#i’m fantasizing about the really bad things that could end even worse of course (because the bad ending is what i want)

[welcometohighwater]

i’ve gotta get some new ways of ruining my life. things are getting boring

[blushweddinggowns]

It had started as a rough few weeks. A rough few weeks that turned into a rough few months. It was weird, because in all honesty when it came to social standings, Will was doing a lot better here than he ever did in Hawkins. There were no Zombie Boy stories following him here, and he even managed to get a few girls to have a crush on him. He…still wasn’t quite clear how that worked out and he really wasn’t a fan of it. But they were also the only people he could talk to at school. He was way too paranoid of getting close to any guys. God forbid he got another crush on a friend, having none of them just seemed like the better course of action. 

It didn’t help that Mike had basically stopped acknowledging that he existed after they moved. He didn’t write to him, he didn’t call him, and it felt like the only time he heard his voice was when he politely asked for El over the phone. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. Especially when he still put in so much effort to get ahold of El all the time. He’d resent her for it if he could, but the only one who was having a worse time than him with the move was her. Maybe Mike was a shitty friend to him, but at least she had someone to talk to. 

But whatever. Lucas and Dustin cared, and so did Eddie and Steve. And when Jonathan wasn’t busy being high as hell, he had him too. Even Max called him more often than Mike did. Even when she was just trying to get ahold of El she’d take the time to ask him how he was, a courtesy that his best friend from freaking kindergarten couldn’t even offer anymore. 

So maybe Will didn’t have many friends in California yet, but he didn’t feel very lonely. 

Just a little heartbroken. 

But he could get past it. Especially when some of his favorite people were only one phone call away. Sometimes it made him feel a little guilty, that Steve and Eddie were his go to for talking about his problems. Especially since Jonathan was always trying to get him to open up. Even when he was zoinked out of his gourd he never failed to ask Will how his day was. Though…he did have a hard time following the plot when Will told him. 

But that didn’t change the fact that Jonathan always wanted to help. But what could Will say? I’m depressed because I’m in love with my best friend who doesn’t care about me? And oh yeah, I’m gay? Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen. If Jonathan of all people hated him for that…he’s not sure he could recover. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

It was kind of pathetic, but he’d fantasize about it sometimes. Coming out to his family, everyone smiling and saying they’d love him anyway, no matter what. And if he was being honest with himself, it was technically possible, right? His brother had never said a bad word about Steve and Eddie. His mom never failed to shut the homophobic crap down when his crappy sperm donor had still been around. But it was different when it was your own kid, right? Will wasn’t quite sure. But he did know that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

So he called who he always did when he had a problem. It only took a few rings before someone was picking up, Steve’s familiar voice on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Will sighed, flopping face first into his bed, the phone pressed to his ear. 

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

God, he was such a dad. Will wouldn’t be shocked if he started wearing socks with sandals by the time he hit twenty-three. He went straight to the point, “Do you think that living happily ever after is like a real thing? For people like us?”

Steve laughed, “It better fucking be after all the shit we’ve seen.”

“I don’t mean the Upside Down stuff,” Will sighed, “I mean like…y’know. The gay.”

Steve snorted, “The gay? I’m going to have to tell Eddie that one.”

Will rolled his eyes at the redundant statement. He had learned a long time ago that telling Steve something meant telling Eddie something, and vice versa. He sighed a tiny smile on his face, “Oh what, like he’s not already next to you listening in?”

“...touché.” 

Will laughed, turning over to stare at the ceiling, “I’m serious though. Like…is it even possible? It’s not like everyone gets to magically find their soulmate at eight.”

“Is that such a bad thing though?” Steve asked, “Because no offense dude but honestly? I think you could do a lot better than Mike-”

“Be nice,” Will interrupted, torn between being defensive for Mike’s sake and amused at Steve never failing to find a way to come at him.

“I will when he starts being nice to me.”

“Well that’s just not going to happen,” Will laughed, “I’m starting to think Eddie’s right to call you a brat.”

Steve gasped, loud and scandalized. He’d been hanging out with Robin too much, “Me?! Never!”

Will could barely hear it over the receiver, but he could hear Eddie’s faint voice coming through, Yes he is!

And it was making him laugh even harder. Will missed this, so much. He missed having a place where he could just say whatever he wanted, with no worries. Even now he was looking over his shoulder, anxious at the chance that his mom or a sibling could come bursting in at any moment to catch him in the act of being comfortable. It was a confusing and weird feeling, and probably a little unfair to assume they’d prefer him to be sad and quiet over happy and queer. But he still did.

But for now he was safe. And he might as well take the chance to speak on all the things he couldn’t with anyone else, “But what if I don’t want to do better than Mike? Like…it’s stupid but do you think that um, I would ever have a chance?”

The answer was a strong no, but sometimes Will just needed a reality check from someone else’s mouth. 

Steve sighed, “I think the odds are pretty low bud. All jokes aside, even if he was playing for our team, I’m not sure if he’s the type who could even accept it. Y’know?”

Will did know, unfortunately. And if he’d never met Eddie and Steve there was a solid chance he’d be that guy. The truth stung a bit, but it was necessary, “I know, I know. But…do you think he would accept me? If he ever found out?”

“He fucking better. Otherwise I’ll-”

Will heard a shuffle on the other end, paired with something that sounded suspiciously like whining before he heard Eddie’s voice, “Will? You there? Sorry about that. I had to take the phone away before he started talking about beating up a child.”

Will grinned, happy to hear Eddie’s voice, “You made the right call. Do you think they’ll ever get along?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Eddie sighed, “And I know Mike’s not perfect, but if he’s okay with us why wouldn’t he be with you?”

“But it’s different when it’s a friend, isn’t it?” Will asked, “I’m not even sure if my mom would accept it, let alone him.”

“Well first of all, you don’t have to tell anyone shit, okay? But I can promise you that Joyce would be fine with it. And so would Jonathan for that matter. And I don’t even know if El is aware of what homophobia even is.”

It all sounded a lot more believable out of Eddie’s mouth than what was going on in his own head. But still… “What if they don’t though? What if I tell them and they kick me out or something? Or make me go to therapy?”

“Okay, on the off, off chance that you tell them and Joyce suddenly became a monster overnight, we’ll go to plan B. Steve and I will drive up there to kidnap you and you can live in Indy with us.”

Will grinned. He could live with that, “Can’t we just make that Plan A?”

“No, because your family loves you, as they should by the way. And this won’t bother them, I swear. Plus, telling them on your own terms is a lot less awkward than getting caught in the act.”

Will didn’t even want to know what Eddie was alluding to with that one. Poor Wayne, “But what if we’re wrong?”

He wanted to believe him, he really did, but stranger things had happened outside of gay people being disowned. 

“Will, listen to me,” Eddie said, his voice confident enough to make Will perk up, “I swear on Steve’s life, okay? There is no way in hell anyone in that house is gonna reject you for this.”

Will blinked, a little shocked at just how much faith he had in his family. More than he did, “Really?”

“Really. Trust me on this man, you’re going to be fine.”

They hung up pretty soon after that, mostly because El started knocking on his door for the phone. The conversation made him feel a bit better, but also…nervous. Could he really tell them? Would it all just work out? Just like that? Will wasn’t so sure. 

He decided against doing it right away despite Eddie’s own confidence. But he did start to drop a few feelers. He started with Jonathan, waiting until he was high enough for him to forget the conversation if it didn’t go well. And that wasn’t a long wait. 

He found him and his new friend sprawled out in his room, Fast Times playing in the background as they both stared into space. Though Will wasn’t quite sure he could count what Argyle was doing as staring. He’s eyes were barely open, and Will was 90 percent sure he was passed out. But that was good for him, now was as good a time as any. 

Jonathan smiled at him as he wandered in, his words kind but slurring, “Hey! What’s up? You never come in here. You wanna watch something or…?”

Will shook his head, his heart aching a little at the way it made his brother frown. Maybe he really had been neglecting him, too caught up in his own head to spend time with the closest thing he had to a Dad. 

It made him feel a little bad, but that wasn’t what he was here for, “No thanks. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure!” Jonathan said, way too excited at the prospect of a simple question, but maybe that was the weed, “What’s up?”

Will shrugged, casually leaning against the door. Or at least he hoped it looked casual, because his heart was beating a mile per minute, “Steve said that his and Eddie’s anniversary is coming up soon. Do you think I should send them something?”

Jonathan tilted his head up to look at him, his eyes bloodshot with a tiny smile on his face, “That’s like…so nice dude. You’re always so nice. How are you so nice?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Will pressed, hope fluttering in his chest, “To be, y’know, celebrating them like that?”

Jonathan shook his head, “Nah man. It’s like…romance. Y’know? It’s sweet.”

“Yeah dude, gay guys are cool,” Argyle agreed out of nowhere, his eyes still closed,  “Good for Stu and Eggie. Gay people got like, the best hair.”

Will didn’t really know what to do with that one. But Jonathan was impressed. He jerked his head back to stare at Argyle, his voice in awe, “How’d you know he had good hair? I never told you he had good hair.”

“I bet they both have good hair,” Argyle sighed, “They alway do.”

“Are you like, psychic?” Jonathan asked, like that made any sense at all.

“Shit, you think I could be?”

Will watched as the two of them started to debate the idea, his brow raised. God, weed sure was a hell of a drug. He left them to it after that, deciding to slowly back out of the room. But he was going to chalk it up as a positive. 

preview for the next chapter (kind of) of this fic

[provisionalsparkle]

The Boy Next Door

Reader x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

[Genre] exes-to-lovers au, smut, angst.

[Word count] 6.7K

[Warnings] Smut. Angst. Unprotected sex, voyeurism, ample description of bodily fluids.

[Note] This is my contribution to @feliix ’s Summer 2 Lovers collab! Check it out!

Summer.

The season of fun and sun, careless joy, long days and warm nights…

For most people.

For you, this summer is about change. It’s about the little town you used to live in, the quaint house you grew up in, the smell of your mother’s cooking or the breeze from the yard, the sound of younger kids playing in the street. It’s about the big city you will go to live in, it’s purple and orange twilight skies, black silhouettes reaching toward the skies beginning to twinkle with golden lights, the noises of the traffic coming from evening bustle, the scent of the delis and restaurants that line the streets.

You were stuck between these two places, university having been a four year long limbo of boundless sex mislabeled as self-discovery, and now visit your home one last time, reminding yourself of the life you had there before moving on to another.

You think of the past with nostalgia, yet also with a restlessness that makes you want to run from everything. The stillness, the silence, the unchanging landscape in this little town is too unbearable, too unsettling. But it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable. The life you’ll soon live promises excitement, autonomy, it’s the adulthood you’ve fantasized about. It terrifies you too, and you have these horrible dreams about missing the payment of the most insignificant bill and having the entire world collapse on you because of it. You still don’t know how to do your taxes.

College is over, a new life awaits you in a big city after landing a rather ideal job, but it felt like you were leaving things behind. Funny how, after so many years of fantasizing about this grown-up life you suddenly felt like a lost child, scared to forgo the familiar.

It’s these sort of almost-quarter-life-crisis thoughts that fill your mind on a particularly warm afternoon. You’re indecently splayed out on a couch with as little clothing as possible, the door to the backyard is wide open, letting an occasional breeze waft in to disrupt the stifling stillness of the heat. The lights are off, and you were too unbothered to turn them on as the sun set, preferring to stare at a darkening ceiling as the evening sky turned purple.

There’s a familiar jingle of keys from the front door.

“Honey? You home?”

“I’m here, Mom.” You lazily answer back. She wanders from the hall to the living room, you can feel the judgemental look she gives you.

“Have you been laying like this all day?”, indignation lines her voice. Was it so surprising to find you like this?

“Yeah…”

“You can’t just lay here all day. Go out! Get some sun! Go play with those kids you used to hang out with from school!”

“I can’t Ma, I’d rather just plank here.”

“Oh goodness, Y/n. Give me one good reason you shouldn’t go hang out with them!”

“I’ll give you two: either they grew up to be total bitches or they had kids and became a bore.”

“I didn’t become a bore when I had you!” She exclaims, although it’s not too serious and some playfulness hides beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a cool mom. They don’t make those anymore.”

“Hmm… well, I think you should make a bit of an effort.”

“Mom… it’s my last vacation you know -”

“You know what?!” She suddenly exclaims, her voice brightening like a lightbulb just radiated in her thoughts. “Mrs. Carson’s son is here with her for the summer too! I bet you haven’t seen him in ages, and he’s gotten so handsome.”

“Mrs. Carson?” You didn’t have any clue who that was.

“Well… you might remember her as Mrs. Bang, but Jane changed her name when she married Norbert a few years ago. She still lives next door and Christopher’s in town spending the summer with his mother.”

Bang…

Christopher…

You hadn’t heard that name in years. It surprised you a bit actually, and a hint of a smile came to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom… I’ll think about it.”

You wouldn’t admit… something did grab your attention. A curiosity of sorts.

You were fifteen years old when you had your first kiss. He was a short boy with a kind smile, a bit awkward really, but you had a fondness for him. It wasn’t about looks at all, all boys at that age were hideous and nothing would change your opinion on that, but you’d swoon whenever you saw him. It was mutual, an icky teenage infatuation that had your friends poking fun at both of you whenever you’d become giddy at the sight of one another. Hot faces, nervous glances, trembling innocent touches.

He sat next to you in chemistry and you’d hold hands under the lab table while the teacher gave class. His left hand always felt soft in your right one. Cute. It’s a bit silly but you’re glad you had that sort of adorable and silly romance. While it lasted, that is.

Christopher wasn’t a bad guy. He was stupid, like all boys that age.

When you saw him kissing another girl, of course you cried, but you knew it had to do with him being stupid more than anything. This simple looking girl that you had been friends with in elementary school, you can’t even remember her name.

You know why he did it, beyond his stupidity. Your mom had let it slip long before - you knew it was coming.

“Honey, would you believe? Mr. and Mrs. Bang are divorcing!” Probably just some hot gossip from one of her PTA yoga groups, no ill intention on your behalf. She didn’t know you were seeing Christopher - over your dead body. You were fifteen and a horrible student, you didn’t need to give your mother yet another element to ground you with.

“Oh no…” You acted as normally as you could, your first thoughts went out to Christopher first though. “Do you know why?”

“Well… I’m obviously not going to ask, duh! But I do know that Mr. Bang is taking the kid with him abroad.” What?! What did she just say? Chis is WHAT?!

“I - uh, what?” Act normal, act normal, act normal.

“Aww… sweetie, was he your friend?” Goodness, parents can be so oblivious, but it’s beneficial in this case. She doesn’t pick up on the depression of your mood.

“I guess.” A sniffle is about to threaten your composure so, in your teenage arrogance, you leave before your mother can see your teary eyes.

The subsequent days were strange. You expected Christopher to tell you the news, you expected to comfort him, you expected to live out the rest of your young romance as best as you could. And then… you saw him.

And he said nothing. He was cold, pushed you away. He must be going through a lot of pain, you thought. More days went by and he still said nothing, and his demeanor grew worse, no affection, no smiles. He must be having a hard time, you reasoned.

Sometimes you thought he was on the verge of saying something to you, like he was about to say something and the words threatened to come out but he’d suddenly pull away and swallow them. You didn’t question it really, it was so confusing but you just went with it.

You never held his hand in chemistry again.

Time made you realize that Christopher didn’t want to be with you anymore. You weren’t sure if it was because he stopped liking you, and that hurt a little, but you knew what he was going through, and you stood by him in case he ever chose to open up and cry on your shoulder. You’d be there for him.

When he kissed that girl, it didn’t really surprise you. Damn it, what was her name? You cried, you thought it was because you were ugly and your boobs were still pretty small - stupid reasons.

It took a few months for you to understand the real reason.

He left without saying goodbye. You never spoke to him after he kissed what’s-her-name. Maybe he tried to do so a couple of times, but you ran away or didn’t let him. Or maybe you remembered it that way to comfort you, just so you’d live with the thought that he tried to apologize, tired to make things right.

But the fact of the matter is he didn’t speak to you and he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to say goodbye because it hurt.

He was trying to ruin your relationship so you’d break up with him and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye, so that he could kill the feelings you had for him to spare you from the pain of his departure.

Or maybe you were just imagining it like that to make it a cuter memory and think about it fondly.

Maybe in the end, Christopher was just a horny teenage boy that cheated on you. Maybe.

Regardless, you giggle as you think back on the silliness of it all, and how serious and life altering it all felt in your childishness. It seemed so long ago, so distant, and you were so changed that it felt like it had all happened to a different person. You wondered about the man next door, and the entirely different boy who had once been next door. What kind of person had Christopher become?

University did you well. It was four solid years of irresponsible drinking and uninhibited sexual exploration paired with relatively easy academics. You don’t know how it happened, but it had been like a transformation from one day to the next.

You, sort of, kind of, absolutely plain and normal girl that no one would notice lest you stepped in their line of sight. One day, there you were - normal.

Two weeks in - boom. Confident. Your roommate was an okayish girl, another plain one. Then you started noticing how comfortable you were undressing in front of her, to change clothes or whatever, as if it was the most normal thing in the world - which it was. Wearing shorts and skirts became less of a worry, just something that felt better. Sometimes you’d be thrown icky glances from some boys, which you hated, but others were acceptably flirty and you loved those. The best ones were the boys that would get shy and who would quickly whip their heads the other way once you caught them staring.

That definitely flipped the switch. It made you feel strong, it made you feel damn good. You, who at the most had dipped a finger into the world of heavy makeouts during high school, now became a seasoned seductress of all kinds of men. So long as you could wrap them around your finger with your demeanor, so long as you could prowl over them and take the lead.

Ah… the good old days.

What was going to happen now, though? Four years later, no slightly inexperienced men left to be wowed. Everyone you knew was turning into a bland and bitter office worker. Was this the end of it?

To think that you’d be ending this glorious chapter of your life in this tiny town, lounging on the same stuffy couch in the same hot living room every day, having your routine philosophical melodrama where you’d stare at the ceiling in the afternoons until your mother came in inquiring if you were alive. It was a terrible fate.

A few days after the revelation of Christopher’s presence, which you would never admit had been circling your mind nonstop, your mother returns with another piece of information.

“You know, Jane and Norbert are having a get together of sorts next Saturday - just the usuals from the block.”

“Is that so?” You said with disinterest.

“In fact, I borrowed a baking pan from her last week… why don’t you go over and give it back to her for me? She might need it, and you probably haven’t left this house in days.” You didn’t reply, but you could feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to obey.

“Fine…”

The afternoon was enjoyably fresh, although your white t-shirt stuck to you like a second skin, the bikini top you wore underneath tracing its silhouette into the cotton. You lazily stomped your way to the house next door, admiring the tall window where you had snuck into Christopher’s room a couple of times during your short romance. A ladder was perched up against the exterior toward that window, they must have been fixing things up. The porch was full of cans of paint, tools, boxes. It was only when you rang on the doorbell, begrudgingly holding the large tray, that you realized that Jane might not be the one to open the door but instead it could be -

The door swings open and you gasp. Christopher.

Well… his face hadn’t changed much. But he was slightly taller than you remembered, far more masculine, oh, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Yeah, he was shirtless… jeans hanging low on his hips… shirtless… abs… fit waist… arms…

“Hi! Is Jane home?” Good… pretend you don’t remember him.

“I - Uh… no, my mom’s actually out right now.” He replied. His voice had grown deeper, and where did he get that accent? Wait - did he not remember you? Now, that just made you angry, but you wouldn’t let it show.

“Oh, well… my mother wanted me to return this.” You say handing him the tray, avoiding trailing your eyes downward.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give it to her.” He says. He seems a little frozen, an expression between surprise and caution lingers on his face, but you don’t know if it’s good or bad.

There’s a moment of silence where you just stare at each other.

“Y/n…” He finally says. There’s hesitation in the way he says your name. He’s scared, not of you, but he’s scared about the fact that you’re on his doorstep.

You don’t say anything, calmly, almost coyly, waiting for him to continue. You’d gotten rather good at pretending you were calm, and the slightest tint of a smile painted your lips so you wouldn’t seem cold or ingenuine.

“Do you remember me?” He asks. You can’t help but huff, a tiny laughter really.

“Of course. You know, you haven’t grown much taller.”

With those slightly playful words, you turn to walk back to your home, and with each step your impression of the encounter with your childhood love became more bitter and less sweet.

It was strange how you thought about him, about it. The situation, that is. Seeing him, talking to him, both of you now being older. A few days of thinking now.

You don’t know why you thought about it so much, but you thought about it. You thought about it without knowing how you felt about it or what you thought about it. This man you had only gotten a glimpse of, too overwhelmed to take in his features properly, now walks around your mind freely. He wasn’t the boy you knew. He wasn’t the boy next door whose hand you’d once hold in chemistry, who you’d kiss before turning the corner towards both of your homes. The boy who left all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t that boy. It was that man, who kept perturbing you. What did you feel? Interest? Yes, there was something quite intriguing about all of this which sparked your curiosity. Lust? Of course, absolutely, the man next door looked divine. Suppose you could abstract the person from his body, so that you wouldn’t be so bothered by who he was and what he meant to you, and you’d easily bend over in front of him and invite him in.

You supposed a conversation was in place, though, because after all, he was still the Christopher. You couldn’t just go around fucking people like that anymore - unfortunately. That was something you got away with in college. It’s a shame college boys grow up to be boring men, sex gets more boring, they think they have all the authority… Maybe you should go back to school.

You’re sitting on the windowsill of your second floor bedroom, one leg hanging out and stepping onto the roof. Opposite to your window, beyond a neat shrub, is the window of the guest room of Mrs. Carson, formerly Bang, which seems unchanged from when you last saw it. You remember watching her from your room, also unchanged, using the TV in there to do some aerobics she followed along from a VHS… was it a VHS? No, that’s the machine. What were the things you used to put in the VHS? A cassette? No… regardless, eventually she must have started using DVD’s.

Damn it, it all seemed like thousands of years ago.

