, or kissing other body parts. But we were clothed. In a room with a bunch of other people. Already I was feeling a little uncomfortable that we were all necking with a bit of an audience. People were still singing, and clearly giving us some space, but of course glances were being stolen. I knew that if it were up to Alice, we’d probably be well on our way to being completely naked and sitting on each other’s faces by now but that was def not gonna happen.

I was pretty desperate to get my hand into Jessica’s panties, but again, circumstances and wardrobe were not on my side. She was wearing one of her amazing tight dresses, with a zipper that ran all the way down the back. The only non-awkward way to access her pussy would be to take it completely off, which I could do in a second, but that would have left her in her bra and panties in a room full of people, and not everyone wants that! (Well, everyone in the room probably did, and Jess was acting like maybe she would too… but I was not prepared to go there myself).

“Please, baby, I want mooorreee!” Moaned Jessica, and sadly at that very moment I became very aware of how much she was slurring her words. Everyone was pretty drunk—it was late, and we’d been drinking the whole time. I was certainly pretty drunk, but Jessica was drunker. And, I’d decided what I wanted to do with Jess long before I was drunk. Months before, truthfully. Who knows what Jessica had decided about how she wanted the evening to go before it had started, but I suddenly realized it was important to be careful right now. I have zero-tolerance for guys who don’t understand the basic principles of consent, and have heard enough horror stories of girls being taken advantage of while too intoxicated to make good decisions. Being a girl should in no way give me a pass on that behaviour, so I made a VERY difficult decision at that moment. If Jessica really wanted to try having sex with me and Alice—and it wasn’t just the alcohol talking—then she’d still want to do it later, when she was sober. While I love using both drugs and alcohol to enhance sexual activity, I never make big decisions about sex while intoxicated in any way, and this was a big decision for Jessica. I took a quick look over at Alice and very subtly shook my head. And she knew exactly what I was thinking. That’s part of what makes it work so well when Alice and I do stuff like this. We’re pretty much always on the same page, and on rare occasions where we’re not, we’re quick to support each other with big decisions like this one.

Alice was already back at Jessica’s ear saying “Jess, we both want more too. A lot more. All of it. But we think we should call it a night tonight and then plan a really special evening for just the three of us.”

“Or maybe a whole weekend?” I cooed into her other ear after kissing my way up to it. We weren’t gonna go any further, but I was going to kiss that skin for as long as I could!

“Oh.” she pouted. She looked so crestfallen. So disappointed. Frankly, sad. I sure don’t like seeing people sad. Especially when I hold the key to their happiness! I almost lost my resolve. But I was strong. I knew that we’d made enough progress tonight with Jess to set up a truly magical experience with her. But I also knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight. Besides, I do love anticipation, and while I’d been dreaming of this moment for months, the possibility of it actually happening hadn’t become a reality until tonight. A longer wait and tease would be good for me.

We got a cab for all three of us—Alice and I deciding that we needed to make sure Jess got home ok. We sat in the back together, with Jess between us, just like at the karaoke bar. We snuggled some more and it was very nice. Jess actually fell asleep between us about halfway thru the ride—another indicator that I’d made the right decision. When we got to her place, walking on her own was clearly not going to be a success for her, so we guided her right to her bedroom and onto her bed, which she fell into, face down. As Alice got to work on taking off her spectacular strappy shoes, she said to me “sleeping in that dress would suck. And you’ve been wanting to unzip it all night. These aren’t exactly the circumstances you were envisioning, I know, but you should probably do it anyways.”

So I slowly unzipped her beautiful dress, exited at least to get a sneak peek at the lingerie she was wearing under it—something I’d been imagining since day one. Of course she was wearing a gorgeous matching set of lacy & silky deep blue bra and panties. Alice helped me roll her on to her side while I pulled the dress out from under her, and we somehow managed to get her under the covers and tuck her in. Her face was angelically beautiful in her peaceful slumber, and we both kissed her on the forehead before going.

“Well, I’m not too drunk to consent to sex...” teased Alice as the cab dropped us off at our place.

To be continued… (hopefully!)

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