Damn it, you were still so melodramatic throwing around words like poetry over some Richard Simmons tape. Aha! It’s a tape!

Your crotch is being dug into by the window frame, and you let your weight rest on it, the slight grind tempting you to have a round of masturbation. But you’ll finish the cigarette you stole from your mother first. It tasted awful, it was another adult thing you couldn’t understand. Why did everyone at university smoke so much? It was just another thing their eager teenage selves did to emulate the adults in grown-up world, to feel a little more grown-up. Who the hell likes this stuff?

But you liked watching it burn, occasionally inhaling its airy and bitter smoke. It wasn’t your preferred type of smore. You preferred watching papers and matches burn, their sweet and rich smell, the warmth of the fire that would sting the edges of your fingers. Shame your mother only used a lighter, you didn’t like the smell of that fire either.

You just surrendered to watching the bright tip of the cigarette and the white streams that came from it.

“You know those are bad for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You exclaimed, your heart nearly jumping out from your chest. A man had sprung out from the window in the guest room of the Carson house, formerly Bang, and that man was Christopher Bang himself.

“Sorry I didn’t -”

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack - what the hell?!”

“ - mean to startle you…”

“Damn it, Christopher!”

“Ah! So you do remember me?” He says with a bit of joy, but you just look at him, realizing that this is where the talk will come. His features grow a little more somber. He continues, “So… I guess I -”

“Where’d you get the accent?” You interrupt, genuinely curious. “You sound like the crocodile hunter.”

“Well… I was living in Australia with my dad.” He says it in a normal tone, but you make sure it doesn’t stay normal.

“Oh, so that’s where you went?” You both wince at what you just said. Yep, it’s finally time for that talk.

There’s a bit of silence, but you’ll let him be the one to fill it.

“I…” He sighs deeply. Uuhh… it’s quite a masculine sigh. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but I… there’s something I’ve always wanted to say.”

“I’m listening…” You say. It’s a flat tone, but it’s funny. You hope it’ll ease him.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Some silence again, “I’m sorry for being an ass, I’m sorry for cheating on you -”

“Chris, we were like fifteen… you kissed a girl with braces, big deal.” You waved it off. Really, kissing that girl didn’t bother you so much, now almost ten years later.

“I left without saying anything.”

“Yeah, you did. Hard to not notice.”

“I was - I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through a lot and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you left without saying anything?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok… we haven’t spoken in years. I practically forgot about it.” No you didn’t.

“Did you?” He says. Was he hopeful when you insinuated he hadn’t hurt you as much as he thought he had?

“No, not really. I mean, yeah, you kissing another girl was pretty insignificant, we were just kids. It did hurt that you left without… I don’t know… There wasn’t any closure. There wasn’t a goodbye. I felt confused for a while, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry about that. But my parents were splitting up, I was going to have to leave everything behind. You were the first girl I loved and I was going to have to say goodbye and I couldn’t handle it. I was too hurt and embarrassed to even tell my friends. I wish I had done it differently.”

“Yeah, I wish you had too. I wanted to be there for you, you know? I wanted to hug you, hold your hand, tell you it was going to be ok.

“I really messed up there…”

“It’s okay Chris, you were just a kid. We were just kids.” You offer your sympathy but he doesn’t soften.

“Mhmm. Doesn’t make me feel less guilty about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, “Did you do all that stuff… you know, treat me that way, for real or where you…?”

“I was hoping you’d break up with me, get over me. That way we wouldn’t have to say goodbye and we wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I got hurt.” You admit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You insist. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We’re old and grown and fine. All of that’s in the past, I can’t blame you for acting like a kid. It’s okay.”

“Well I can agree with you there. We did grow up, not kids anymore.”

“You didn’t grow that much.” You laugh, he laughs too.

“You certainly did.” He’s being flirty. It could have been bad timing, but the mood felt right.

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Hard not to.” Goodness was he being direct. “You were really cute back in school, I had a crush on you for like, forever.”

“Really…Plain old me?”

“Really. And now here we are and I think I could have a crush on you all over again.”

“So you can go off and kiss another girl with braces and leave the continent?”

“No, I’m a one woman man.” He says while making himself comfortable on his own ledge. It’s getting comfortable overall, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known for the longest time, like a decade of separation didn’t do much harm.

“Well, well. And who is that lucky woman now?”

“There’s no one at the moment. I’m in the middle of some life changes.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m moving back. Well, not here, just in the country again. A big city, big job, kinda scary.”

“Seems we’re on the same boat. I just came back to say goodbye to this place forever and I’m ooout.”

“Did you finish school already?”

“Yeah… I wish I hadn’t though.” You think back on your experience with longing, lamenting it’s end.

“Wow, can’t relate. I couldn’t wait for it to end. What’d you miss about it?”

“Well, I didn’t have to work, grades were good and easy. And I guess, it was tons of fun.”

“How so?”

“Being on a campus full of horny and stupid guys - it was open game.” Chan hisses at your admission.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for that type.” He chuckles, “You would stutter for like the first two months we went out.”

“We were just kids.”

“I guess we were…”

Another comfortable silence as you stare off at the sky, your cigarette burnt through with only the spongy bud left to pinch.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m single too, you know.”

It might have been a bad idea, you said it on impulse after all, something quite instinctive having taken over you. Maybe you were just horny and Christopher was just hot, regardless, the conversation was over. Before he could even process what you said, and the implications to it, you had already slipped back into your darkened room and out of his sight.

Chan felt like a teenager again. Not in a good way.

Chan remembered your first kiss, holding your hand. He remembered your breasts being the first he had ever really noticed, your legs being the first he ever caressed. He remembers how you’d press your bodies together while you kissed, not really understanding what both of you felt, only understanding the urgency of it.

Now he can name those feelings, the ones that once belonged to an inexperienced boy, merely dipping his toes into the surface of that world. But now that he dove, and had dived into its waters several times, he knew how to swim in them.

Yet, seeing you made him feel like he didn’t. It made him feel like he couldn’t swim, like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning.

The first moment he saw you on his doorstep he felt his stomach drop, a pang of guilt that had lingered on his mind during countless of sleepless nights hitting him with full force. He didn’t expect it. He thought he would never see you again.

And after taking another look, a longer look, it was like he was swimming in completely different waters. He felt submerged, and he didn’t know which way was up. He wanted to open his mouth and swallow it all up, let you drown him.

He hadn’t felt this raging feeling since he was a teenager. He certainly hadn’t had a specific woman make him feel like this until you.

It made him feel another kind of guilt. Shame even.

The following days he’d watch you, shamefully. His mother had him painting the house and when he stood on the rooftops he took his time to enjoy the view of you swimming in your pool, wearing tiny bikinis that stuck to your skin and showed the buds of your niples and the lines of your labia through the fabric. He would admit, shamefully, that he stopped watching from the roof because he needed to get closer to see these beautiful details.

He now watched you from over the fence in his backyard. Getting incredibly hard watching you swim, watching you oil your body down.

It was all horribly, horribly shameful.

But weren’t you the one that mentioned you were single? It had caught him off guard. He was being cheeky in that moment, but he didn’t know what waters he was testing then. Now he knew, and it was making him behave so, so shamefully.

Should he go over there, push you into a corner of the pool and pull your bottoms to the side? Should he kneel at your feet while your rubbing yourself with that golden oil, and beg you to let him fuck you?

It wasn’t just the thought of sex that drove him mad, it was you in general. How inferior he felt in front of you, like he had to prove himself. Every day he worked shirtless, hoping you’d get a glimpse of him, but you were just so unbothered by it all.

It was driving him fucking insane.

If only you knew.

Except - of course you did. Of course you did. This is what you craved, what you were best at. Driving boys, technically men but boys sounds tastier, to be absolute slaves to their desire for you. Christopher wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it. Did he really think that you would suddenly spend every day swimming in the tiniest bikinis after having not left your couch for over a week? They really are such stupid, fuckable animals.

And Chris was particularly fuckable.

Day four of his perverted project, he was hammering away at some boards in the back porch of his house. Your mother wouldn’t be home for hours, his parents were away for a couple of days.

Everything was perfect.

“Chris?!” You call loudly over the fence from your chaise lounge, carelessly flipping through a book. The hammering stopped, he had heard you. “Chris, it’s hot today. Don’t you think you should come over for a swim to cool down?”

Why on earth were you acting so damn unbothered and confident, he thought. Why on earth were you asking him over?

It’s only a matter of time before he circles his own house and slides in through the gate on your end. He’s still wearing jeans and a utility belt, gloves too. No shirt.

“You can’t really swim in those, take them off.” You hardly peered at him from over your sunglasses. He was just standing there, frozen. That’s usually a sign that you’re working your magic well. Good. “Come on Christopher, take them off.”

“I - uh, I’m actually not wearing trunks right now. Uhm… I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go.” Insert unbothered page flip. “Why don’t you just undress and get in the pool so I can join you?”

“W-what?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He genuinely thought he had imagined it, maybe all of his hornyness was driving him insane.

“Christopher!” You whine. “You’re ruining the fun!” You slam the book shut and throw it over to the side, taking your sunglasses and hat off. “Chris, I think it’s obvious. Do you think I haven’t noticed you being a peeping tom for the past half week? Look! You’ve already got a tent in your pants and everything!”

“Fuck.” Shit, you were right.

“This is like, hmm, like an open invitation to fuck me.” You say with an eye roll, but your eyes roll toward his abs because they are absolutely distracting you.

“Are… are you serious?”

“Well… You want to, I want to. You’re nice, look like you’ve become quite a decent man - and I’m not just referring to your physique Chris. Maybe, just maybe, it would be an excellent idea if we finally fucked this tension away.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You’re here for a few weeks, so am I. Why not enjoy each other while we can? After that we can just go our separate ways, just like before except we’ll end it on good terms.”

Too many points for him to argue with - you were right on all of them. He couldn’t disagree. In fact, he eagerly agreed. Little did he know you had this pitch rehearsed to perfection, to your benefit, because he seemed to be completely subdued by it.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. Fumbling with his belt, zipper, exposing the line of his abdomen down to his hardening cock. A fat, heavy cock that swung between his muscular thighs. He was fully nude now, standing in front of you, his tan skin glistening in the sunlight. You’re quick to urge him over with a finger.

He pounces, but once he’s crawling over you on that narrow chair, he becomes slow.

“Hi.” You manage to whimper out, now feeling a bit small beneath him, feeling nervous even.

“Hey.” He’s just as nervous but there’s an energy that goes beyond either of your wills pulling you toward one another.

He kisses you. It’s a kiss you melt into, and he sinks his body against yours, with you spreading your legs so he can slot between them. His cock rests against your lower abdomen, his body pressing further into you.

You can’t help but slide your hand between your two bodies in an attempt to finger yourself, prepare yourself, but he stops you and pulls back.

“No.” He growls.

“No?” Is he going to leave you like this?!

“Let me.”

And you do. Chan lowers himself, adjusting you so he can easily bend over the chair while kneeling on the ground, and his hands shake as he dips the tip of his fingers into the hem of your bottoms, just slightly tugging at the material, playing with it before he starts to play with you. You’ve got the perfect view of him basically drooling over you.

He slides the bottoms to the side, but you pull at the strings at your hips, so they come undone and he pulls them away completely. Your lips and the juices coming from between them are just as glossy than your oiled skin.

He can’t help but dig in. Fucking you with his mouth, jamming his fingers in you. It’s an animalistic frenzy and it’s hot and slippery and sticky. You cum and your fluids spill over the impermeable cushion below, pooling under your ass. He can see every sparkling droplet fall from you.

It’s just a haze, he nearly jumps on you, bending your legs nearly over your head, bouncing his pelvis on your cunt like a trampoline, smacking with every thrust. You’re completely glued to one another. If he’s not abusing your mouth with his tongue then he’s biting on your shoulder or grunting, growling, into your ear. It’s filthy. You’re absolutely sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

He cums, several times, as do you. He pulls out each time, jerks himself off on your body, although a couple of times you urged him into your mouth and face. He pulls the triangles on your top to the sides, so your breasts are exposed. He made sure to cum on those too. Semen, sweat, squirt, oil, spit, everywhere there are droplets of your fluids shining on your body like jewels.

It ends with him lying on top of you, nearly sleeping from exhaustion, and your lips feel deliciously sore and sensitive, almost ticklish as he softens inside of you.

It happens again. Several times in fact. Many, many times. When his parents are away, when your mom is away, you fuck all the time. Just a little call of his name over the fence or from your window and he’d be running to you. You were too comfortable with one another to bother with formalities, it was like you’d never been separated. You’d wait for him on all fours, wet cunt on display for him to dive in, but he’d always greet you with a gentle kiss.

Fucking each others faces, drinking eachothers fluids. You even let him fuck you in the ass, multiple times, and he was the first guy to make you cum that way. You were just as hooked and as desperate as he was.

Things started to change though.

The welcoming kisses became longer, you’d talk between the rounds…

You’d fall asleep in his arms, or he in yours.

You’d fuck slowly, deeply, staring into each other’s eyes.

You’d talk to him, tell each other stories of all these years, asi if you had been together the entire time.

You’d smile as you made love, gently. You’d let him cum inside of you.

He’d hold your hand again. They were as soft and warm as you remembered.

You were holding his hand on one particular pink evening, your head resting on his heaving chest, teaching circles into his pecs and nipples. On your bed, in your quiet childhood room. It was a painful silence now. It had been weeks, weeks closer to your respective departure dates.

“I wish I had never left.” He eventually says. You don’t know what to say. “I wish we could have stayed like this for longer.”

“Maybe we would have broken up eventually, or left for college.” You ponder.

“Maybe I would have taken you to prom, or we would have had sex together for the first time…” He returns.

“On this bed? Hmm? With my cute school uniform?” You tease. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But I guess this is what was meant to be.” He sighs, as do you.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad. I started this and now we have to go our separate ways again.” You feel something sting in your eye. You can’t cry now.

“Shh…” He coos as he hears you sniffle and feels you twitch. It makes his heart ache like it did all those years ago when he left.

“I - I…” You cry. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to go.”

He pulls you into his arms, crushing you in an embrace. Your eyes are closed but you feel the tears fall from his face, he’s crying too.

“I know… but what else can we do?”

There was nothing left to do, other than fuck the days away, crying, holding each other until it hurt. It was a horrible, horrible thing to have fallen in love with Christopher Bang this final summer.

You didn’t go with him to the airport. You didn’t want to say goodbye, you didn’t want to see where he was going.

But he did slip into your room that final night. You made love quietly, he kissed you as you cried.

He said it was the second time he loved you, and the second time he had to leave you.

It hurt much more this time around. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it, maybe you shouldn’t have gone next door.

Being in your house was unbearable once Chris wasn’t next door.

A week later, you’ve arrived at your new place. It had been a whirlwind and you stayed at a hotel the first couple of nights while your new furniture got brought in, most of your personal belongings only fitting in a couple of bags.

It’s kept you busy. That way you think about him a little less. Crying into pillows that have that certain ‘brand new’ smell isn’t quite as comforting as you’d expect. Everything seems unfamiliar, strange, artificial. Nothing here reminded you of him - it was for the best and you hated it.

The place is nice, bright. It’s on the third floor of a small apartment building, a couple of other doors beside yours in the hall. You go downstairs to grab a few packages that have arrived, carefully treading up the stairs in a kind of balancing act once they’re piled in your arms. It’s a choreography you can dance to with expertise, always denying any help from your neighbors.

However, you do fumble with the lock and handle once you’re at your door, holding the boxes up by pressing them against the door with your body as your hands blindly fumble with the keys, nothing but cardboard in your sight.

Nothing you can’t handle, until they start to slip.

“Woah, let me help you with that!” someone says behind you, and in your complicated state it’s a bit difficult to process what happens but the boxes are soon out of the way, said someone pulling them from you and freeing you.

And then you see him.

Him.

Your him.

He says your name and you’re too stunned to react. He’s in awe too. He drops your packages, and you’re certain some of them contain some makeup palettes but you don’t give a damn at the moment.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, frozen in place.

“I… live in 304.” He says.

“You live in 304?” He nods. “You? You’re serious?” He nods again, eyes still wide.

You both stand there, processing it all. This can’t be real.

“I live in 302.” you manage to say, after some time. Your voice is weak, all the air has left your lungs. You shake.

“You do?” He asks. Now you nod.

This can’t be.

But he cups your face, holds it like you’re precious and delicate, he kisses you. It is real. You kiss him back, harder. Eventually you’re both clinging to one another, gripping each other’s clothes desperately.

“You live here.” He says, little tears sparkling in the corner of his eyes. You nod, the same tears coming to you.

“I do. Mm-hmm.” The sniffles you let out seem so sweet to him, he swoons with how happy you are to see him. Knowing you feel the same joy he does - it makes him feel complete.

“I live here too!” He cries, laughing, smiling, beautifully.

One more kiss, just to make sure it’s real. You pull him in and kiss him one more time.

It’s real.

[wallflowerimagines]

How would the Lords handle their crush rejecting them? The reason can range from just not returning their feelings to having feelings for someone else to having feelings for one of their SIBLINGS

Ooooooooh. Time for Angst.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Ah.

Alcina doesn't settle for second best, unfortunately.

She's going to try and convince you of how wrong you are, and use every trick in her arsenal. Making you jealous, degrading your choice in perspective partner, showering you in affection, she's not above any of it. Hell, she might even play matchmaker for your crush.

To a certain extent, as long as she can convince you not to choose your crush, she's happy. You don't even have to pick her at the end of the day, she just wants to make sure they are out of your life.

IF it's another Lord, though...

I'm going to be a thousand percent honest, if she likes you and you reject her for a stranger, it would go way better than if you rejected her for a sibling.

She's not Mother Miranda's favorite, and now she's not your favorite either, and it hurts.

She's not going to try and win you over if you chose another Lord. Depending on how close you were beforehand she might even cut you out of her life entirely. If she sees you in public, she'll either ignore you or be so icily civil that it feels like she's disemboweling you with her words.

If the two of you were close friends, there might be a chance for reconciliation, but it's not likely. You would have to put in an obscene amount of effort, and it would still take years before she's even willing to entertain the idea.

(You need to prove that she's still special to you. She needs to feel appreciated, and that her love for you wasn't a waste. If you can manage to do all that, your relationship can recover and your friendship will thrive.)

She's also worse to the sibling who got picked over her, Especially if it's Heisenberg. Their petty squabbling actually turns into heated arguments with Intent To Harm, and she will not hesitate to kill him if he steps on her toes.

Donna Beneviento

Inconsolable.

For Donna to make herself vulnerable enough to confess to you, pour her heart out, and still be rejected?

It hurts. It hurts so much.

She spent all this time and effort trying to be brave, trying to build up just enough courage to make you see how she felt, and it didn't work. You don't love her. It feels like she made a running jump into the void and nobody was there to catch her.

Was it something she did? Was it something she said? Was it Angie? Her scar? Her mutation? Donna wants to know why.

And when she finds out it's someone else? ...She doesn't know how to feel.

Do they know how you take your tea? Donna does! Donna knows your favorite color, and song, and what your dream job is! It's almost like she's bargaining with you. You two are perfect together, she just knows it! Does this stranger even care about you at all?

Eventually, once you start to console her, she settles down a bit. Okay. You don't love her romantically. But you have to promise her that you'll stay in her life, that's the only way she'll accept this.

(She can't lose anyone else)

It doesn't matter if your crush is a stranger or another Lord, Donna watches them like a hawk. She's a little more lenient with her Siblings, of course, but her standards for the relationship are even higher than yours. They have to pass all these small 'tests' to prove that they're worthy of your affection.

If you don't get anything and everything you ask for, your partner is going to have to deal with Donna. If they so much as make you cry, Angie and the rest of Donna's porcelain family are going to shred them to pieces. No questions, no excuses.

Her feelings will probably change to something more familial rather than romantic (she love you too much for you guys to just be friends), but Donna will never stop being crazy protective over you.

Salvatore Moreau

Surprisingly, he has the best initial reaction.

As much as he hoped--As much as he dreamed--that you would love him back, he knew it was never going to happen.

Salvatore is aware that he's a monster, and Beauty and the Beast is just a story. People like you don't fall for things like him, and it's just a fact of life.

He's still devastated, don't get me wrong. But if you reject him because you have feelings for someone else already?

He's a little more understanding.

He would still want to be friends. No matter who you fall for, he wants to be in your life, even if he made the mistake of revealing to you how disgusting his feelings are. If you want him as a friend, he'll be there for you, no questions asked.

If you confess to your crush and it goes well? He's so genuinely happy for you! You deserve every happiness the world has to offer, and your crush would be a fool not to see how much of a gem you are.

He'll also want to know about your relationship, to the point where it's a little bit voyeuristic. But he honestly can't help himself. It's like a movie with his favorite person as the romantic lead, and he can't bring himself to look away.

Just... Don't tell him about your first kiss with your new partner. It's something he built up quite a bit in his head, and he really wanted to experience that with you. He'd spend long nights fantasizing about what your lips might feel like against his, and to hear you gush about that experience with someone else will break his heart all over again.

Moreau would also be happier with the Situation if you told him you were in love with one of his siblings. That means you're part of his family! You're not going to leave the Village! You're going to stick around, and he will still get to see you all the time!

Salvatore isn't going to pine after you until the day he dies--but it's pretty damn close. He's fairly emotionally mature about things like romance, but feelings can't just be turned on and off with the push of a button. Just because you are taken doesn't mean he still doesn't have feelings for you, after all, but he promises you he's going to work through it. Still, please, give him time.

Karl Heisenberg

Magnet Man is ready to murder.

You're HIS crush friend. You're supposed to like him! You guys have so much in common already, why would you spend time with someone else when you could be spending time with Your Friend Heisenberg??

(why don't you like him like he likes you?)

I've said it before, but Heisenberg is bad at processing emotions. He does not know what his own feelings are 99% of the time, and the rest of the time he does not want to acknowledge it. When he finds out you have a crush and it's not him? He practically throws a tantrum. It's frustrating for him too, because he's not even sure why he's so angry.

Especially because you make a point of saying that you still value your friendship with him. He's irreplaceable to you, but only platonically.

And he likes you as a friend. So much. The fact that you want to stick around after he word vomited his tangle of platonic-romantic feelings at you just proves you two are great friends. So why is he STILL so fucking pissed?

He will play the Needy Best Friend card to keep your attention on him as long as possible. Any minor inconvenience he might have is an emergency of the highest caliber, and you HAVE to help him. A part of him hopes the extended exposure will convince you to choose him.

Meanwhile, if your crush is some stranger (and he thinks he can get away with it without hurting you) that person is straight up dead. All tattoos and other identiying marks are removed so you aren't suspicious, and the corpse is used as Lycan fodder. No evidence, no proof, no problem.

If You like one of His Siblings? He does a little more soul searching. He does want you to be happy, and as much as he argues with them, his siblings are just as much Victims of Mother Miranda as he is. They do deserve happy lives (if only to spite that bitch, or at least that's how he rationalizes it to himself).

He'll... probably get over it. Maybe. Someday. But in the meantime, as long as you stick around and promise to spend time with him, it will sting way less.

[moxfirefly]

I have to thank @southernblossoms for this one, she got evil!Leo in my brain and he hasn’t left ever since.

TW: Violence, Gore, Blood, NSFW content below

Rated Explicit (18+ years)

“She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal

She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

She said that I don't look like me no more, no more

I said I'm just tired”

Leonardo always knew there was an inch inside of him that was darkness.

If left alone and unchecked, it would spread. Fester like some disease and he feared that someday he’d allow it to course through his body so freely.

And let it win.

It seemed today would be that unfortunate day. A night like any other, just more bloodshed than necessary. But hey, who said they should go and kill his father? Torture him to such an extent and string up his body for his brothers and him to find.

In that very moment that inch had grown in his soul to a degree that it blinded him. All he knew was to destroy, to hurt and erase those who had done this. He felt so cold, hands cupping his fathers motionless bloodied feet, the gentle tapping of blood and the cries of his brothers echoing in his ears.

So when Leo stood, bloodied (not bathed in his own), holding the head of the monster responsible, how could he regain peace? This had only brought a momentary second of reprieve and it was so fleeting. He looked into Shredder’s lifeless eyes, numbness spreading but a need that had started out as an inch. A need to kill everyone who had been part of this, directly or indirectly.

They all deserved so much worse.

They all deserved death.

Slow and torturous.

He had disappeared after that night. His brothers knew that this was the end of their leader, of their beloved brother who wanted to believe that good in this world could prevail.

For them they never imagined that Leo would just let the darkness take hold of him, nestle him with such a loving embrace. For him to embrace it right back felt justified, for his brothers it painted the gory picture of things to come.

They never expected to meet him in the opposition. To view him as foe and not family. Leonardo had quickly taken hold of the scum of the earth. He had molded the darkness to serve him.

Raphael thought Shredder was their worst enemy.

He never expected to have Leo claim that spot in a matter of months.

The Foot had fallen under his ruling, and he wasted no time in setting examples, and the bloody path those examples left behind never seized to churn the brothers stomachs.

There was no means of bringing him back, and perhaps it’s for the better.

Because whatever has eaten away inside of Leonardo cannot simply be flushed out of his body, nor ripped from his very soul. The body counts too high by now as he strays further and further away from what he was taught.

From what his father taught him...

_______________

You run with the unsavories. An eat or be eaten mentality that has caused you to survive years and years of gang wars and mutant freaks. Not like you’d throw about that last bit, much less when you’re standing single file, close to pissing yourself because he’s there.

And Christ he’s a sight to behold.

A rumor, a legend, a monster.

You tell him you’ve got valuable info, you know where to follow the trail that’ll lead to success. Even when your partner tries to push his chin up in front of Leonardo, you’re already wincing at what his demise will be shaped in.

Leo really loves cutting heads off.

A strong emphasis on loves.

You swallow, eyes flying anywhere but the rapidly growing puddle of blood that approaches your feet. Even then, your eyes stray towards the newest leader of the Foot, Leo punctures his katana into the head, a crude skewer as he lifts it and examines the severed body part as if answers lie in the gush of blood that falls. Those dark blue eyes move on you, you swallow.

He walks over to you, blade in hand, blood tap tapping onto the ground “Your information” Leo’s voice is weightless, bored almost. You motion towards your pocket, the crumpled up note with a poorly drawn map the key to your salvation. Leo reaches his hand in and you’re still, stiff and frightened by the intrusive touch and his proximity.

He pulls the note out and examines, the ghastly expression of horror on the decapitated head so close you can smell the coppery scent. “Can you get more of this? The coordinantes?” You crane your neck to look at him, his stature imposing. “Yeah, I’m your girl for that shit, swear on it” He flicks the blade and the sound of the head rolling makes your stomach flip flop along with it.

You feel the tip of a bloodied katana on your chin.

“Don’t make me cut off such a pretty head, hm?” You want to nod but the blade digs and Leo’s mouth twitches in something akin to a smirk. The small cut to your chin stings, but you wonder why other parts of you vibrate.

The danger, the adrenaline, Leonardo.

_____________

Your next meeting doesn’t quell your nervousness. Leonardo is an impressive sight as always and it’s imposible to ignore that maybe you won’t make it out alive every time you both meet. Unless proven useful, which you take to heart. You bring all sorts of information, names, rumors, possible gangs wanting to take him on, the police. Any word you heard in regards to him.

“It’s possible they might try to meet you half way, catch you off guard” The warehouse is chilly, that fall weather starting to hit but Leo’s unfazed, the black tails of his mask move with the gust of winds. “Stupid of them to assume that” The second floor of the warehouse seems to be his own, leaving the rest of the crew bellow. He sits on the windowsill, cloth running up his katana, it had been bloody when you were brought in.

“I’m just repeating what I heard, I’m sure you’re more than adept to take them on” You stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket, you’d been frisked not like you were stupid enough to bring a weapon to this.

But then again, the more he polished that sword, the more you wished you had something.

“What else have you heard? Any word on Karai?” The woman in question had appeared to have disappeared into thin air after Shredder’s death and Leo taking command of the Foot soldiers. Wether she planned to reclaim what was hers or if she had simply quit was beyond you and anybody else. “Nothing on her, she might’ve skipped town or the country” You offered, eyes following the sword as Leo placed it on a nearby table.

“She strike you as the type? A coward?” He walked over towards you, his expression so eerily unreadable.

Yet, your eyes wandered over him. Over muscle and scales. Overs scars and bruises. That illogical part of your brain making you wonder and fantasize, because fear could be exciting.

There was something exciting about Leonardo.

“Well?” He was in front of you, looking down at you. It hits you how minuscule you must look to him.

“Probably plotting? You did murder her dad” You find his eyes, you swallow.

“Well he murdered mine. Eye for an eye...” He spoke gently almost.

“Makes the whole world go blind” You finished for him, and maybe that was stepping on a line but you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch up. For a brief second you catch his eyes scan yours, move across your face and settle at your lips.

Passed your neck, towards your breasts.

He turns around and grabs his sword.

“One week, find more info on her, your pay is downstairs” You’re dismissed and before you process anything a Foot soldier is ushering you downstairs and shoving an envelope in your hands.

That night you dream about what your lips might feel like against reptilian scales.

—————————

Karai’s whereabouts are practically unheard off. If there was a trail it had run cold months back and judging from the word of mouth being passed around there wasn’t anything sustainable. You dig up anything and everybody. Every dirt bag with an agenda, ex Foot soldiers, opposing gangs, the mob and just about anybody you have in your radar.

It yields nothing.

You can’t return to Leo with nothing.

Rubbing a hand across your tired face, you make your way through the back alleys of the city. Your one week was coming up and all you had were weak possibilities and baseless assumptions. In your line of business enough information to create doubt can go a long way, but this was conspiracy levels bad.

So you thought and you thought quick.

Pulling out your phone you called him first. Perhaps a dumb move but at the same time you figured it showed that you were trying. You asked if the two of you could meet, the line briefly went quiet before your text tone startled you. He hung up and you were met with the address of a building in Brooklyn and to go up to the roof.

To say you were scared was to put it lightly.

You were shitting yourself.

The roof of the building had a green house which seemed unused but it looked like it was being kept up with the vegetation still green and alive. Your hand made for the door knob but something you could only name as a sixth sense made you freeze.

Leo was there, the shift in the atmosphere was impossible to deny. Your turned and blinked.

Wherever he had been, it must’ve been worse. There was blood on him, a fresh gash by his arm and the steady drip drip of blood hitting the concrete. “Jesus are you...?” You knew he was ok, but whomever had been on the receiving end of this had it by far much worse.

“Inside, go inside” He motioned for the green house and you did. Your eyes scanned around hoping to find something to help with. There was a nest of sorts in a corner, several blankets and cushions, a table and a chair amidst the plants. You found what you were looking for near the bonsais, a shelf with a box of first aid. Leo went towards a counter with a basin and a jar of water, he went about cleaning the gash on his arm.

You approached him with the box of first aid, blue eyes were cautious as you took out antiseptic and gauze. Leo had turned to face you, giving you more room to work on his arm as you bandaged it. “You alright?” Your voice held hesitation, Leo’s questioning gaze turned to amusement. “I’m fine, what I want to know is why you wanted to meet” You finished bandaging him and took a step back.

Pick your words wisely, you thought with a slight shutter.

“Listen I’ve spoken with any and everyone who might have any clue but Karai is off the radar”Swallowing a lump in your throat you shrugged off your jacket, worry manifesting in heat. “I know this isn’t what you wanted and I’m really fucking good at my job but this bitch is either underground or who knows! Dead for all I know!” The exasperation and worry was clear as day, he either took this the right way or the wrong way.

Wrong way being you end up pushed off this very building, at best ironically enough.

Leo swallowed the information, clearly bouncing it around his head. The dry specks of blood scattered across his green flesh. An odd silence fell amongst you both and even when he rose in all his imposing glory you kept your eyes focused on him. Getting a read on that cold calculated gaze of his was hard enough.

Your throat feels painfully dry once he has you backed up against the wall. Something about dying alone with not even an audience to witness it didn’t sit too right with you.

But then again, Leo’s large hand gripped your neck, nothing too tight but enough to alert you to its presence. Those blue eyes looked haunted but just beneath that laid something you couldn’t just place your finger on. The tips of his fingers lightly caressed you, one of them fascinated with your quickened pulse. You can’t blink, unsure what may happen and when he dips down your adrenaline makes you flinch.

Leo halts his movement, his blood feels like it’s pumping loudly enough for you to hear. Wide eyed you lean up instead and ghost your lips against his, Leo sighs through his nostrils and it stays that way. A pull but not enough of a push because there’s still fear in your blood and a hesitation that you can’t put a name to from Leonardo.

Your phone going off startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin and to a fraction of your dismay Leo takes a step away. One of your contacts name flashed on the screen which meant there could still be some good news. Your turned away to speak, pulling a marker from your pocket you write down some information on your forearm. It’s a quick conversation and once done you turn to see Leo putting together his gear again.

You bit your lip, whatever was about to happen would just have to take a back seat. ‘Fucking coward’ you can’t help but think about yourself.

“One of my guys says he might have it on good authority that Karai is still here” You watch him turn his head to listen, even if he’s got his back/shell to you. “Well?” He pushes while adjusting his swords.

“He says she might’ve just met up with...with one of your brothers” Tense doesn’t even begin to explain what his body did, the mear mention of his family was a sore subject and you had been warned to not even attempt to open that can of worms. Swallowing and feeling your throat stick from how dry it felt you see him pull out a key and toss it to you. “Send me that address, you’ll get your money at the warehouse” You barely manage to catch the key to the greenhouse, but still you raise a brow at the offering.

“Come back here when you’re ready” Is all he says about it, confusion is painted on your face but when he moved to leave he takes a moment to hold your chin. “Don’t make me regret this” He says and before you can attempt to ask he’s gone.

You stay there, twenty minutes or so in nothing but your thoughts and his words swimming around your mind.

Feeling heat between your legs and a lick of frustration consuming you.

_____________

Two weeks you contemplate the key in your pocket.

Two weeks you let your thumb hover over his number but never press down.

For two weeks you find your pillow between your legs, trying to reach the sensation he managed with just his body close to yours.

But nothing.

It’s not enough.

New York is covered in rain as you make your way through the sea of people. Regardless of the many umbrellas you still get soaked and by the time you’re up on that roof, hand digging out the key to the green house you’re drenched.

Inside you shake off the excess and remove your jacket. The cold hits you and you can’t help but feel silly that you’re here, maybe this is his way of taking you out, you’re not needed anymore by now you assume.

You turn on the few lanterns that are scattered through the room. Kicking off your boots you rub your arms and shiver, flesh breaking out into goosebumps as the door creaks open once more.

Leo’s equally drenched when he steps through, the black tails of his mask sticking to him. The two of you just stare at one another, steady drips of water and the rain outside picking up more strengh.

Carefully you watch him begin take apart his gear, leaving his katanas by the door. He’s trying to keep your apprehension at low levels, his steps slow and soft. You let your arms fall to your sides and as your heart tries to hammer out of your chest you don’t flinch this time, even as his hands go for the hem of your long sleeve. You take a deep breath as his eyes wander across your now exposed flesh. The fascination goes straight to your core, feeling yourself warm up as his hands rest on your stomach.

With trembling hands you unbutton your jeans and step out of them and the inhale Leo takes as he closes his eyes makes you reach for him. He holds you against him and sighs, large frame shuddering at the feel of your skin against his reptilian one. He buries his snout against your neck, breathing harder as his hands run all over your back and rear. Leo grips and kneads the flesh and a groan escapes against your ear that makes your wrap your arms around his neck. He feels the softness of your breasts against his chest, he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about them for months now.

You can’t wrap your head around it but he feels just as you fantasized about him. The roughness of his flesh, the edges of his shell and god his teeth nip at your neck with a growl. Wiggling out of his hold you start to undo whatever else needs to be taken off and Leo can’t help but smirk at your frenzied movements. He allows you to undress him, he’s gutted when your hands land on his waist as you start to kneel before him.

“No, no, kiss me first” He cups your face and presses his mouth against yours and that’s it, you’re done for, you’re hooked and can’t go back now. His kiss is possessive, forceful and it drowns every thought in your brain.

You pressed against one of the tables with the many Bonsais when Leo’a tongue slithers into your awaiting mouth. He sits you down on the table and nudges your legs apart to fit himself in between them, you crane your neck up losing yourself in his kiss. He can taste rain water, feels the sweat and rain mingle on your skin. God he wants to run his tongue all over you, eat you whole if he could.

It feels like forever when he pulls away, reluctance in his body. Blue eyes search into your e/c eyes, he wants to see something maybe your fear so he denies himself falling into this rabbit hole. Your hands press against his plastron and gently you run your nails down the hard plates, you shake your head fascinated by the texture. He’s rough but strong, a marvel of a species.

With some difficulty you managed to push your underwear off and spread yourself again for his viewing pleasure. “I want you,” You nodded, eyes falling to the hard length between his legs. Leo wraps a large hand around it and pumps slowly, body shivering at the sensation. “God I fucking want you so bad” You feel him come back to you, mouth on yours in yet another harsh kiss.

The tip of his cock nudges against your wet heat and he bites your lip at the sensation. Leo pushes into you so frustratingly slow, even as his girth stretches you to a point you’ve never been before. You want him inside of you now, and Leo couldn’t agree more. He bottoms out inside of you with a lengthy groan, head thrown back in ecstasy. “You feel... so fucking good” He growls out through gritted teeth, hips picking up speed as you wantonly take him in. You press your lips to his chest and moan with each slow but pronounced thrust of his hips.

His hand finds itself at the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to keep your gaze on his. The slight tug burns so good and you can’t help but keep your pleasure filled gaze on his own. Lips parted you let him rock into you steadily until his thrust start to slam into you. The sensation spreads all over your body, little shocks of pleasure rocking your body.

“Mine, you’re going to be mine and only mine” He voices lowly, a threat laced in his passion. You’re too far gone to speak, nodding aimlessly at his every word, moans falling from your lips. “Nobody will own you like I do, nobody will touch you, Y/N? You understand? I’m making you mine” He pressed his forehead to yours, lost in this feeling.

“Fuck yes, yours, I’m gonna be all yours” You lick his lips and when he reaches a hand between both your bodies your mind goes blank. A vicious shudder overtakes you as you muffle a scream against his jaw. He fills you up so good and so warm with a strange vibration that sounds like an endless growl. Each rope he pumps into you making his eyes roll back. You’re shattered against, limp and raw throat from the scream that leaves your mouth.

He watches your come down, hand against your cheek, thumb running across your lips. When he pulls out just enough to watch his essence cascade out of your pretty little hole, he pumps himself back into you. His eyes say it all, from here on out whatever your life was up to this point is over and done with. Leo nuzzles you still lazily pumping himself in you, blissful to the little tremors your cunt produces around his member making him harden once again. Picking you up, bodies still joined, he makes his way to the nest of blankets on the floor.

You hold onto him, all you can do is hold onto him.

____________

It’s rather odd to be in this position. With an entire year that’s passed it never seems to feel normal, not that you’re complaining though.

Being in a position of power by proxy has its fucking fun rewards.

For example nobody in this city will ever contemplate taking you out. Unless they want a very pissed off Foot Leader to set fire to the city and maybe even the world. From opposite points to now standing at his side. No one is to address you as below them, or touch you or let alone breath the same air you do.

You can still hear the bones that were cracked when one particularly unruly Foot soldier made snide comment about you. Each crack of the mans arm being slowly twisted until his arm broke still rang in your ears to this day. Leo hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even scowled even as the twist turned to pulling the limb off.

He did in fact fuck you hard against the glass windows of the hotel suite he had you both in. The copper scent lingering on his scales, but enraptured with the heat enveloping his cock.

With the city at war everyone had began to run amok to do their own barbaric things. Each part of the city divided between gangs, mobs, mutants, police and civilians. You were out on active Foot duties, you were still free to do as you pleased but with protection and Leo demanded your whereabouts on the hour due to possibilities of abduction.

He knew you were a weakness.

But did he give a shit? Of course not. Let them try, he hasn’t needed an excuse for his tyrannical acts thus far, but if harm did ever befall you, you only wished you could witness what his methods would be to exact his revenge.

And he was so familiar with revenge after all.

You admire yourself in the full length mirror, examining the body that training under Leo has provided you. The mutant terrapin in question comes up from behind you and wraps his strong sculpted arms around your waist. You can’t help but smirk as he rest his chin a top your head. “We’re heading out in half an hour” He mumbles against your hair, enjoying the scent. You watch through the mirror as his hands rub up and cup your breast, with a sigh you rest against his strong build. “What’s on the agenda tonight? Purple dragons?” You feel him shake his head, fingers dipping inside the cups of your bra. “Mob,” Is his sole reply.

You bite your lip, gripping his wrists. “We’ll be late” You try to muffle a moan as he tweaks a nipple, he grinds against your backside. “I’m killing them regardless, and I much rather have the scent of your cunt on my hands while I listen to their boring excuses for parley” Your knees buckled when you felt his hand slither inside your underwear, finger already parting your lips and humming as he feels how wet you already are.

You feel his other hand wrap around your neck, keeping you upright and your gaze on the mirror as his finger dips into your welcoming heat.

He engulfs your every thought, every sensation; and what’s the fate of the world when you’ve got him? He chose you just as much as you chose him. You’ve never considered yourself good, scumbag street rat who just happened to make a living amongst the other scumbags. But this? With Leonardo and the trail of bloodied heads he’s left behind, it’s hard not to be excited to see gasoline be poured on the city. He trails his lips to the shell of your ear and you can’t help but grin.

“Mine” He says.

Burn everything.

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (19)

(Hey, everyone!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I was away. It’s good to be back! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 18 / Ch. 20 (ao3)

Chapter 19: A Date with Misery

“Marinette, you are.. an incredible person.”

“You don’t need anyone to validate how amazing you are.”

“You are talented, kind, and capable all on your own.”

Felix’s words from the night before played over in Marinette’s mind again and again, an endless loop that she found herself incapable of escaping, and with each echo, her heart seemed to melt further than she thought possible. The comments were simply too honey-sweet, too sincere. She couldn’t help reveling in them. How long had he thought of her that way? How long had he placed her on such a high pedestal that she wasn’t aware of? Marinette knew that Felix had a tendency to make unexpected comments every now and then, but last night truly caught her off guard.. and perhaps made her just a tad bit love-stricken. Had he always spoken to her in that soft manner, the one that made her believe she could be the very stars in his night sky? Had he always possessed the ability to send her heart fluttering the way it did last night, when he allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor and hold him incredibly close? She had no way of knowing, and certainly not enough nerve to ask aloud. But, oh, how her mind ran rampant with fantasies anyway. Will she ever be able to dance with him like that again? Would he look at her the same way he had then, with eyes that felt soft as a cloud in the moment? Did he go home last night and think about her too, endlessly turning on his bed and glancing at his diary- if he kept one, that is -and thinking maybe just one more entry-

“Marinette?” 

Marinette jumped, nearly falling off of the ladder that she’d been balancing on, and felt a blush explode across her cheeks.

“Nothing! What? I mean-” She flailed her arms a bit to regain balance, then peeked down at the person below, the very boy she’d been fantasizing about “-Did you need something?”

Felix stood at the base of the ladder, his brows furrowed slightly. “..No. I just wanted to know if there was something wrong with your heart.”

Marinette sputtered, her blush deepening considerably. She couldn’t have been that obvious, right? What expression was she making before he came over? 

“M-My heart?” She asked- or rather, squeaked.

Felix pointed to a stream of hearts on the wall, the ones she was supposed to be taking down. “You were staring at one of the hearts for quite a while. Is it ripped?”

“Oh.” She said, staring blankly at the wall. The paper hearts. He meant the paper hearts hanging next to her. Not her heart specifically. That made a lot more sense. “No, sorry. The hearts are fine. I was just, uh.. you know.. reminiscing. We had a lot of fun times with these decorations.”

“Ah,” Felix tilted his head up in a slight nod, ���my apologies for interrupting you then.”

“Oh, you didn’t.” Marinette assured hastily. “It really wasn’t anything important.”

Definitely wasn’t anything important..

She plucked out the pin that held the hearts and started down the ladder to move to the other end of the stream. Felix offered a hand to help her down in the process, and she took it, strongly ignoring the tingling sensation that came from doing so. 

“If you’d like to keep one as a memorial, I’m sure Allegra wouldn’t mind.” He remarked. “I doubt she’s going to keep any of these things herself after all the parties they’ve had.”

Marinette hummed. Keeping a heart streamer as a memorial, huh? That didn’t sound like a bad idea. 

“Thanks. I just might do that.”

Felix gave her the tiniest of smiles, the kind Marinette was used to catching at this point, and slipped his hand out of hers when her feet hit the ground. She clasped her hands together afterwards to compensate, also ignoring the fact that it might have been nice for him to hold her hand just a tad bit longer.

“Would you like help moving the ladder?” He asked, to which she shook her head.

“I’ve got it, but if you could move the box over to the other round table while I move the ladder, I would be grateful.”

Allegra had given her an empty box to put the decorations in as she took them off of the wall. So far, Marinette had exactly.. zero decorations in the box. Gosh, how long had she been staring at that heart? Was she going insane? Why would she even be thinking about Felix this way? He’d just told her last night that he wasn’t interested in romance. Falling for him would be guaranteed heartbreak! It would be completely ridiculous! It would.. It would..

It would probably be inevitable.

Felix was just too sweet to her, too kind. He was always looking out for her and supporting her, always sharing his quiet laughs and amused smiles, and he said too many things that made her head spin for her not to start liking him. There was just no escape! It was going to happen eventually. The only question now was when.

And maybe today was her answer.

Stop it. Marinette scolded herself as she picked up the ladder to walk it over. It’s just some butterflies in your stomach. How many of those did you digest around Adrien?

Marinette froze midstep, an immense sense of horror washing over her. Oh, gosh, this wasn’t going to be another Adrien situation, was it? It couldn’t be. She refused to go through that again. At least not this soon.

Marinette continued walking, if only to avoid Felix’s suspicions, and set up the ladder under the next pin that was holding up her stream. 

When you think about it, this really can’t be another Adrien situation, right? With Adrien, she had no idea whether he liked her or not, but was hopeful despite that and used her friends in an effort to gain his attention. With Felix, she already had her answer. She knew for a fact that he didn’t like her romantically, that he wouldn’t ever like her romantically, and she also hadn’t asked any of her new friends to help her gain Felix’s attention. (Though, in all honesty, she probably wouldn’t need help even if she was looking for his attention, because he already gave it to her willingly on a constant basis, but that thought didn’t exactly help her cause.)

“Is here alright?” Felix asked as he set the box on the end of the round table.

Marinette nodded, scaling the ladder to pluck the next pin. “Yep. That’s great, thank you.”

“Of course. If you need anything else, I’ll be wrapping the candles and putting them in boxes.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” She said, pulling a smile. 

No, this wasn’t going to be anything like her crush on Adrien. This time she at least had closure before she began, and although it might be just as heart-shattering in the long run, she won’t be wasting her time wondering “what if” or tripping over herself to become his dream girl in an effort to be ‘chosen’. She’ll simply be his friend, as he’s been to her, and if she’s lucky, this sort-of-tiny-little crush of hers will wither away before it grows into a bigger problem. 

After all, it’s like Felix said: She’ll find someone new who appreciates her eventually. It just.. won’t be him. The sooner she took this lesson to heart, the better.

Marinette plucked the next pin out of the wall, watching the stream of hearts fall into the box below, and started back down the ladder again. That’s one down. Five to go.

She paused at the bottom of the ladder, ready to pull it together so she could pick it up and move it again, when her phone started buzzing in her pocket. She quickly shimmied it out to check what the buzzing was for, only to be met with the flashing words “Adrien Agreste - Café”.

It was her alarm clock telling her that it was time to go meet Adrien for lunch. And it couldn’t have picked a worse time. She still had five other heart streamers to take down, and at this rate she was going to have to run half way across town just to make it on time. Ugh- why didn’t she set her alarm clock earlier?

“Hey, guys?” She called out to the group, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I hate to say it, but I actually need to get going. I’m sorry I couldn’t help out more.”

If she hadn’t stopped every two seconds to daydream about somebody-

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Allegra called back with a smile. “You’ve helped out plenty.”

“Yeah,” Claude agreed. “This was our party anyway.”

“I know, but I only managed to get one of the streamers down.” Marinette sighed.

“But you also helped fold all of the tablecloths and put them away.” Allan reminded her.

“And you swept the room after the trash was taken care of.” Allegra added.

“Go have fun at your appointment thing or whatever. We’ve got everything covered here.” Claude assured, emptying the water from another flower vase.

Marinette smiled as she grabbed her purse from one of the round tables. Her friends were so great, each and every one of them. 

“I’ll see you guys later then.”

“See ya!”

“Bye, Mari!”

“Do you want me to call my driver for you?” Felix asked, briefly setting his candles aside. “It’s quite a walk from here to your house, isn’t it?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I can have Maman and Papa come to pick me up if I start running late.” Or she can transform into Ladybug and swing right over to Adrien herself, which was exactly what she planned on doing. “I’ll text you guys when I get there, though.”

That seemed to satisfy Felix, because he nodded and continued placing his candles in the box. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you then.” 

Marinette pursed her lips and spun towards the door, hoping he didn’t notice the fresh blush that was creeping across her cheeks. Gosh, how was she ever going to survive this boy? Maybe Adrien’s presence will give her a good slap in the face and bring her back to her senses.. She highly doubted it though. With her track record, she’ll probably end up falling for Adrien again too, and then she’ll be stuck between two unrequited crushes! Great!

..Why does she always have to fall for the people who don’t love her back?

~~~~~~~

Wind rushed past Chat Noir’s face as he raced across the rooftops, his grin stretching wide from ear to ear. Today was the day! It was finally the fifteenth! In just a few short blocks, he was going to meet Marinette at their agreed café, and they were going to have a whole lunch together just to themselves! It made him buzz with excitement at the very thought, because finally his plans were progressing. Finally he was gonna have a long, drawn out chat with Marinette as Adrien, and perhaps, if he had gained even the slightest bit of luck from his partner, he would be able to convince her to transfer back to Dupont. Or at least have her consider it. She probably shouldn’t come back right this second. 

Chat Noir landed on a rooftop and slid down the tiles with glee, but before he could leap to the next rooftop, a red and black-spotted figure flew out in front of him. He stumbled back with a yelp, staring at the person with wide eyes as they sailed onto the rooftop across from him. Was that..?

“My Lady?” He called out, pushing himself back onto his feet. What was she doing out at this time of day? It wasn’t like her to be out and about during daylight when no akumas were present.

Unless there is an akuma. Chat realized with horror. He glanced around the city, looking for explosions or destruction of some kind. Please, let there not be an akuma. That would mean he’d have to skip out on his lunch with Marinette! And he’d worked so hard just to get her there!

The spotted figure turned around- proving that it was, in fact, his wonderful Ladybug -and flashed him her signature, Lady-Luck smile. “Oh, Chat Noir! I didn’t realize you would be out today.”

Chat Noir returned her smile and hopped over to her rooftop. “I could say the same to you, Bugaboo. Is an akuma on the loose again?”

“No, not that I’m aware of.” She assured, to his relief. “I just had some free time and thought I would do a small patrol around the city to make sure everything’s still in order.”

Chat Noir chuckled. That’s His Lady for you. Never ceasing to protect Paris. Could she ever become more amazing?

“Sounds like a great idea. I’d be tempted to join you, but I’m actually on my way home already. I’ve been out for a while.” He said, though none of it was true. He hadn’t been out for a while, and he certainly wasn’t running home, but Ladybug was extremely strict on the ‘keeping identities a secret’ policy. If he let something about his civilian life slip- like, say, meeting someone at a cafe about five minutes from now to talk about school transfers -she’d get upset and scold him for divulging too much information. It wasn’t fun lying to the person he was supposed to trust the most, but this was the set up that they’d decided to use. 

“That’s alright. I wasn’t planning on staying out long anyway.” Ladybug replied. “I’ll see you during our next patrol?”

“Or attack.” Chat Noir agreed, giving her a little wink before he took off again. This time he turned to the left of the café, moving in a direction that was somewhat opposite of it. He didn’t want Ladybug seeing where he was going- again, secret identities -but, he also didn’t want to stray too far from his and Marinette’s meeting place, or else he was going to be late. So, he figured he could find a comfortable alleyway about a block or two away from his destination and simply run the rest of the way on foot.

Thank goodness he did, because as soon as he turned left, Ladybug swung off in the exact direction he’d originally been heading. Can you imagine if they’d started going the same way? The explanation for that one would have been awful, he’s sure.

Chat Noir dropped down into an alleyway a few minutes later, just as planned, and detransformed back into Adrien. Running around Paris in his civilian form probably wasn’t going to be any easier than jumping rooftops, but at least he didn’t run into any problems with His Lady. That was a plus, right?

“Ugh,” Plagg groaned as he swirled back into the air, “remind me again why we had to waste my precious energy on a lunch date?”

“Come on, Plagg, you know I hate having Gorilla hover over my shoulder.” Adrien said, offering his kwami a slice of cheese. Gorilla does his best to give Adrien as much space as possible, but still, when you know someone is there specifically to watch you.. “Besides, it’ll give Marinette and I more privacy while we talk.”

Plagg gave a dismissive sigh as he snatched the cheese from Adrien’s hands. “Oh, that’s right. We’re still on pigtails.. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with her. It’s not like she died or anything.”

Adrien frowned. “I’m not obsessed. I’m just trying to be a good friend. She’s always been there for all of us. So why shouldn’t I be there for her?”

“Mm.. Does this really count as being there for her, though?” Plagg asked as he shoved the first half of the cheese into his mouth. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re trying to be there for her by bringing her back to Dupont, right? Well, she seems perfectly happy at her new school to me. So why not leave her be? If you want to be there for her, don’t you think you should be supporting her decisions?”

A bit of guilt festered in Adrien’s chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I.. get what you’re saying, but I want her back too. I want to hang out again and talk like we used to.”

“You’re about to talk with her right now.” 

“You know what I mean. I want to talk with her daily, like we do at school.”

“Then, why don’t you transfer schools?”

Adrien let out a small chuckle. “And leave Nino? I couldn’t do that to him.”

“Okay~, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if things don’t work out the way you want them to.” Plagg said. He then shoved the rest of the cheese into his mouth and zipped into Adrien’s shirt pocket.

Adrien furrowed his eyebrows, but didn’t reply, instead starting for the cafe. Why would Plagg say something like that? Of course everything was going to work out! Yes, Marinette was happy at her new school, and yes, getting her to come back to Dupont might be a tad tricky (especially since he had to deal with Lila first) but that didn’t mean his plan was going to fail. He simply needed to remind Marinette that she loved being at Dupont too! More so than Rosemary even! It’ll be alright. Plagg will see.

With little time to spare, Adrien booked it to the café, careful to keep his head down and not catch the eyes of the media. Thankfully, he made it there in one piece, albeit five minutes late. It should be fine, though. If anyone were to understand missing the mark for an appointment, it would be her, right?

Adrien slipped his phone out of his pocket as he walked inside to check for any new messages from the ravenette, then silenced it when he saw that there were none. He didn’t want this precious time to be interrupted. 

The bell on the café door jingled above him when he entered, reminding him of a certain bakery. He glanced around the room for Marinette hopefully, then lit up when he caught sight of a pair of ravenette pigtails at a table in the middle of the room. Yes! She was here!

Adrien wasted no time strolling over the table, tapping the top of her head to get her attention. She jumped- as she usually does -and whirled around with wide eyes.

“Hey, Marinette.” He greeted with a smile.

“Adrien!” She said, letting out a nervous laugh. “Y-You’re here.”

“Yeah!” He chirped, slipping into the seat across from her. “Sorry I’m late. I ran into a bit of traffic on the way here. How have you been? Did you have a good Valentine’s Day?”

Marinette settled back into her chair as well, pulling a small, tight smile. “It’s alright.. I’ve been pretty good, and my Valentine’s Day was wonderful. How was yours?”

“Oh, you know,” Adrien shrugged, “same as always. I got some cards from a few fans and did a special photoshoot for my father, but that was about it. I tried to go see Nino or something, but he was with Alya, so..”

“Aw, I’m sorry. I wish it could have worked out better.”

“No, it’s fine.” He quickly assured. “I’m used to it. Besides, Nino and I have actually been hanging out a lot more during the winter break.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, “That’s good then. You deserve the free time.”

Adrien smiled. What a very ‘Marinette’ thing to say. “Thanks. Have you ordered anything yet?”

She shook her head. “No, I figured I’d wait for you.”

“Then let’s go get some food.” He said, standing from the table again. “I’m starving.”

Marinette stood with him, and they made their way over to the line that led to the service counter. It wasn’t long, thankfully, only holding about three people or so. They should be back at the table in no time.

“So, are you enjoying your new school life? I heard you transferred to Rosemary.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been having a great time,” Marinette said, a bit too cheerful for Adrien’s liking, “but I do have a question. How did you know I transferred to Rosemary?”

“Oh, uh..” 

Would she accept ‘my good friend Chat Noir’ as a proper answer?

“..Mlle Bustier. She announced to the class that you had transferred, and when I asked about it afterwards, she told me that you went to Rosemary.”

A hum came from Marinette, the corner of her lips tugging downwards. Why was she frowning? Did he say something wrong?

“Is that a problem?” He asked.

“Oh! No.” Marinette replied hastily. “Well.. sort of. I’m just worried that if she told you, then she’d be willing to tell other people.. Like Lila or Alya.”

Ah.. She made a good point. Her whereabouts could be spread around easily if Mlle Bustier was being loose-lipped. Although he doubted that Lila would come after Marinette since she’s not trying to out her anymore, Adrien wouldn’t put it past the girl entirely, especially since she was still spreading rumors about Marinette on a regular basis..

Granted, this only mattered if Mlle Bustier actually told him where Marinette went to school, which she didn’t. So they should be perfectly safe for the time being.

“I’m sure everything will be fine.” He insisted. “I was the only one that asked, anyway, and I made sure we were alone.”

Marinette nodded, but she didn’t look any less unsettled. “You’re sure you were the only one that asked?”

“Positive.”

“.. Okay.” She muttered, fiddling with the tip of her black jacket. Oh, she was getting anxious now! He needed to fix this. Change the subject!

“Anyway, you said your new school was great?” He asked as he stepped forward in line. “That’s good to hear. Have you made any friends there yet?”

Of course, he already knew that she’d made new friends- several, in fact -but hopefully talking about them would help her relax. Plus, it would give him more information on her new environment. So it’s a double bonus.

Marinette took the bait, her hands quickly falling back to her side as she said, “I have. I was fortunate enough to run into a whole group of friends on my first day, and they took me in without hesitation, which was sweet. They even gave me a tour of the school and everything.”

Adrien plastered a tight smile onto his face in an effort to show support. She already had an entire group of new friends? That was gonna be hard to pull her away from.  

“Wow, they sound really nice. You’ll have to introduce me to them sometime.”

“Maybe I can,” Marinette agreed, “but it probably won’t be for a while. We all have schedules and things that we’d need to work out, and I’ve been working on this fashion project lately that I was hoping to get done by the end of next week.”

“No worries. I definitely understand having a busy schedule.” Adrien joked, stepping forward in the line again. “Dupont’s been a little crazy since you left too. We had to pick a new vice president and everything.”

“Yeah, I heard. Lila had to come by and grab the books.” Marinette said bitterly.

Adrien winced. “Really? What did she say?”

“Gosh, I don’t even remember anymore.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “I try not to worry over stupid people. I’m sure she just rubbed her ‘victory’ towards me leaving in my face.”

Adrien chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I bet.. Lila aside, though, we all miss you. Dupont isn’t the same without you here.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him as they took another step forward in line. “You all miss me?”

Adrien frowned, partly because she doubted him, but mostly because he knew her skepticism was justified. They didn’t all miss her. Some- if not everyone besides himself -seemed to be happy that she was gone. It was a true tragedy.

“Well.. I miss you.” He said, his heart dropping further when she gave a satisfied nod. She’s already accepted the tragedy as fact, something unchanging, but he was going to work to make things different. 

“Can I take your order?” The cashier cut in, grabbing the pair’s attention.

Adrien and Marinette gave the cashier their order and walked back to their table to wait for their names being called.

“So..” Adrien trailed off as they took their seats. “Do.. you miss us?”

He knew it was a risky question, especially since she’d firmly told Chat Noir a month prior that she did not, in fact, miss Dupont, but maybe her opinion had changed since then?

Marinette shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I.. I’m not sure how to answer that, Adrien. How can I say that I miss the people who treated me like a monster for no other reason than the fact that I decided to stand up against a liar? I get that Lila twisted their views, and that everyone has their own version of a story, but it still hurt for them not to believe me even though most of us have known each other since childhood.”

“Do I miss the fun times and the people they used to be before Lila came along? Sure I do, but they’re not the people they used to be. They’re not the friends I grew up with anymore, and I’m not going to regret leaving a situation that wasn’t good for me.”

Adrien sighed. “Alright.. That’s a fair answer.. But what if they did come back? I mean- like - What if they realized that Lila was lying and came back and apologized and everything went back to normal. Would you come back?”

Marinette frowned. “.. I don’t know. What you’re suggesting is extremely far-fetched, and even if everything did go back to ‘normal’, it still wouldn’t quite be the same. They abandoned me for a foreigner. You can’t really come back from that. Plus, I think Rosemary is a great opportunity for me. It’s a prestigious school with extensive classes on the fashion industry and many other things, and although there can be some snooty, rich students, most of the people I’ve met there are really nice.”

Adrien hummed. Her answer was, once again, disheartening, but he took comfort in the fact that she said ‘I don’t know’ instead of just a straight up ‘no’. That was at least something, right? He could work with an ‘I don’t know’.

“Was this all you wanted to talk with me about?” Marinette asked. “Whether or not I would come back to Dupont?”

Adrien winced. “Well, no-”

Yes.

“-I also just wanted to catch up in general. We haven’t really seen each other in over a month, ya know?”

Although she appeared to be hesitant towards his answer, she gave a small smile anyway. “Yeah, it’s definitely been a while.”

Adrien chuckled. “You know, I actually tried to go visit you at Rosemary one time before this, but when I asked a student where you were, he said that you didn’t even attend the school. Had you two just not met yet?”

“Uh.. Can you describe him? There’s a lot of people at the school.”

“Sure. He was about my height, maybe a bit taller, with pale blonde hair and light eyes- I think. He was kind of  just pale in general.”

Marinette snorted. “Do you know the amount of people at the school that could match that description?”

“Okay, okay, uhm.. I think he was wearing dark colors that day. Like, greys or blacks maybe.”

“Wears dark colors, but has light hair and eyes, and is tall. Got it.” Marinette smiled. “Sorry, Adrien, but I’m just not sure. That could be Devin or Caleb or Eliot or any other number of boys. It could have even been someone who’s not in my classes.”

“Right, that’s fine. I was just curious.” He said casually, though it was really eating him alive. He knew that they knew each other. They had to! No one gets that upset during an akuma attack and calls the person their friend without knowing them. The guy even mentioned that their mutual friends were waiting for them! So who could it be? 

“Order for Adrien and Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

Adrien stood. “I’ll get it.”

Honestly, he didn’t need to know the guy’s name. It was a bitter inconvenience, to be sure, but in the end, finding out the blond-haired dude’s name isn’t the objective. The objective was to get rid of Lila, then get Marinette to come back to Dupont. She might be hesitant about it now, which was understandable, but once she sees the changes that he’s gonna make at Dupont, she’ll be more than happy to come back. He simply needed to open her up to the idea again.

Lucky for him, he had a whole lunch date to do just that.

~~~~~~

Lila slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, panting and out of breath. She searched the city streets from left to right, but was only met with the scenery of a regular, Paris afternoon. Where were the screaming fans? The paparazzi? The bodyguards holding everyone back? Did they all disperse already? That post was literally made five minutes ago! How did he run away so fast?

She pulled out her phone to unlock it, watching as her social media popped up again. It was a picture of XY standing next to a downtown café, the very café Lila was standing next to right now.

“Chillin’ at the Café Aroma today!” The post read, but there was no XY in sight. There were hardly even any XY fans here looking for him. Was the post just a ruse to get rid of the paparazzi for a while? Don’t tell her she got up and ran all the way down here for nothing!

Lila let out a groan, slumping against the café. If XY or any of his lackeys bothered to answer their dang cell phones, none of this would’ve happened! Why would they even put out public numbers if they weren’t going to tend to them? It was really a jerk-ish thing to do.

Nevertheless, she still needed to find a way to contact him. XY was the only celebrity in Paris that might be willing to show up at Dupont per her request. Jagged Stone was a close second, but if she brought him to school, Lila was certain Adrien would ask about her stupid, kitten-saving story. Then, Jagged would get all confused and say that he never had a kitten, and Lila would have a lot more explaining to do. That was too much of a hassle for her to deal with. She needed someone she hadn’t lied much about, someone who could also quiet her whining, soul-sucking classmates. Ergo, she needed to find XY.

But where is he? Lila thought, scrolling through her phone for more recent posts. XY clearly wasn’t downtown, meaning he could be just about anywhere in Paris. He could even be outside of Paris. How was she supposed to find him when she had no special contacts to do so? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. 

And yet.. Marinette managed to find and reign in every celebrity she needed while she was class president. On. Her. Own.

Lila scowled and shoved her phone back into her pocket. Curse that goody-little-two-shoes for making her job harder. Curse her for somehow being perfect at everything and forcing Lila to enhance her lies to compete. Curse her for leaving to another school and making Lila suffer the consequences for it. Why couldn't Marinette have been a normal class president, hm? Why did she have to constantly outdo herself with the grandest of gestures and the most important of people? Why did Lila have to be so stupid as to try and fill an impossible roll? She should have convinced Alya to run for president instead. At least then she wouldn’t be blamed for the sudden budget cuts or the mismatched class trips. She would be able to continue lying in peace and not have to worry about delivering on all of her false promises. In fact, if she weren’t so busy trying to keep up with Marinette’s ‘legacy’, along with her own big mouth, she might have been able to take care of Adrien by now.

Lila heaved a heavy sigh and massaged her temples as she stood up from the café wall. XY wasn’t going to be found anytime soon, so she might as well take a break and grab a coffee before moving forward. Perhaps the caffeine will spark her creativity for a few lies that Adrien can’t dig into should her plan to find XY fail.

She walked over to the café door and pushed it open. The bell attached to the door jingled, reminding her of that incorrigible bakery, but she ignored it and continued inside. A little music toy wasn’t going to get in the way of her espresso.

Her eyes grazed over the room, hoping to find an empty table.

What she found instead, however, made her stomach drop.

There, sitting at a table near the middle of the room, was Adrien Agreste himself, and sitting across from him was none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

Lila yelped and ducked back outside, pressing herself firmly against the wall where they couldn’t see her. What were they doing there? What were they doing together?!

Carefully, she crept past the door and slid over to the large window at the front of the café, where she could watch the two from a safe distance. It probably looked suspicious to anyone passing, but she hardly cared at that point. If Adrien and Marinette were getting together like this, Lila was going to have much bigger things to worry about.

She peered through the glass, noting the near-empty plates on their table. They must be having lunch together. Did they do that often? Since when? What could they possibly be talking about?

A smirk tugged at the corner of Adrien’s lips, and Marinette snorted, putting a hand on her mouth to hide her laughter. Ugh, why did she look so cheery! She was supposed to be miserable!

Lila scoffed, digging her fingernails into the brick at the base of the window. What happened to the endless tears and the defeated, sagging posture? What happened to the shriveled up nothing that Lila watched leave the school? Was she really enjoying herself now that she wasn’t attending Dupont? More importantly, how long have Marinette and Adrien been meeting up like this? Was this the reason Adrien suddenly decided to fight back against her? Because he’d rekindled his friendship with Marinette? No wonder the man was out for blood! Marinette probably set him up to the task herself! She must have planned all of this from the very beginning!

No, Lila thought, digging her phone out of her pocket again. She refused to be made a fool of. If they thought they were going to pull one over on her this easily, they were gonna have another thing coming. 

She snapped a photo of them together, making sure to get a moment where they were laughing hard, and tilted the angle of the camera to make it seem like she’d been passing by. Lila then got up and walked back into the café. A picture of Adrien having a grand time with Marinette should be enough of a set up for her to build him a bad reputation, but she needed to know what they were talking about specifically. The more she knew about this meet-up (and previous ones) the better, and if she were anything close to lucky, they would talk about their plans for her while she was there too. That would give her plenty of time to find a way to prepare. 

Or, perhaps, strike first.

As casually as possible, Lila slipped into an empty seat near the pair, not too close, but not too far away that she couldn’t hear them. She then snatched the menu on her table and propped it up so her face couldn’t be seen while she listened.

“Okay, wait. So you’re telling me that they threw an entire Valentine’s Day party at the Mandarin Oriental by themselves?” She heard Adrien ask. He sounded immensely impressed. Who were they talking about?

“Yeah!” Marinette replied, the smile clear in her voice. “They’re parents paid for it, of course, but they arranged everything themselves, including the caterers and reservations. We actually made some of the decorations by hand too.”

“Wow, that sounds like a blast. I bet they all looked great.”

“They did! Especially when we finished the lights and stuff. Everyone loved it.”

Lila scrunched up her nose, equally confused and annoyed. Someone threw a party at the Mandarin Oriental for Valentine’s day? Who? Why was Marinette invited? And why did she get to personally help with the decorations? This wasn’t another one of her “chummy celebrity friends”, was it? It better not be.

Adrien chuckled. “If all of those rich kids at Rosemary enjoyed it, I’m sure it was something.”

Lila froze. Did he just say “all” of the rich kids? Meaning multiple? Why was Marinette hanging out with multiple rich kids? How was she hanging out with multiple rich kids? Were they inviting her to the parties they were throwing? Why? What did she have that was so freaking special? 

Wait a minute. 

Her raging thought finally caught up with the rest of Adrien’s comment, specifically the one about Rosemary. Wasn’t that the stuck-up school near the middle of Paris that was famously known for hosting either incredibly rich or incredibly gifted students? The one that barely let you breathe in their direction if you weren’t considered “worthy”? How did Marinette end up wandering around there long enough to catch some rich friends? No one’s allowed inside except for students or staff, and their policies are extremely strict. (she should know, considering she’s tried to weasel her way in there several times.) The only way she would be able to get inside was if-

Lila gasped, nearly dropping her menu in the process.

No.. No, no way Marinette got transferred from Dupont to Rosemary. That would just be absurd! She didn’t have any money! And she certainly didn’t have enough talent to be accepted despite that! 

But as Lila listened to the conversation more and more, she had to endure the horrible realization that Marinette had, in fact, been transferred to Rosemary. Not only that, she was thriving there. She was making new friends who gave her rides in limos. She was going to fancy restaurants that cost more than Lila’s house for an afternoon snack. She was having slumber parties in mansions. Mansions! Entire estates that were apparently just as big- if not bigger! -than Adrien Agreste’s!

Lila had finally gotten rid of Marinette and won Dupont, only for Marinette to gain the new life that Lila had always dreamed of having! How was that fair? How was any of this fair!

Lila drew in a long, deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She couldn’t blow her top just yet. Marinette may be winning right now, but once Adrien is out of the way, Lila will make sure that Marinette suffers the way she deserves. Rosemary isn’t going to save her for long.

She pulled out her phone to unlock it and clicked on the messaging app, scrolling down until she found her favorite minion: Alya Cessaire. 

~Hey, you’ll never guess what I just saw!!~ 

Lila smiled as she sent the text. With a message like that, Alya won’t be able to help her curiosity, and when Lila sends the picture of Adrien and Marinette together, the journalist will fall headfirst into a pool of rage. 

In other words, that pampered little rich boy won’t know what hit him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Hey, everyone! This section isn’t quite part of the story, but it’s going to be part of the updates from now on. Two weeks ago, I visited a Bible camp, and the Lord really spoke to my heart through the messages. So, from now on, I want to make Him the center of my life and glorify Him in everything I do. At first, I thought of not writing anymore fics or chapters, since doing so would really take my focus away from Him, but instead, I decide to start writing little devotions at the end of each chapter I post. That way, you all won’t have to suffer through an incomplete story, and I get to share the wonderful gospel with you all!

The first devotion I want to post is the message of salvation and how you can know that you’re going to Heaven when you die. The Bible (King James Version) says in Romans 3:23 “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” and the first part of Romans 6:23 says “For the wages of sin is death”. We have all had a moment in our lives where we know we’re not supposed to do something, but we do it anyway. That breaking of rules is called a sin, and because of that sin, God says that we are not fit to be in His presence, for He is a just and holy God. So, due to this, our souls are condemned to the fiery prison known as Hell, where it is pitch black around you, and the only thing you can hear is wailing and weeping and gnashing of teeth. Your soul will be alight with fire, but your body will never actually burn, so you will be faced with that pain for the rest of eternity. Can you imagine that? Being in that kind of torment forever and ever and ever and knowing that it will never end? I can’t wrap my brain around that kind of pain, and I certainly don’t want any of you to have to endure it. So that’s why I’m telling you now that there is a bright side to all of this!

John 3:16 says “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” and the other part of Romans 6:23 says “but the gift of God is eternal life”. Do you realize what this means? It means we don’t have to go to Hell! God has provided a way of escape for us!

2,021 years ago, God sent his Son, Jesus Christ, down to earth to die for us. He was a perfect man, with no sin about Him, but he became sin for us and sacrificed himself so that we could be saved. People beat him and mauled him to point beyond recognition, then they nailed him to a cross for him to die. The pain he had to endure was excruciating, but he did it for us, because he loves us.

Then, three days after the Son of God passed away, he arose from the grave with new life! and because of that, we now have a way to join Him in heaven! All we have to do is admit that we are a sinner, repent of our sins, and accept Jesus Christ into our hearts as our Lord and Savior. We must believe on Him, and believe that he died on the cross for us, then we won’t have to go to Hell! It’s that easy! And those who believe on the Lord Jesus not only don’t have to go to Hell, but they also find a new home in Heaven with the very person who created us and loves us so much to the point of sacrificing Himself for our benefit. It’s a win-win scenario!

I know this isn’t a normal thing to do for fics, but this is something extremely important that I need all of you to know. So please, if you read through this, I implore you to get saved and accept Jesus as your savior. What do you have to lose? If you don’t, you’ll be doomed to an eternity of pain and suffering that you can never escape, but if you do, you will be guaranteed a place in paradise, where Jesus will be waiting for you with open arms. Please trust Him with your life and your heart. You know he will keep it safe.

Thank you all for listening to this and I hope you have a wonderful day!)

Tag List:  @sasstrashforlike5fandoms  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester @blissful-passing @solangelo252 @canivialemonsquints07  @derbygracie  @pleaseignorejustheretoread 

[snellyfish]

May I ask..... what is in your post game V3? I dunno how to ask this without sounding weird.

HM!!!!!!!!! GOOD QUESTION;;

I mostly only have braincells for Kiyo and Angie so not a lot of my thoughts are straying from that unfortunately LMAO, I was able to branch off a bit answering this though so thank you for indirectly helping me develop more!!

But I like to think it's the same scenario as the second game where it was all just a simulation. I know what I fantasize about is a VR AU and that "postgame" tends to refer to the survivors but literally none of my favorites survived so reality can be whatever I want: postgame Shinnaga is so canon it's unreal!! I'm sure there's probably a VR fic for them somewhere out there in the world, I wouldn't know because I suck at reading fhdjfk, but I would love to write my own someday HEH

-------------------------

They'd all wake up one by one as they die and end up all in the same facility where they're taken care of by the Danganronpa team, unable to leave until they’re well again due to the contracts they signed prior to playing-- Meaning Angie wakes up, Tenko wakes up a few hours later, Kiyo another few hours later, etc. Angie jumps back pretty quick from things so she'd be already VERY excited to see Kiyo*  after watching the trial, mostly because Angie like immediately caught onto what his sister really was to him (HINT: CONTROLLING AND AWFUL) and yelling at her screen saying "GOD WILL SMITE YOU ALL FOR PICKING ON THE WEAK" at everyone just calling him some incestuous freak during the trial. Angie does have genuinely incredible intuition (thanks god!) so she looks past the fact he murdered her Scarily Fast. Everyone would definitely mistrust and hate Angie even more as she tries to preach to them afterwards about Kiyo and how they need to forgive him since he’s a victim and God (most important opinion) already forgave him, but no one ever listened to her anyway especially postgame so it’s all in vain 😔

*whom might take a bit to wake up and fully acclimate again because...idk this man was boiled alive that's kinda Fucked I think all the executed would take longer to wake up because they went through more lengthy + traumatic deaths I guess? This just means even more time for Angie to sit on her thoughts about what happened to her+Kiyo yuh yuh

Everyone becomes a mix of their pregame selves and the identities they were given, they'd end up being mediocre/average (sometimes bad) at what their handpicked talent was but a lot of them still keep up doing it until they DO become good again. A very small amount of them try to replicate their killing game outfits and kinda live off the high of being what they once were and accomplished in their fake memories, like Miu and Himiko. (this also makes me think about Irumeno a bit more 👀) Pretty much every single one of them in pregame saw themselves as nothing, being disposable enough to be in a killing game (even if it turns out to be virtual), so the new identities would overpower the mix for the most part since they’re the more intensified and dramaticized personality--IF THAT MAKES ANY SENSE LOL.

--Angie absolutely never stopped her art and has a less intense view on Religion, since garnering more experiences in life she’s just be less intense in general I'd think; more open with her emotions in that she'd actually cry, but still very manic and bubbly and optimistic nonetheless. After getting help (mostly from Kiyo who deals with the same thing), Angie is able to differentiate her thoughts and desires from “God”’s thoughts and desires, YEA she still has a funky little friend in her head. She's not AS pushy especially not with her equally traumatized fellow killing game participants but she still absolutely gets her moments of intensity and assertiveness now and then if she thinks something God is telling her is absolute truth and for the betterment of everyone: she is still Angie afterall, truly believing everyone would be much happier with her God in their lives but having enough self-restraint to know everyone will just push her away further if she tries to help them in that regard. She has her moments of desperation but most everyone’s too far gone from her already.

--Korekiyo is such a complicated one--I do like to think of pregame Kiyo as transfem/nonbinary and that would partially stick into his postgame identity in some way...killing game Kiyo was Just A Dude but after becoming the mix of the two identities he'd be VERY confused, especially with the influence of his (simulated) sister's influence. (genderfluid time? :)) He'd have varying degrees of when his...sister...alter...thing...comes out, or is present in his head in any regard, she'd be gone or slowly disappearing from his mind for months at a time and he'd initially be extremely unstable about it because he feels extremely isolated and lost when he can’t talk to her, but he's got Angie by his side so he becomes significantly less stressed about it over time, learning to cope with it. Eventually he finds himself no longer dependent on sister and...has to learn a SECOND time to not be unhealthily dependent; on Angie this time. (funky little idea I’ve been wanting to draw/write about sometime...hnnrngm) They’re both miracle workers when it comes to each other’s mental health it’s kinda insane. Of course, after realizing that Sister never really existed, he harbors near-immediate guilt for having murdered Angie and Tenko once he’s alone with his thoughts, not being puppeteered by sister, realizing everything he ever did he did for HER and realizing how fucked it all was pretty quickly--he does crave interacting with his victims in a positive and healing light but he’s sort of traumatized by it all to the point he is TERRIFIED when they’re around him at first.

--Tenko ends up EVEN MORE protective and grudgeful after she wakes up, trying to shield everyone and everything from most of the blackened, absolutely makes Kiyo manage to feel like even worse shit when he's got 1 extremely supportive and loving woman he killed and 1 extremely spiteful woman he killed who might legitimately murder him in return if he’s not careful. Tenko never makes amends with Angie and becomes close with Himiko (who's close with Gonta despite Tenko's wishes (she hates him for killing Miu, local woman)), managing to keep Himiko far far away from Angie, not only for "stealing" Himiko in the Student Council but also for the fact Angie's glued to Kiyo's side--making her the second least trustworthy person to Tenko..

--Himiko is very traumatized after the game due to surviving all the way til the end, likely making her (along with Shuichi+Maki) very disillusioned and lost--unable to decipher anything from fiction or reality--it takes a long time for Himiko to really “accept” anything; tried to cling to both Tenko and Angie but ends up just stuck on Tenko, mourning the loss of her friendship with Angie while doing so. Himiko would probably be shoved away from Gonta at first as well, but Tenko felt a lot more confident in Gonta so after a long while of her aggressively trying to teach him manners and keeping an emotional deathgrip on him whenever he wants to interact with Himiko, they’d end up close friends again. Still thinking about Irumeno-- Also with the whole ~~Survivor Delusions~~ thing, I think that helps play into Himiko’s attachment and insistence to keep up her old magician identity, because she has a very hard time trying to tell what’s real n fake ykno, and it takes her a while to realize she doesn’t have her talent anymore; absolutely ending in tearful breakdowns and unending determination to find herself again by forcibly trying to improve and push herself to her limits.

For the most part Kiyo and Angie are outcasted from everyone else, a lot of that being due to Tenko's preaching but...also everyone just doesn't understand what actually happened to Kiyo and they are all deathly worried about Angie, but not enough to get themselves involved; they're scared of Angie too, afterall, not as much as they're scared of Kiyo but ykno-- They think her naivety and determination to “fix him” is going to get her murdered again, every day they’re just counting down the minutes until it happens again. (spoiler alert: it doesn’t)

I could ABSOLUTELY go off more but I really have to end this at some point so fhdsjkfds--

TLDR;; Angie (and God alter) forgive Kiyo almost immediately. Sister alter likes to disappear sometimes making Kiyo sad and unfortunately dependent on Angie. Both Kiyo + Angie help each other heal and recover from their issues. Tenko hates both Kiyo + Angie with a passion and protectively forbids Himiko from seeing either of them. Himiko is close friends with Tenko and Gonta and Maybe More with Miu.

[caffeineghostie]

𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐈𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your academic career, but there was one aspect of it you absolutely couldn't stand: Chris Beck.

W/C: 1.3k-ish

Warnings: talk of exams, some language, Beck is a bit of a jerk, one Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference.

A/N: hi! Thank you @natlovesu for requesting this piece, I hope you like it! I am not really used to writing for Chris Beck so this was a first! It turned into some sort of college au, but if this is not what you had in mind I'm happy to redo it :)

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You loved studying; you loved learning new things every day. You absolutely adored being able to pursue your interests in an academic setting, and luckily, you were also good at it. Not without sacrifices, all-nighters full of coffee, sweat and tears, of course.

But there was only one thing that you couldn’t stand: Chris Beck.

More precisely, his smirk. Right now you wanted to rip it off his annoyingly cute face.

Because of course, as much as you couldn’t stand him when he was all presumptuous about his academic career, you had to have a crush on him, and you had it since the first year of your degree course, two years ago.

You two had been introduced by a mutual friend, Mark Watney, the first week of classes, and you had been in pretty much the same friend group ever since. You’d usually study all together at a diner next to your university, revising between a hamburger and a smoothie.

Chris was reading his notes out loud, editing them and lecturing your group, and you weren’t really listening. You instead were playing with some fries on your plate, while looking at him and fantasizing about ripping that smirk you hated so much off of his annoyingly cute face.

Yes, because, ever since you met him, you had developed a crush on him, and you desperately wanted to forget about it. But he had such charisma to him, it was almost impossible.

“Earth to Y/N, Earth to Y/N!” Watney interrupted your fantasies, dangling a hand in front of you.

“What Mark?” you glared at him.

“Were you listening to me or do i need to explain it again?”

Chris always did this. There was this rivalry between the two of you, about who was better, and you both were brilliant students. But he always got that one mark more than you, and you couldn’t bear it anymore. You had to do something.

“Oh shut up, like you wouldn’t like it. And then bitch about it forever,” you joked. But seriously, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. It had always been like this. There was this rivalry between the two of you, on who was better, and you both were brilliant students, but he always somehow scored that one mark more than you, and you couldn’t bear it anymore. You had to do something.

“Hey, Beck! I have a proposal for you,” you called him, tossing your fry on the plate. “Next week’s exam. Let’s make a bet.”

“I’m listening”, he put his notebook down, curious about what you were saying.

“If I beat you, and I will beat you, you’ll stop making fun of me. No comments, no remarks. Nothing.”

“And what if I win?” he paused a bit, thinking, and then you saw a lightbulb go off in his head. “You and me. One day, together. You can’t complain about anything.” he smirked at you, extending his hand.

And this certainly would not help you forget your crush about him. But if this is what it took to finally get him to stop boasting about him being smarter than you, then you gladly took the risk.

“Let’s shake on it” you said, nodding. You hoped this deal wouldn’t make things worse, but you didn’t have to worry, because you were so going to win it.

****

One week later, you found yourself scouring between the results of your exam. You had studied day and night all week, and you were absolutely sure you were going to pass it with the highest mark. Beck next to you, having your same thoughts.

Your heart was thumping in your ears while looking for your ID number, and then you saw your mark: 99/100. That wasn't bad. You were certain Beck couldn’t have done better. You smiled, proud of yourself. You were so going to win this bet.

“Not too fast, Y/L/N,” Beck caught your attention, and you turned to him. He smirked, pointing to his mark., and you followed his gaze on the paper sheet in front of you.

No.

No. No. No.

He got 100.

“See, I told you. I’m the best human-slash-genius” he pointed at himself, all mighty and proud. Ugh, you hated him.

“Brace yourself, Y/L/N. Twenty-four hours starting from” he paused, looking at his watch, “ now. And I'm gonna make sure to be extra-pretentious.” he winked at you.

Oh, you were so fucked.

********

“So how are we gonna do this?” he asked you. .

“I don’t know. This was your idea. To kidnap me,” you let your bag fall to the ground, while letting yourself plop on the bed.

He brought you back to his dorm room, which he shared with Watney. Unfortunately, Mark had to visit a relative back home, and he would not be back for a couple of days at least.

Leaving you all alone with Mr-Know-It-All over there.

“And what a great idea it was. I’m brilliant!” he put particular emphasis on the last word, observing you to get your reaction.

“Yeah right,” you rolled your eyes “Well, if you excuse me, your highness” you hinted a bow at him, “I need to study” you started taking your notes out of your bag.

“Relax a bit. We still have a month before the next exam.” he sit at his desk in front of you.

“Nope” you popped the p, “I need to get ahead of you because next time, I’m going to make you pay for it. ”

“Oh, come on Y/N/N, let’s go do something fun.”

*******

Turns out, Beck wasn’t that much of an asshole that you thought he was. Yes, he still was a pretentious idiot, but you know he did it on purpose, just to get on your nerves.

In the entire day, you spent together, you actually had fun.

You spent the day at the park, basking in the sun, which was much needed. You didn’t think you’d enjoy this.

Now the both of you were hanging out on a bench. He had even got you an ice cream as a thank you for agreeing to this whole thing with him.

"You could have made these 24 hours a hell for me, but you didn’t. And I really had fun. So thank you”

“Come on, you think that I'm that bad of a person? Man, you really must hate me,” he joked

“I don’t, actually. You just get on my nerves sometimes. Most of the time. But, you know, I don’t hate you.” which was actually true.

“Good, because I don’t hate you, either.” he smiled. You were glad, you were happy to be friends with him, even if sometimes he was a pretentious asshole.

"Actually, that's kinda the whole point," Chris chuckled nervously, playing with his hands. What was going on?

"Uh?"

"Yeah, uhm," He mumbled, turning all red.

"What, the cat got your tongue?" you teased him. You had never seen him this flustered, and you were going to take your sweet time with it.

"Oh please,” he composed himself. “The thing is, Y/N, I- I like you,” he confessed, looking at you.

“What?” you couldn’t believe this was happening, he’d always been picking on you.

“Yeah, I have for a while actually, and I just wanted a chance to show you I’m not that mean, a-and I’m sorry if I seemed-”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and then you kissed him. It was a soft kiss, you could taste the strawberry ice cream he had on his lips.

“So, I get it you like me too?” he asked, smiling at you.

“Mh, what do you say, genius, it's you that knows everything!” you chuckled.

He laughed, but then kissed you again. His kisses were so sweet and intoxicating, and you mentally bashed yourself for not having confessed before.

Chris pulled away, looking at you in the eyes, the smirk you hated so much appearing again on his face.

"So… you want to bet on the next exam, Y/L/N?" he whispered.

Asshole.

[jackrrabbit]

Unprofessional [pt. 1] /// Yandere Tendou x f!Reader

Summary: The new hire you’re supposed to be training at your office job is a little too attached for his own good…or yours. [Part 2]

A/N: Someone requested yandere Tendou and I was like !!! However when I wrote it, it turned out kinda long so I split it into 2 parts; I’ll answer the req when I post part 2. Anyway I’m obsessed with the concept of salaryman Tendou, please enjoy!

Tags/warnings: yandere, timeskip (Tendou is 22-23 in this), workplace/office setting, liberal use of “senpai”, alcohol, Tendou’s crackhead energy is toned down a little bit because of the setting [In part 2: smut, 18+]

You don’t really like Tendou when you first meet him.

Your first impression when your boss introduces the new employee is that he’s all talk and no substance. He’s been hired fresh out of university, and he’s got the stink of a former frat boy all over him—that baseless enthusiasm, chaotic goodwill and arrogance mixed together. That might have been your type when you were still sucking down cheap keg beer from red solo cups, but you’re two years into your career as a real grown-up adult now, and the cockiness that radiates off Tendou in waves is just…annoying.

Unfortunately, when your boss tells you to take the newbie under your wing, train him, and be his mentor, it’s not a request. It’s a demand. So you decide to suck it up. If you’re going to have to spend every second at the office with Tendou trailing after you like a baby duck, you may as well get used to him.

After a few weeks, you have to admit he’s not that bad. Sure, he’s not the best at respecting personal space, but how can you blame him? When he looms over you to reach for a file above your head for the nth time and traps you between his body and the cabinet, you finally lose your patience and snap at him to give you some space, but he looks so surprised and apologizes so sincerely that you can’t help forgiving him. You feel a little bad, even, when he explains that he’s never worked in an office before so he’s not used to all the rules that he’s expected to follow in a professional environment.

You can’t really fault him for that, especially when you’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching him these things. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything,” you tell him, and he perks up so quickly that you feel even worse for chewing him out in the first place.

The thing is, Tendou doesn’t really stop getting close to you once you chastise him. It just bothers you less. The dozenth time his hand lingers over yours while you’re passing him a document or he picks an invisible thread off your blouse or sits a little too close when you’re riding in the back of a taxi to a client meeting, you start convincing yourself that you’re overreacting. He’s probably not being that much more pushy than your other coworkers—you’re just more aware of him because you don’t know him as well.

And it doesn’t help that he’s tall, towering over you and pretty much everyone else in the office. The cheap suits he cycles through can’t quite conceal the hard lines of muscle underneath—oh, whoops. Now you’re the one crossing boundaries. Tendou is so big that you’re just…more conscious of his presence, right?

This is drilled into you one night after a marathon overtime session when you’re carrying a tall stack of boxes back to the archives. Maybe it’s because you’ve been at work for 11 hours, but the files feel like they’re filled with rocks, not paper. Your muscles are this close to giving out when Tendou appears out of nowhere to pluck the files out of your arms. “Here. Gimme, gimme, I’ll take ‘em.”

The way he carries the heavy boxes so effortlessly makes you kind of embarrassed at how much you’d struggled with them. “You’re pretty strong, hm,” you say absently. Oops, was that inappropriate? You don’t want him thinking you’re hitting on him or something.

“Oh—yeah I guess?” Tendou’s laugh (the one that used to grate on your nerves) sounds like he’s pleased with himself. “I go to the gym a lot.”

“Wish I could find the time. Or the discipline,” you reply as he replaces the file box in the archive room.

“Wow, senpai is calling me disciplined. My heart is pounding.”

His tone is sarcastic enough that you don’t think twice about the second part of his statement. “Don’t get too full of yourself. If you have the energy to go to the gym, you should spend that time double checking your expense reports before you submit them.”

“Ouch.” Tendou holds his hand over his heart in mock betrayal. “Targeting my weak points, how ruthless. But seriously, working out is second nature to me. Been doin it since I was a kid so it doesn’t take any kinda discipline.”

“Oh? Did you play sports or something?”

“Yeah…” Tendou’s voice trails off and when you pause from your task of organizing the files to look up at him, he’s staring directly at you. “…Used to play volleyball. Grade school through college.”

The way he’s looking at you, searching your face for something you can’t identify, makes you think this is more important than it seems. You tip your head to the side, waiting for him to continue.

“Our team in high school was pretty good,” he says slowly.

“That’s cool,” you say, turning back to the paperwork. “Did you ever play Shiratorizawa? They’re my old high school—I think their volleyball team went to nationals back in the day. I was never into sports though.”

A moment passes, and you frown. Did you say something wrong? But just before you’re about to change the subject, Tendou starts laughing. “Shiratorizawa? No, I don’t think I ever played them.”

Your laugh joins his a second late, although you don’t know why he thinks it’s funny in the first place. In the echo of your voices, you can hear how quiet it is in the archives. There’s something here you’re missing, but you’re not sure what.

Luckily enough, the somewhat awkward atmosphere doesn’t carry over to the next day. When you get into the office, Tendou is his usual clingy self, distracting you from your own work to ask you to teach him something and pulling you away when you’re talking to your coworkers so you can double check his emails before he sends them. If anything, he’s more attached than usual—when you go to a contract renewal negotiation with a client he insists on tagging along, so you let him after making him promise not to get in the way.

Of course he doesn’t keep his promise, but you end up appreciating his intrusion more than you could have predicted. The client is stubborn and rude until Tendou chimes in (much to your dismay, at first) with an offer to add on some oddly specific perks to the contract. You’re already practicing your apology speech to the boss in anticipation of losing the client, but to your amazement he agrees to Tendou’s terms and the deal is sealed, along with a healthy bonus for you.

You’re on cloud nine, practically skipping out of the building with Tendou at your side as you fantasize about what you’re going to do with the bonus after you split it with him. A weekend vacation out of the city? An online shopping spree? Some fancy dinners at five-star restaurants? Knowing you, the money will end up going straight to your savings, but you still can’t contain your giddiness. “How did you know he wanted that add-on? Seriously, I had no idea!”

“A guess! I’m good at reading people.” Tendou’s just as elated as you, pumping his fist and whooping like a kid as soon as you’re away from the client’s earshot. “Woohoo! Yay! Our first sale together!”

“A guess? You risked that huge contract on a guess?” You roll your eyes but you’re too excited to be mad at him. “Anyway, you don’t have to say ‘our’ first sale, I know it was all you. I’ll tell the boss you’re doing a good job.”

“No way, it’s ours! Both of us. Me and senpai.” Tendou’s hand reaches down and his fingers lace with yours, squeezing so tight his knuckles go pale.

The thrill of your success flickers as nervousness sets in. Is he holding your hand? “Tendou—“

“Senpaiiiii~” he says in sing-song, swinging your hand as you walk to meet the taxi and ignoring your meek attempts to pull away. “Didn’t I do a good job?”

“Y-Yeah. Good job, Tendou.”

Work friends. The two of you are work friends. Your boss passes all comments to Tendou through you (mostly things about how he’s good with clients and charismatic but needs to stop making minor errors on paperwork). When one of you is sick, your coworkers ask the other to pass on their good wishes. Tendou fits into his role at the office seamlessly, and you can’t say you don’t appreciate the fact that all of his good work is reflecting well on you.

So when his birthday rolls around two months after he’s hired, it’s up to you to plan the office drinking party (only after he complains to you about how he doesn’t have any friends since moving to Tokyo). You have the date you got from Facebook—May 20th—circled in red pen on your private calendar along with a little doodle of a birthday cake.

“What’s that?” asks one of your coworkers, pointing to the circle, as you flip through your agenda a week before the event.

“Tendou’s turning 23,” you tell him. “It’s a Friday, so some of us are going to go to a restaurant and drink a little. You’re coming, right?”

“Oh…yeah.” Your coworker scratches his head and clears his throat. “You guys are pretty close, huh. Um, I actually wanted to ask—you’re not together, are you?”

A chill runs up your spine. “Together? Who said that?” If this rumor gets around to your boss it’ll kill your career. These things always look worse for the woman than for the man. God, it was probably something Tendou said without thinking, he’s always talking about you and someone could easily misinterpret all that praise…

“Well, if you’re dating—“

“We’re not dating,” you say quickly. “We do a lot of work together because I’m training him, but it’s not like that.”

“Really?” Your coworker straightens and smiles. “Cause I was actually thinking of asking if you wanted to go out this weekend—“

“Senpai? Can you help me with this draft?”

Damnit, it’s Tendou getting in the way at the absolute worst time—especially considering he just had to come up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. Seriously, how many times do you have to tell him to stop doing that when you’re talking to someone else? You’re not sure whether to be irritated at him for cutting your coworker off, concerned that the other man won’t believe what you said about you and Tendou having a strictly professional relationship, or relieved that you don’t have to give an answer to what sounds like an offer for a date.

You cast an apologetic glance at your coworker and make your way over to Tendou’s desk, hoping against hope that the interruption doesn’t look too suspicious. You’d die if word got around to your boss that you were dating your mentee.

///

You’ve got this office drinking party thing down to an art. Step one is to load up on greasy appetizers that’ll increase your alcohol tolerance, step two is to drink plenty of water, and step three is to pour yourself a single drink early and take small sips.

There’s a step four, too: make sure no one else’s glass get’s below the 1/4 mark. Your boss and coworkers are a lot less receptive to how little you’re drinking when they’re all nice and tipsy. It’s a system you’ve perfected over the years, one that allows you to have fun with people from the office without risking making an ass out of yourself or getting a hangover (which, at 25, is a lot more unpleasant than it used to be).

You can’t count the number of times you’ve witnessed the awkward drunken escapades of your fellows, which range from the endearing (your boss crying over how much he loves his wife) to the awkward (coworker makeout sessions) to the potentially criminal (bar fights. So many bar fights). You’re happy to remain a neutral observer, and tonight is no exception.

The only problem is that Tendou hasn’t yet mastered the art of drinking lightly when you’re around people you work with, so now, at the end of his party, he’s (for lack of a better word) trashed. His cheek is mashed flat to the restaurant table like it’s glued there and his head is surrounded by progressive rings of bottles and cans. It’s some kind of miracle that he hasn’t yet gone to the bathroom to get sick.

“Sorry Tendou,” you sigh. “I should have been keeping a better eye on you.” You had no idea he’d get so drunk so quickly. Aren’t tall guys supposed to have high tolerance or something?

“Sssshenpaii,” Tendou slurs, hoisting his head off the table with that looks like Herculean effort. “I liiiike when…when ya look at me…”

“Ha, ha,” you say sarcastically.

Tendou’s head whips around. “Where’d everyone go?”

“They all left—now it’s time for us to go home too. Come on, I’ll help you get to the taxi.” You pay the bill (oof, there goes your petty cash for the week) and pull on Tendou’s shirt sleeve to get him to stand up. Luckily he’s just sober enough to realize what you want him to do and he follows you out to the street with an arm draped over your shoulders to steady his meandering footsteps.

The real trouble comes when the two of you are seated comfortably in the cab and the driver asks for Tendou’s address, which, apparently, he can’t remember. You do the sensible thing and look through his phone, but his own contact card provides no hint to where he lives in Tokyo, only a phone number, email, and address in Sendai which has to be his parents’ house—

Wait.

Tendou’s from Sendai?

You’re from Sendai. You didn’t know he was too. What a coincidence that both of you moved to Tokyo from Sendai. You’ve mentioned your hometown to him a couple times—how come he never told you he’s from the same place? You’re only two years older than him; maybe you’ve run across him in Sendai before the two of you started working together.

Now that you think about it, his face has always been kind of familiar…you thought it was just ‘one of those faces’, but…?

This isn’t the time to wonder, though. You poke Tendou gently in the side, careful not to jar him enough to risk any stomach upset. “Tendou? Do you remember what street you live on?”

After a long pause Tendou names a street, but it’s your company’s address which isn’t located anywhere near a residential district. When you tell him to think harder, he grimaces, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. “Don’ wanna go home…lemme sleep over at senpai’s house.”

“What? You can’t stay at my place.”

“Why noooot? ‘m tired,” he drawls, eyes closing as his head droops onto your shoulder in the back of the cab.

“It’s—it’s inappropriate—wait, no-no-no-no don’t fall asleep,” you tell him desperately but it’s already too late. A light snore filters out of him and you curse. “Tendou—“

“Address?” the cab driver barks insistently, giving you the stink eye in the rearview mirror.

Shit. Well, it is his birthday, you have a pull-out couch, and it’s not like anyone from the office is around to see you going home together. Tomorrow morning you’ll just have to give him a lecture about professional boundaries and make him promise not to breathe a word of this to your boss.

You give your own address to the cab driver. Tendou sleeps peacefully on your shoulder throughout the entire drive, rousing only when you whisper his name in his ear outside your building (which is a miracle, because you know without a doubt that you’re not capable of carrying him). When you get up to your apartment, you deposit him on the sofa bed and tell him not to look through your stuff while you brush your teeth.

Obviously, he doesn’t listen to you. When you emerge from the bathroom, Tendou is standing in the middle of your living room and turning the pages of an old photo album of yours.

“Hey, give me that.” You try to pull it away from him, but he doesn’t let go and his grip is stronger than yours, so the album remains firmly in his hands. “If you’re sober enough to mess with my things, you should go home.”

“This is senpai, right?” Tendou says, pointing to one of the photos.

Despite your exasperation, you lean in to take a look. It’s a picture from high school with you and some friends, all of you wearing your Shiratorizawa uniforms and grinning cheekily at whoever took the picture. Your fingers are cocked up in a peace sign. “Yeah? That’s me.”

“So cute…senpai is really cute…” Tendou’s long finger trails over the edge of your face though the filmy plastic covering the photo.

“Um…you need to get to sleep,” you say nervously, pulling a little harder on the album.

He doesn’t budge, instead just flipping back in the album to older pictures from when you were little until he stops at a photo of you and your younger brother in grade school. Against your better judgement, you frown and look closer to try and pick up whatever caught his interest in this particular image.

“How old…?” he asks.

“I don’t know, 10 or 11 maybe?”

Tendou nods. “When I met senpai…you were this old, yeah.”

“Jeez, you’re really drunk. We met two months ago, remember? I was on the interview board.”

“Yeah.” Tendou’s gaze is glued to the photo. “I was so sad, ‘cause senpai doesn’t remember me. But also really happy to see you after such a long time…I thought it was a dream…”

“Hm? I don’t get it.”

Tendou finally looks up from the picture and meets your wary gaze with those wide red eyes. God, you used to think his face was so creepy—lately you find his zealousness endearing, almost childlike, but right now? It’s making your feet itch how much you want to step away from him. “I was really hoping you would remember on your own, but I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“How me an’ senpai met…”

Are you imagining it, or does his voice sound a lot less slurred than it did just 20 minutes ago? “You’re not making any sense.”

“Shh, just listen…your little brother played volleyball when you were kids, didn’t he?”

How did he know that? You nod hesitantly.

“Yeah…he was in my grade. He was a bad kid, y’know that? Always saying mean things to me.”

It’s true. Your brother’s always had a mean streak in him.

“He used to call me a monster. ‘Cause, y’know—“ Tendou taps a finger against his face. “Guess I look weird. And my name, too. So he said he didn’t wanna play with me. Demons can’t play on human teams. Every day, saying cruel things. I really hated him.”

Monster. Volleyball. Your little brother. Tendou Satori like the mind-reading spirits from folklore. Something’s coming to mind, a memory you haven’t thought about in years—no, decades.

Your little brother making fun of another kid. A tall kid with red hair in a bowl cut.

“I-I remember,” you stammer. “I came to his practice one time and you were there, right? That bowl cut kid was you. I got mad at him for calling you names and I yelled at him. That’s when we met?”

“Correct!” Tendou’s beaming like you just told him he won the lottery instead of recalling a random fifteen-year-old memory. “You made him let me play! I got to get on the court, and block him, and see his beaten face looking up at me. All because of senpai.”

You can play this off, you think to yourself. Tell him you’re sorry for how your brother treated him. Ask him why he never told you that the two of you have met before. Say something. Anything. But your mouth is too dry to let you speak.

“And, you know…” Tendou’s voice softens and a light blush dusts his cheeks. “I thought you were so cool. I couldn’t believe you were related to that jerk. Can I…tell you a secret?”

No. Deep down you know what he’s going to say, and you don’t want to hear it.

Tendou’s hand comes up to comb through your hair, gently pulling through the delicate strands next to your face and tucking them back so he can lean in and whisper into your ear (even though there’s no one else around). “I like you, senpai.”

Stop it. Stop it. Your blood feels cold in your veins.

“I’ve liked you ever since then. I used to wish we were in the same grade so I could be your friend and talk to you every day. Whenever we were in different schools I missed seeing you in the halls and hearing your voice when you spoke to other people.”

“Stop...stop talking,” you whisper, but Tendou continues like he didn’t hear you.

“Why’d you have to go all the way to Tokyo for college? In my third year at Shiratorizawa I studied for your school’s entrance exam forever, but I didn’t get in. Was too busy with volleyball, I guess.” He pauses. “Oh, by the way, I went to Shiratorizawa. I lied about that, sorry. But—seriously, d’you have any idea how hard it was for me when you were away at university? Not seeing the person I love for six years?”

Love, he said. You feel nauseous. “Tendou, you don’t—“

“Let me finish, okay senpai? You don’t know how much I’ve been through. Always having to respect your ‘personal space’—“ he frames the phrase in mocking air quotes— “when I need to touch you so bad I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

And then he’s hugging you into his chest, crushing your torso into his. You struggle and try to get him to let you go, but Tendou is so much stronger than you.

“You’re not that different from your brother after all, are you?” he hums into your hair. “You’ve been torturing me. You know how you lean over my desk when you show me something on my computer? I can…see down your shirt when you do that. And I smell your perfume. I spent two hours at the mall trying all the different perfumes so I could find the right one…thought my nose was gonna stop working! But don’t laugh—“

You’re not laughing.

“—the salesgirl looked at me funny but I got it eventually. Chance Eau Fraiche, right? I can’t believe how expensive that stuff is, what is it made of gold? It was worth it though! I saw this news article about how smelling things in your sleep can trigger memories, so I tried spraying your perfume on my pillow before I go to bed and now I get to see you at work and when I’m dreaming—”

“STOP IT!” Your slap echoes across the room with a resounding crack. You’ve never hit anyone before in your life, but your aim is good enough to leave Tendou staring with a shocked expression off to the side and a bright red mark on his face. His arms fall down from you and you back away from him, clutching your hand to your chest. “You need to get out. You’re drunk and you’re not thinking clearly. We...we can talk about this tomorrow, but right now you have to go.”

Your heart is beating like hummingbird wings, sending a flush up to your face that you know is visible. Tendou ghosts his hand over his cheek and is quiet for a long moment. “I wanted to do this the right way,” he says finally.

“What?”

“I tried. But you’re so obsessed with professionalism. You refused to see me like that,” he sighs. “You’re too responsible. Although it’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Please listen to me...” The psychological anxiety of this revelation is stirring up a primal fight or flight instinct, and you start backing up.

“I really wanted to treat you gently. You deserve to be treated well…”

“Tendou, wait.” How far are you from your bedroom? You don’t want to resort to hiding from him, but you’d feel a lot better with a locked door between you and him.

“…but senpai, I’ve waited so long. And it’s my birthday.”

Your hands scrabble for the doorknob, only—oh. He’s not just stronger than you, he’s faster too.

➠ [Part 2]

[the-hopeless-haze]

A Dwindling, Mercurial High

Pairing: Elliot Stabler/reader

A/N: Okay so I had a dream about Stabler the other night and he’s my original SVU crush (sorry Barba) and I had “Illicit Affairs” stuck in my head the whole day after so I had to write this. Thank you to @caked-crusader​ and @detective-giggles​ for encouraging my insanity lol!

Content Warning: NSFW due to sex. Brief mentions of cases that Elliot is working on. Infidelity.

The first time you met Elliot, it was because Dickie had a bad asthma attack and had to be hospitalized overnight. You were fresh out of nursing school, more anxious than confident, and it was a night from hell in that pediatric ward, maybe the worst you’d seen in the couple months since you’d started working. The charge nurse could only start one thing before she was asked to help with something else, two nurses called out and only one could cover, and everyone had at least a three-patient assignment. Suffice it to say tensions were high on that floor, and because Dickie wasn’t the sickest of your patients, you didn’t get to see him as often as you should have. Doing your best felt akin to doing nothing, and every time you came in the room, you apologized you hadn’t been able to come in fifteen minutes ago.

Elliot and Kathy told you it was okay and that they’d been through this before and knew what to expect. But it wasn’t really okay, you knew that. No one wanted to think that their nurse was too busy taking care of other sick children to pay attention to theirs.

Needless to say, you were far too busy that night to pay much attention to Elliot that night, but it wouldn’t be the last time you saw him, so maybe it didn’t matter. Still, sometimes you want to remember that glance that started everything because you have so little to hold onto.

You nearly have a heart attack the next week when your nurse manager says an NYPD detective needs to speak with you, and you nearly have another when you see Elliot’s face. You’ll remember the glance vividly this time; you look down at the linoleum hospital floor before finally sweeping your eyes across his face. He’s not mad; you can tell he’s the kind of man who’d let you know if he was angry, so you try to still your shaking hands.

“I just wanted to let you know Dickie’s doing a lot better,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Um, you’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help—"

“Don’t beat yourself up, kid. It was a madhouse in here that night. Besides, I know it was you who got the doctor to switch his meds. They’re working a lot better now. He can actually sleep through the night.”

“Well, that’s great!” you say brightly, genuinely feeling a lot better about that night now. “Did you really come out all this way just to tell me?”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “No. I’m working. Victim’s getting a rape kit done here, so I thought I’d see if I could find you while I wait.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes widening. “What unit do you work on?”

“Special Victims. I’d say I hope I see you around, but I really don’t want my work to bring me to this floor.”

“Me neither. I sincerely hope I never see you again,” you say, smiling, and he smiles back, claps you on the shoulder and thanks you again before leaving.

“He was hot,” Tammy, your best friend on the ward, says as she comes over. “And he came back to see you. Maybe you should ask him out?”

“Well, he’s married,” you laugh. “All the DILFs are. Wives don’t wanna let that go.”

And you really thought that was that. You did have your fair share of DILFs come through that floor, and on slower shifts you’d fantasize about what it would be like to be the other woman, especially when couples would argue to the point of tears. Sure, tensions were always high when children were ill, but those screaming matches were always the result of a more systemic issue within their relationship. Some marriages were destined to fall apart, and sometimes it was exhilarating to dream about being the catalyst, even if you’d never actually act on it. No harm done in imagining yourself with a man you’d only see once in your life.

But you’d see Elliot again in a few months when his job did in fact bring him to your floor. He’s accompanied by a brunette woman, who you later learn is his partner, Olivia. You have no idea how they do their jobs. Sick kids you could handle, but children that had been abused, that were put into that hospital bed, not by the hands of a virus or disease process but by the hands of an adult... it was enough to turn your stomach. But now, at least, you had a direct line to call whenever you thought something iffy was going on between a family, as Elliot gave you his card. He said he trusts your judgment. You tried to suppress your heart fluttering. You’re too young to be having palpitations, but you can’t help staring at him longingly the whole time he’s there talking to the doctor, and you hope neither he nor Olivia notices. He just cared so much, and there’s nothing that gets the ovaries into action like seeing a man that protective over children.

You have to realize, though, that he was just being nice, and he just wanted another set of eyes out there to make sure no one got away with hurting children. You were all too happy to fill that role, anyway. It was a noble one. It had nothing to do with you specifically, and you had to be okay with that.

But fate is a funny thing, because even though you dated around throughout the next couple years, even though you had plenty of other things to occupy your time... Elliot always came back into your life somehow. Just when you thought you forgot about him, it seemed like he was waltzing onto your floor, or, god forbid, there was a child’s family you wanted him to speak to and make sure was alright.

Most times he came empty-handed and almost every time he came with Olivia, but on occasion, he’d show up by himself and with two coffees. And you grew up a little in those couple of years, even if you never grew past harboring your little crush on Elliot. You lost your anxiety that came with being a fledgling nurse and enrolled in a nurse practitioner program. You had your heart broken a few times and you broke a few hearts of your own. You moved out of your parent’s apartment and got your own place.

As for Elliot? Those years didn’t treat him as kindly. He wasn’t growing up as much as he was going down. Kathy wanted to leave him, he felt like he was losing touch with his kids, and his career path only fueled the anger that gnawed at him day after day and night after night. How the hell did his life get this fucked?

Of course, you weren’t privy to this information until he punched a hospital wall. It was a long night, and one of the children he rode on the ambulance with didn’t make it. You were upset, too, of course, even though he wasn’t your patient, and you couldn’t wait to get out of here and cry over a bottle of wine. But when Elliot’s fist connected with the wall, you knew your night was going to end much differently.

“(Y/n)! Are you busy? I need you to take your cop friend out of here. We don’t want the parents seeing that. Go! Clean up his hand and make sure he’s billed for that wall,” the doctor barks at you. “You gonna move?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, Doc,” you murmur, but you’re frozen in place at the nurse’s station. You can’t help staring at Elliot as he steps out of the room, with his chest heaving, his hand bloodied, his blue eyes ablaze. Eventually, your legs cooperate with you again, and you nod at him, motioning for him to follow you down the hallway. You grab some gauze and alcohol from the supply closet on the way and lead him into an empty room, taking his hand in yours. “Can you make a fist for me? I need to see if it’s broken.”

Elliot doesn’t say anything; he barely even looks at you, but he does as you ask.

“Okay. Good. You're just gonna be a little sore. You can relax it now. The alcohol is going to sting—“

“I know,” he says hollowly.

“I’m sorry. You’re the oldest patient I’ve had since I was in school,” you say, feeling your face flush as you grab the alcohol and wipe his knuckles. "This isn't the first time you've attacked a wall, then, hm?"

Elliot shoots you a withering look and you swallow thickly. Was he going to yell at you now? Thankfully, he sighs and the anger in his eyes fades. "Listen. I'm sorry you had to be here for that.”

"It's alright. I've seen worse. And I know it's tough, Elliot," you say. "Everyone handles grief differently."

"It ever get any easier for you?"

"No," you whisper, letting your hair fall in front of your eyes so he can't see them well up with tears as you lean over to bandage his hand. "Guess it never does. I don't get angry; I just get depressed. You don't want to get desensitized to it, though. I'd rather see people punch walls than not care."

Your breath catches in your throat as he pushes your hair back with his good hand, and he keeps it there on the side of your cheek. All this time, in the four years of knowing this man, and he'd never touched you like this. Come to think of it, you never exactly stood this close to him, either. Your relationship was always professional, despite all the times you wished it wasn't. Wasn't there a reason you two kept ending up in the same rooms? Wasn't there a reason you ended up in this one, alone? And you could get drunk off his scent, couldn’t you? The slight musk of sweat from his earlier exertion, the woodsy headiness of his cologne, the hint of spearmint on his breath from his mouthwash... it was all too much, and it’s all you have in you to not lean into his touch, to not lean over and press your mouth to his...

“Elliot—“

"Don't talk," he murmurs. "Unless you want to stop me. Do you?”

You wouldn’t dare.

When your lips finally do connect, it's electric, even though the only thing running through the back of your mind is how you'd probably be fired if anyone stepped into the room at this moment. You can't very well deny yourself what you've been wanting on and off for years, though, even if it’s wrong. His hands grab your waist and yours find purchase on his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he moves you to straddle his thigh. You have to try very hard not to search for that friction your whole body aches for, not yet, not when you don’t know how far he wants to take this and when you’re still on the clock.

“When do you get off?” he asks, and you both chuckle at the unintended double-entendre.

“At eleven.”

“Come have a drink with me.”

“I don’t want a drink. I want to continue this,” you purr, getting off his lap to fix the bandage and tape it down.

“You sure?”

“Elliot, I thought you’d never ask me. I would’ve been sure four years ago,” you say, feeling slightly guilty at that, but it was true. The more you saw of him without his wife and children the easier it was to forget that they were the reason you met him in the first place. And if at any time he kissed you like that? You know you’d be putty in his hands just like you were now. “You don’t need to go back to the precinct?” You don’t dare ask about home. Selfishly, you don’t want that to cross his mind.

“I’ll be back here by eleven.”

It’s another breathless kiss before you’re out the door, heading back to finish your shift.

“The hell are you all red for, (y/n)?” Tammy asks as you round the corner.

“Nothing,” you say. “Just ran up here. You need anything?”

“Ran up here? Weren’t you taking care of... oh. You’re playing with fire, girl,” she says, smirking.

“Shut up,” you say, but you can’t force your cheeks to cool down. “Nothing happened.”

“Mm. Be careful. He’s still married, isn’t he?”

You wouldn’t listen. You were only after chasing that high, even if it was only born to die in front of your eyes. —- You’re straining against your handcuffs, and you can’t see Elliot at all through the blindfold, but you can feel his hands and his mouth, hot and heavy, touching you everywhere. You have no clue where to focus, and you still can’t quite believe he’s here in your apartment. Part of you expected him to stand you up and realize that he should be going home instead of taking you to bed. But he either didn’t have that epiphany or he didn’t care - and you were desperate enough for him that you’d take either - and so began your first illicit meeting.

“I told you to stop pulling at those, baby,” Elliot says, his tone stern. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

“Maybe if you gave me what I wanted, I wouldn’t have to—“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, and you can feel his cock hard against your thigh, and not being able to see only heightens the sensation. “You gonna give me attitude, baby? I don’t think so. Why don’t you relax? I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna take my time though. Been four years of seeing your ass in those tight scrubs and not being able to do fucking anything about it.”

“You noticed me…. Like that?”

“You think I’d be here if I didn’t? Don’t act innocent now. You know what you do to me.”

Of course, you had noticed him looking at you sometimes, but you never let yourself read into it, but now, everything was coming back to you and… oh, fuck, finally he slips two fingers into your entrance and you’re drawn out of your thoughts, arching your back as he drags his fingers across your walls, painstakingly slow.

“You’re fucking soaking, baby girl,” he grunts. “You think you can take three? Mm. Gonna stretch you out a little.”

His bandaged hand comes to still your hips and you can’t believe he’s fucking you this good with his non-dominant hand, his thumb flicking against your clit every so often, those little shocks of pleasure bringing you closer to the million little deaths you deserved. Sometimes you’d feel his mouth where you’d least expect it, too, his tongue licking a trail up your stomach to take your nipple in his mouth or his teeth and tongue working on leaving a mark on your collarbone.

“Please. So close, El,” you pant, rolling your hips in vain.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it, come on, let go, baby,” Elliot growls in your ear. “Just let go.”

And you do, falling apart with his name on your lips before he kisses you again, swallowing down all your moans and whimpers, his hands leaving your lower body to find purchase in your hair.

“You good?” he asks, barely pulling away from your mouth.

“So good,” you gasp, straining upward to press your lips to his again.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby, that okay?”

“More than okay.”

You’re so wet he doesn’t meet much resistance, but you’re still sensitive from your orgasm so soon before, and combined with the fact that you can’t see or touch him - it was almost too much at once.

“Oh fucking hell,” Elliot grunts. “You good?”

“Yes. Please start fucking moving,” you whine. “Fuck me hard.”

You can tell he needs that; he needs to let go of all his pent-up anger and frustration, and you didn’t really care if at the expense of that you couldn’t walk tomorrow. You’d do anything, anything for just the chance to occupy a sliver of his life.

And God, once given permission, he doesn’t hold back at all. He sets a brutal pace, the bed shaking and moving in tandem with the force of his thrusts. You can’t see him, obviously, but you can feel the weight on the bed shift and his angle change as he grips the headboard, driving into you so roughly you think you might black out. He starts grunting softly with every thrust, and then, oh - you feel him move back down, his lips catching yours and his hands cupping your breasts and it’s all you can do to fight with your body not to come yet; you want to come with him, experience this high together.

“Fuck, (y/n), so good,” he groans, his tongue running over the bruise he’d sucked onto your skin earlier, and you whimper in response. “So fucking good for me, taking my cock so good. Knew you’d be fucking amazing.”

If his dirty talk wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, well, he adjusts his angle with a particularly strong thrust of his hips and you’re pulling on the handcuffs again, the sting as they slice into your wrists a sharp contrast to the impending pleasure - if you could just hold on - and thankfully, Elliot’s panting brusquely in your ear that he’s close, that you should let go again. Coming together is a beautiful euphoria - one that was desperately needed after the night you had, after the four years of longing stares that neither of you, apparently, knew was reciprocated until now. But like the end of all highs, you have to come down at some point. Elliot lifts the blindfold and looking into his eyes for the first time since he stripped you naked, you can’t help but feel like a fucking mess. But you know you’d do it again, and again, and again...

“I told you not to pull at those,” he tsks, leaning over to unlock the handcuffs and free your wrists. “You’re bleeding, (y/n).”

And, like some bad deja vu, Elliot’s cleaning your wounds with alcohol like you did for him only hours prior.

And after, he stays and talks with you a little, mentions vaguely his marriage is going downhill, which you could have easily figured out yourself, and when you wake up in the morning, he’s gone without a trace. You had to expect that he couldn’t stay, and you wonder what lie he fed his wife. You wonder if she believed it. Was this just a one time thing? Maybe you just both needed to get this out of your system, as almost half a decade of sexual tension needed to be dealt with somehow.

But no. Like always, you see him again, and on most occasions, now, he ends up tangled in your bedsheets. It feels like you’re always competing with other women for Elliot’s attention, whether it be Kathy or Olivia. But you take solace in the fact that you’re the only one he’s going to fuck like this. Olivia’s his partner, and that relationship is already too close for comfort to bring sex into. And if he came home with handcuffs and a blindfold to his wife, she’d drag his ass to therapy. You’re the only woman in his life that he can use for this, and that thought alone could get you high, could get you off. And sometimes, that feels like all he’s using you for, a sense of release for the moments when he doesn’t want to be at home and he can’t be at work. But other times - he lets you in, tells you jokes, tells you stories - and in some ways you’ve never felt this close to another person. He played such a different role in all the other areas of his life - but with you - he didn't have to play one, and sometimes you caught a glimpse of the man he was before all his burdens were placed onto his shoulders. You know you’ll never have a relationship like this with anyone else.

And for that reason, you’ll always answer the phone when he calls, even if you ruin yourself every time. You would for him. You always would for him.

[gettin-bi-bi-bi]

So I’ve always considered myself to be a bisexual because I’m equally excited at the prospect of having a male, female or nb partner but recently I’ve been wondering if I’m actually an asexual instead. In general, I find it weird to fantasise about having sex with real people (people I know or celebs) because it feels wrong to use real people’s bodies like that, and makes me feel like I’m sexually harassing the person and makes me feel really guilty. When I masturbate, I usually tend to think of fictional characters because it just feels easier, because they aren’t real and don’t have lives or feelings of their own. Recently, I read that only being able to think of fictional people in a sexual capacity is potentially a sign of asexuality because you’re thinking of something unattainable so it’s not real. (Sort of in a comphet way where lesbians may find themselves attracted to a male character). I was comfortable identifying as a bisexual despite being a virgin because the idea of being with any gender excited me, but now I’m kinda worried that it was just compulsory-allosexuality and I’m being dishonest by identifying as a bisexual. Do you have any advice on how to come to terms with this issue?

I don't wanna dismiss the possibility that you could be in the ace spectrum. That's totally an option and doesn't mean you cannot also be bi. Like... just take our mod Tiger for example who is aro/ace and bi all at once. It's possible.

But since the reasons you mention for not being comfortable imagining sex with "real" people are all along the lines of sexual same and guilt it might also be that you are very much allosexual but "just" have internalised a lot of sex negativity and sexual guilt. I've seen this (ice cold) discourse take on Tumblr before that masturbating to the thought of another person would "violate consent" but that's bullshit. You aren't even "using their body" or "harassing them", as you've said it. Harassment is actually physically or verbally assaulting someone, like rude comments or touching a person without permission. But it's totally normal and common to have sexual fantasies about real people and by doing so you are not harming anyone. They cannot read your thoughts. You thinking of someone while masturbating has zero consequences and unless you tell them about it they will be none the wiser. Fantasies are a healthy and very much morally acceptable way to explore your sexuality. Most people have sexual fantasies and I'd guess the majority of those people at least sometimes fantasize about someone they know or a celebrity. It doesn't hurt anyone because it's all just in your head and you do not need to get consent for having a thought. Even a sexual thought. Sexual thoughts are not inherently anything worse or more powerful or harmful or whatever than any other thing you might think about during the day.

So... are you ace spec? Or is it bottled up sexual shame? Or maybe both? I don't know but I would definitly recommend exploring both directions, maybe get some asexual input but also try a more sex-positive approach and read up on that - even if you end up identifying as asexual, it can't hurt to also try and lessen that guilty feeling you have surrounding masturbation and fantasies. Of course it's fine to just imagine fictional characters if you like that but if you would actually like thinking of a real person sometimes and/or your mind just wanders there, then you should be able to enjoy that and be cool with it without feeling guilt or shame, because there isn't anything wrong or bad about it.

Maddie

[missjanjie]

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 8

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~24.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Things seem to be going well for Lemon until they go really bad really fast. Things are actually going well for Jackie and Jaida.

-

For the next couple of weeks, it seemed like Lemon was on the mend. She had finished her finals, gotten through her senior year, and now it was time to celebrate. Hers and Gigi’s graduations were only a couple of days apart, so the group decided to combine their graduation party that weekend.

It was one of the rare times the club was closed on a Saturday, but Jackie wanted to make sure everyone could celebrate together and turned the main room into their party space. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass, “to Lemon and Gigi, college graduates!”

The group clinked their glasses together and drank, everyone resuming their casual conversation, relaxed, and enjoying one another’s company. With the exception, of course, of Lemon and Priyanka, who were still trying to avoid each other like the plague.

“Look, I love those two as much as the rest of y’all, but I’ve stopped feeling sorry for them — at this point, it’s just annoying,” Kameron remarked as she watched the way they behaved with a grimace. “Not that it’s any of my business, but it kind of is considering how often I have to witness them, but how long were they hooking up for anyway?”

Vanessa furrowed her brows as she counted on her fingers. “Dunno, like four months?”

“Shit, that’s like a lesbian year,” she murmured, sipping her drink. “This isn’t gonna fix itself is it?”

“Not as long as Pri’s got that rock on her finger.”

“It could be worse,” Brooke Lynn chimed in, her lips pursed around the straw in her glass, “at least she doesn’t wear it to work, can you imagine the fit Lemon would throw if she had to stare down a diamond every day?”

The three of them looked at Lemon, who, at least for the moment, appeared to be enjoying herself, then at Priyanka, who was talking to Crystal and looking stressed.

“So, dress shopping is happening on Wednesday?” Crystal asked. “Does she know?”

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Priyanka scoffed and shook her head, “I have no idea how to keep her from knowing, no one can keep a secret in their family.”

Crystal winced but nodded. “Well, good luck,” she offered before Gigi made their way to her side and her attention immediately became divided.

“Thanks,” Priyanka mumbled, her gaze drifting to Lemon, who was talking animatedly to Jan and Rosé, “I’ll need it.”

------

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Priyanka’s nerves hadn’t quelled in the slightest. Lucky for her, at least, those with her — her mother, sister, and future mother-in-law wrote it off as pre-wedding jitters. Scarlett knew better, but there was no need to blow up her best friend’s spot like that.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a more traditional store?” The mother-in-law asked, “I know Mark doesn’t want your culture to be ignored.”

“It will be two separate ceremonies,” Priyanka’s mom cut in before she could speak for herself, “she will be wearing her grandmother’s sari for that.”

Priyanka had to fight off the pained expression that tried to twist its way onto her face. It was only when she had broken the news to her family that she remembered what a big event weddings were in her family. She wasn’t about to get off lightly with this. Instead, she let the assistant at the shop lead her to a rack of dresses and suggested a few. She agreed to them without giving them a proper look, figuring she would let a majority rule.

Once she was in the first dress, she returned to the main room and stepped up on the platform in front of the mirrors. Right away, the women began discussing and debating the pros and cons of the dress — where it fit right, where it’d need to be taken in. But she couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything, instead zoning out to the song playing through the store’s speakers.

I'm living for the only thing I know I'm running and not quite sure where to go And I don't know what I'm diving into Just hanging by a moment here with you

Normally, Priyanka would roll her eyes at this sort of song, at the cheesy love in the lyrics. But with her only alternative being actively participating in shopping for a wedding dress, she listened to the music and let it resonate.

Desperate for changing Starving for truth I'm closer to where I started I'm chasing after you

She winced but blamed it on accidentally being stuck with a pin. They didn’t have to play a song that hit so close to home, she thought. It made it that much harder to ignore the feelings that bubbled up inside her. It was only then that she realized someone was talking to her. “Huh?”

“I asked if you liked the dress,” Scarlett replied.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat. “Yeah, it’s fine.” She then realized she should have been more convincing because she found herself ushered back into the dressing room to try on dress number two, which she would then force enthusiasm for so the day would end as soon as possible.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked with sincere concern.

Priyanka nodded as she stepped off the platform. “Just a little lightheaded, I didn’t have breakfast.”

“Well, let’s get this dress taken care of, then we’ll go get something to eat.”

She nodded again as she went back to change into her regular clothes. Maybe she did just need to eat, she thought. Maybe some food or a nap would bring her back into reality. The reality where she was preparing to get married. The reality that Lemon could no longer be the main character in, no matter what some stupid song was trying to tell her. Or even worse, no matter how much she wanted her to be.

------

“You don’t normally ask me to make house calls,” Jaida remarked as Jackie let her into the apartment, “is everything okay?”

Jackie exhaled deeply. No matter how many times she had rehearsed what she was going to say, she still ended up tongue-tied the second she laid eyes on her. But she was determined to work her way through this and not let nerves get the best of her. “I watched the video you did with Denali. I… I watched it more times than I’d like to admit,” she confessed. “And I can’t get the image of you fucking her out of my mind. But more specifically… I can’t stop picturing myself in her place.”

Jaida had to put all of her mental energy into fighting off a smug grin. She wanted to choose her words carefully, not wanting to overwhelm an already anxious Jackie. “Since we’re being honest here, that’s kinda what I was aiming for,” at Jackie’s confused reaction, she continued, “you could have been less obvious with your username and how you talk online. Maybe it’s ‘cause I know you so well, but I could read all of your messages in your voice.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured to confront how you felt, considering your coming out was still fresh for you. I just wanted you to know that the option was there whenever you were ready.”

There was a silent beat before Jackie swallowed thickly and told her, “I’m ready.”

“Then tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want you to fuck me.” The words felt foreign for Jackie to say, the phrase has never left her lips with any sort of sincerity before. But at the same time, she had never been more certain in her life about what she wanted and how badly she wanted it.

Jaida moved to Jackie, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her deeply. “I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” she promised as they made their way to the bedroom.

And Jackie trusted her, she trusted her more than she would have anyone else in this position. She let Jaida take her to bed, let her take her time undressing her and pressing kisses to every newly exposed inch of skin. She eagerly helped her clothes off as well, letting her hands roam her body in ways she had only fantasized about.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of being loud,” Jaida told her. “I wanna hear you, wanna know how good I’m making you feel.” As she spoke, her fingers glided down Jackie’s body, stopping between her thighs before starting to rub her clit in small, firm circles.

Jackie’s head tilted back into the pillows, soft moans spilling from her lips. Her body yielded to Jaida’s touch and her moans grew louder as the other woman eased one finger into her, thrusting and curling it before adding another and picking up a steady rhythm.

“Good girl,” she praised, trailing kisses down her body. She then slowly eased her fingers out and replaced them with her tongue, licking and thrusting at a similar pace while her fingers moved to rub her clit in tandem.

It wasn’t long before the sensation became overwhelming and Jackie’s hips started to jerk erratically. She barely managed to squeak out a warning before she came harder than she ever had before, her body trembling when she was spent. “Oh my god…”

Jaida came back up and laid beside her. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, pushing the hair out of her face.

“I’m good,” Jackie assured. “I just… I haven’t… it, um…”

“Jackie…” she furrowed her brows and sat up a bit, “have you ever been with a woman before?”

Jackie’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I have, kind of. It’s been hard to work through so many years of repression and internalized homophobia, you know? I’ve made out with girls, fooled around a bit. But I guess no, I’ve never properly had sex with another woman before. I wouldn’t have wanted to put that pressure on you anyway. Besides, I couldn’t have asked for a better first time.”

Jaida exhaled deeply, suddenly becoming aware of the weight that’d built upon her chest. “Then that’s all I needed to hear.”

------

“There’s a birthday party out there tonight,” Gigi remarked offhandedly as they and Lemon got ready in the quick-change room. “I know how much you love those,” they added with an overly exaggerated eye roll.

Lemon groaned. Birthdays and bachelor parties were tied for the worst groups of men to deal with as clients, the only exceptions being the ones that take it as an opportunity to go all out and tip well. “And you’re on the stage next?” she let out another disgruntled whine when they nodded, finishing off her cocktail. “Gonna get a refill, gonna need it for doing rounds.” Naturally, when she went to the bar, she went right to Crystal. The downside was Crystal knew to cut her off after three drinks and she had to flirt with men to keep the drinks coming.

“You’re getting your third one this early?” Crystal questioned as she mixed it for her. “Something on your mind?”

“Nope. Just got a birthday party that’s probably all gonna want lap dances,” she replied, taking a swig as soon as she got the drink in her hand. Sure, it didn’t help that she had seen Scarlett’s instagram post of Priyanka in her wedding dress earlier, but she wasn’t about to hash that out, especially not with the bride-to-be all of four feet away.

And Crystal wasn’t entirely convinced, but she knew there was no use in pushing further. “Well, good luck,” she offered.

Lemon set her empty glass on the counter before making her way through the crowd. It took a little while before she ended up in the vicinity of the group of men, and not long after that, they flagged her down. At first, it was business as usual, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that one of the men seemed familiar.

“Hey Mark,” the man celebrating his birthday remarked, “maybe we should come back here for your bachelor party. I bet Priyanka won’t mind!” he laughed.

That made Lemon freeze in her tracks as it all clicked. She saw red and her blood boiled with a wave of anger and loathing she had never felt before. Something inside of her took over, she hadn’t even realized she had thrown a drink in his face and screamed at him until Kameron was pulling her away and all eyes in the club were on her, including Priyanka’s, who had dropped everything to run over the second she heard Lemon scream.

“Who the hell are you?” Mark asked incredulously.

“I’m who your fianceé thinks about while you’re fucking her,” Lemon snarled while locked in Kameron’s grasp.

It was then that both Mark and Lemon realized Priyanka was right there. “What the fuck is she talking about, Pri?”

Priyanka felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach as she prayed for the floor to open up beneath her so the ground would swallow her whole. She knew she had been playing a dangerous game, but she could have never predicted that it would blow up in her face this badly. “I-”

“She’s never gonna love you,” Lemon continued with disdain in her voice. But then her tone softened to a calm, albeit distant one. “But don’t worry,” she looked towards Priyanka, their eyes meeting, “she’s never gonna love me either.”

Other than the music playing in the background, the room was silent as Lemon let Kameron take her upstairs to the common room. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently as she sat at the other end of the couch, resting her hand on the smaller girl’s leg. “You really caused a scene back there.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “He was gonna find out eventually. You can’t live a lie forever,” she hiccuped as she sprawled her barely-dressed body out. “I need another drink.”

“The only thing you’re drinking is water,” she said sternly, getting up and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and bringing it back, propping Lemon up enough so she could drink. “I’m gonna call Rosé and have her take you home, I don’t think you should stick around tonight,” she told her as she fished her phone from her pocket.

Lemon nodded and pushed herself to sit up properly. She hung her head down, intentionally hiding her face from Kameron as she sniffled quietly. “Pri’s gonna hate me now, isn’t she?”

Kameron winced, unsure of how honest she should be with someone both drunk and emotionally unstable. “I think once the dust settles, you two are going to have to have a long talk. It’s not gonna be easy, but it’s gonna be the only way you two have a shot at healing.”

“I ruined her marriage.”

She shook her head. “She ruined her marriage the moment she said yes to someone she didn’t want to be with. She probably would’ve gotten cold feet and left him at the altar,” she mused, both out of her honest belief and the hope that she could get Lemon to crack a smile. And once she did, she felt comfortable getting back up and calling Rosé, warning her of exactly what happened.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Rosé announced once she made it upstairs. “Three different guys tried to buy lap dances off me on the way, sorry,” she added before rushing to her cousin’s side. “You’ve done it now, huh, Lem?” she shook her head as she helped her to her feet.

Vanessa emerged from the locker room with the rest of Lemon’s belongings. “Here, you might wanna get her changed before you take her back outta here.”

Kameron furrowed her brows. “You know her locker combination?”

“Um… yes?” she tucked a bobby pin into her back pocket. “This ain’t about me,” she was quick to change the subject and helped Lemon get changed.

Rosé effectively ignored the entire exchange, saying her goodbyes to the other women before driving Lemon back home and getting her changed again, this time into pajamas. “Mik isn’t home, you can sleep in her bed,” she offered.

Lemon chewed her lip for a moment, then shook her head. “Can I stay with you? I just… I don’t wanna be by myself.”

“Of course, baby,” she assured and tucked her into bed. “Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”

“Need to wake up in a world where none of this happened.”

Rosé sighed sadly. “Fresh out, unfortunately.” She changed as well before joining her in bed. “Just wake me if you need anything, okay?” When she got a nod of confirmation, she turned the lights off and called it a night.

But that wasn’t the case for Lemon. No, she wouldn’t be so lucky. Even though she had been drunk, the incident replayed in her mind in great detail no matter how many times she tried to shut it off. That, coupled with struggling to sort through the mix of emotions still swirling through her, kept her awake for another hour or so before exhaustion took over and she passed out.

And back at the club, everyone else was left to pick up the pieces of the explosive incident. But as much as the clientele was willing to move past what they’d witnessed, none of the employees could get themselves to carry on. So, with Jackie’s blessing, they called it an early night and nearly everyone went back home.

Priyanka hung back, seeking solace in Jackie’s office, knowing her boss might be the only one that could understand the gravity of the fallout. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Jackie? This is effectively outing me to everyone. And I look bad too, they’re gonna find out I’m gay and a cheater in one go. What should I do?”

Jackie sighed, her heart truly breaking for her. “I wish there was an easy answer for this. I think, for now, you just need to get through the night.”

And Priyanka would, though she was afraid to fall asleep, overwhelmed with the need to postpone tomorrow as long as she could, because she had run out of ways to hide or lie her way out of it.

[jayeray-hq]

He’s My Best Friend: Aone Takanobu

Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!

Warnings: fluff and very, very slight implied NSFW and innuendo

Choose your own ending platonic or romantic!

He’s My Best Friend Masterlist - Character Masterlist

Thank you as ever to the wonderful and talented Tay @deathcab4daddy​, thank you for beta reading for me! I don’t know what I’d do without you!

The Past: How You Met

           You’d met Aone Takanobu the day you’d started school for the very first time. It had been an exciting day for you, one you’d been looking forward to for a long time. You distinctly remembered putting on your fancy new uniform, admiring your reflection in the mirror. You’d almost missed out on breakfast because you ignored the calls for you to join in, you’d been so caught up in how grown up you looked and fantasizing about how amazing school was going to be.

When the time had come for you to be dropped off, you’d pranced happily out of the car without fear, and entered your classroom with your head held high. The teacher had greeted you warmly and helped you find your desk, and you’d immediately set about trying to befriend the people next to you eagerly chatting away.

             The desk mate on your right, whose name you’d long forgotten, had been all too happy to speak with you at the time, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get the boy to your left to talk. He’d look at you, and he seemed to be listening to what you said to him, but no matter what questions you asked, no matter what you said or did, he didn’t respond to you, not even when you asked his name.

             In the end, your short attention span meant you’d given up on talking to the quiet white-haired boy, and instead interacted with the others around you. It had been an incredibly enjoyable morning, and it only got better when you were invited outside for recess after lunch. You and some of the girls you’d befriended over the course of the morning had all plopped down together so you could show them how to make flower crowns. It was a skill you were rather proud of at the time, one that your next-door neighbor, who you’d thought was the coolest girl ever- a middle schooler, and clearly knowledgeable about all the best things, had taught you.

             It had all been going extremely well, right up until you’d heard a ruckus on the other side of the playground. You’d looked up from the crown you were making to see a bunch of boys all gathered around the white-haired boy who’d refused to speak to you. Looking at them all grouped together you’d realized rather abruptly that he was really big, standing at least a head taller than the tallest of the other boys and rather broad too.

             Curious you’d tuned into what the other boys were saying to him. You’d gotten the shock of your young life when you realized they were making fun of a boy who looked like he could easily take them all on if he wanted to. Bloodthirsty little thing that you were, you’d watched on eagerly, sure that the boys were about to get beat down, as they called the white-haired boy all sorts of mean names, insinuating he was stupid and slow.

             However, you’d gotten another shock when you realized he wasn’t doing anything. Instead, he just stood there, taking their words, head down and unmoving, not bothering to protest or stand up for himself. It had confused you quite a bit, as you couldn’t fathom why he didn’t try to make them stop one way or another.

             The taunts had increased in fervor a couple seconds later, calling the white-haired boy a cry baby of all things. Concerned and nosy, you’d gotten to your feet and edged closer to the group of boys trying to get a better look. Up close you could see the boy really was crying, though he still wasn’t making any noise, fat tears were running down his pale cheeks. It was a sight pitiful enough to tug your heartstrings, so you’d decided in all your five-year-old glory, that you couldn’t allow it to continue.

             Like the warrior of truth and justice that you’d thought you were at that age, you’d launched yourself at the group of boys, small fists swinging, doling out sharp kicks to the shins and telling them off for being mean. You’d taken them all by surprise, and between that and the fact that you threatened them very fervently with cooties if they didn’t leave you and the white-haired boy alone, they scattered.

             You’d then rounded on the boy, who flinched but still didn’t move, staring at you with wide brown eyes. He’d looked so scared at that moment, clearly afraid that you were about to be just as bad or worse than the boys you’d scared off. Instead, you’d grabbed one of his hands and dragged the confused stumbling boy after you, back to the nice patch of grass where you’d been making flower crowns.

             You’d pulled him down onto the grass next to you, and started back on your work again. As your fingers moved to piece the crown together, you’d lectured him firmly about letting those other boys push him around, and then showed him how to make a proper flower crown. You’d then plopped the one you’d just finished on to his head, and admired your work, extremely pleased with yourself.

             Aone had gazed at you for several long minutes, clearly bewildered, but then had finally spoken to you in a slow, stuttering voice, introducing himself as Aone Takanobu. It turned out the reason he didn’t speak very much was because he had a bit of a speech impediment that made him stutter. It was the reason the boys had been making fun of him earlier, which you thought was just silly.

             You’d told him firmly that it didn’t bother you at all, because you’d given him a flower crown, which meant the two of you were friends for life now. Aone had stared, wide-eyed and clearly astonished, a faint blush on his pale cheeks, but had apparently accepted your declaration at face value. By the end of that recess, you’d had a flower crown of your own in your hair, messy and clumsy but made with care, and the two of you had been best friends ever since.

 The Present: Your High School Days

             Frustrated beyond belief, you slowly beat your head against the table, hoping that you could somehow beat the information into your brain since nothing else seemed to be working. Fortunately, before you could give yourself a concussion on the table, a large warm palm slipped beneath your head.

             You turned your face, keeping your cheek pressed to the hand underneath your head, and looked up at your best friend who was peering at you with clear concern on his face. Seeing his apprehension, you heaved a long sigh and lifted your face up, not wanting to make him worry. Though most didn’t realize, because they judged him solely by his appearance, Aone was an enormous worrywart and would fret himself into anxiety, especially when it came to his friends.

             Despite growing taller, broader, and more muscular, Aone was the same sweet teddy bear of a guy, with a heart made entirely of marshmallow fluff, as he had been when you’d met way back when you were five. The only difference was that these days he was no longer picked on, both because he was too intimidating for most to try, and because you and his other best friend had done your best to encourage him to stand up for himself.

             Futakuchi had been an interesting addition to your group. He’d apparently taken one look at Aone, and much like the other people you met, assumed just because he was big he would have the attitude to match. However, unlike other people, he’d simply thought it was cool and had wanted to befriend him because he thought they’d enjoy the same things.

             He’d been just as stubborn and persistent as you had back when you’d first befriended Aone, coming around all the time and acting like an enormous pest. He’d followed Aone around everywhere, and as his one and only best friend at the time, it had seriously irritated you. It angered you to the point where you and Futakuchi got into petty squabbles almost every day. He thought Aone should stop hanging out with you because you were a girl and obviously lame, while you thought Aone should stop hanging out with him because he was a jerk.

             Things probably would’ve continued like that, except one day both of you had been caught up in squabbling, and suddenly Aone had once again been approached by others looking to bully him. Unfortunately for them, both you and Futakuchi were entirely wound up from fighting with one another, but when presented with other, easier prey had rounded on them. The two of you working together had been enough to bring them to tears, the group of boys running away with their tails between their legs.

             After both you and Futakuchi had gained a grudging respect for one another. Futakuchi had realized that you could be just as vicious as he was in defense of Aone, and you realized that he was willing to stand up for your friend who you were incredibly protective of.

             Things had been easier after that, though the smart-mouthed brunette was still closer to Aone than he was to you, you still got along fairly well. It helped that after Futakuchi had dragged him into volleyball, a place where Aone’s height and size were something to be praised rather than something to make fun of, Aone had gotten much more confident. These days, if your bickering with Futakuchi got out of hand, Aone was right there in the middle of the two of you, pushing you apart, and giving you both scolding looks.

             A gentle hand resting on your head pulled you from your thoughts and you refocused on your friend, who was looking even more worried than he’d been before. His brow was furrowed with concern, his face close enough to yours that you could actually see the pale hairs of his eyebrows that tended to look nonexistent from a distance because of how light they were.

             “I’m alright,” you assured him, pulled back to the present by the gentle weight of hi hand as he set it atop your head, clearly trying to regain your attention, quickly explaining, “Just struggling with math as usual.”

             “Do you need help?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, the words coming out confidently.

             Aone had managed, with the help of some speech therapy and budding confidence, to get his stutter mostly under control. It rarely ever appeared these days, and never in your presence. He still had to think over what he wanted to say before he said it, which made him a little slow to respond sometimes. However, as long as you waited patiently, he would never leave you hanging, even if he still didn’t talk much around others for fear the stutter would come back.

             “If you don’t mind?” you asked him, giving him the most pitiful look you could muster, earning an amused huff from your friend who knew exactly what you were doing.

             “Show me,” he agreed, taking a seat beside you.

             You did as asked, sliding your work toward him and watching him work through it patiently. You probably should’ve continued to focus on work, but you’d had something on your mind for a while now.

             “Hey, Aone?” you asked, hesitantly.

             The tone of your voice must’ve tipped him off that you had something serious on your mind, because he instantly looked up, all his attention on you. He waited patiently for you to put together the words, not rushing you, simply waiting to hear whatever you had to say.

             “Are you alright?” you managed finally, peering at him worriedly, “I mean, with the third years leaving and Futakuchi being named captain.”

             The words ‘instead of you’ hung between the two of you, unsaid but clearly heard. Honestly, you’d been more than a little shocked that Futakuchi had been named captain, with his oftentimes caustic personality you weren’t sure he had the disposition for it. In your own personal, and likely highly biased opinion, Aone would’ve been much better. He had the patience for it, along with the admiration of his kouhai, and was the best player on their team. It just didn’t make sense to you that he’d been passed over in favor of Futakuchi.

             “I will miss the third years,” Aone told you, after a moment of contemplation, “But their decisions are their own. We will simply have to do our best to make them proud, though they are still coming to practice fairly regularly.”

             You couldn’t help the small smile that flitted across your face at that. You’d known despite their decision to leave that the third years were going to have a bit of a hard time letting go. You’d gotten to know them fairly well, having come to as many games and practices as you could manage in support of your friend, who’d done the same for you.

             You’d honestly really liked Moniwa, and had hoped the captain would stick around a bit longer. He’d been really good both to and for Aone. He was also an incredibly sweet guy, and you’d admired that he was able to deal with both Futakuchi and Kamasaki who was like an older and only slightly mature version of him.

             “Futakuchi will be a good captain,” Aone expressed, quiet but resolute, without any form of regret in his gaze, as he answered your other question, “I trust him to make the right decisions for the team, and will do my best to support him as vice-captain. We’re going to go to nationals next year.”

             That was honestly just like him. Aone was probably one of the most supportive people you’d ever met and a fantastic friend. He wasn’t upset at all and had instead chosen to instead be happy for Futakuchi and focus on what he felt was most important.

             “I’ll be right there, cheering you on,” you told him with a smile, because if he was happy, you were happy.

             He smiled at you, small but sincere as he gently rested his hand on top of your head in thanks, before indicating that you should get back to work. You sighed, but went along with it, glad that he was so willing to help you. You didn’t know what you would’ve done without him.

 The Future: Platonic

             “What are you doing?” the deep voice of your best friend asked, his words startling you enough that the nails you’d been holding in your mouth dropped to the floor with a clatter. You turned to look at Aone, who was standing in the doorway, a distinctly unimpressed look on his face.

             “Fixing it?” you replied, the words coming out more like a question than the statement you’d intended.

             The look he gave you for that was one more judgmental than you’d ever thought your sweet, teddy bear of a friend would ever be able to manage. It made you both simultaneously proud, and a little irked knowing the credit for that lay almost entirely at the feet of you and Futakuchi. You’d never thought it would be turned on you in quite this manner though.

             Aone strode forward and began to thoroughly inspect your work. His hands handled the bookcase parts with care as he gently turned them over seemingly without effort despite the fact that you’d struggled to lift them on your own. The stupid thing had broken after one too many books had been stacked on it, which you’d found rather infuriating. Still, you hadn’t wanted to get rid of it, and so had been trying to fix it yourself. Judging from the look on his face, you hadn’t been doing nearly as well at it as you’d hoped.

             “Well, Mr. Construction worker? What’s the verdict?” you asked curiously, “Is it salvageable?”

             “Maybe,” he told you, completely noncommittal as he held out his hands for the hammer you’d been using. Reluctantly you passed it over to him, knowing full well it would be much safer in his hands than in yours.

             Gently he caught one of your hands with his before you had the chance to pull them back, as quick as ever despite only playing volleyball recreationally these days. He tutted audibly over the state of them, clear disapproval and accusation in his gaze that had you wilting in shame.

             “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked as he gently tugged you to your feet, pulling you toward the bathroom where your first aid supplies were kept.

             “I didn’t want to bug you, you’re a busy man these days, and I totally had it under control,” you told him, even as you hopped up on to the bathroom counter, well used to Aone behaving like a mother hen by now, holding out your hands when he asked for them.

             “Next time, call,” he scolded firmly, the words making you smile despite the fact that he was telling you off. He’d come a long way from the shy little boy you’d met at recess all those years ago. Back then he never would’ve dared to scold you, now he did so without a second thought.

             Being vice-captain of the volleyball team had been good for him, and he’d really come into his own, helping Futakuchi lead them to nationals during interhigh that last year and retiring shortly after. You’d actually been a little surprised he retired, especially since you’d fully believed he had the talent to go pro, a belief backed by several offers from different places for a sports scholarship. However, Aone had confided that while he loved volleyball, life in the spotlight simply wasn’t for him. All he wanted was something peaceful where he didn’t have to talk too much and could work with his hands.

             He’d certainly found that in construction, and was slowly but surely working his way up the ladder. The maturity and assuredness he’d found through volleyball had really helped him become independent and strong, so much so that at times you wondered if he really needed you anymore.

             However, the moment intrusive thoughts like that flitted across your mind Aone was suddenly there, with his quiet but insistent presence, assuring you he would never, ever leave you alone. The two of you were best friends for life, and you knew it, though it was nice to see just how far the two of you had come together.

             At times you found it almost ironic, the one who’d needed looking after, and become the one who did all the looking after, your dynamic flipped. Not that you minded. You found it sweet how he fussed over you still despite both of you having other people in your life nowadays. Speaking of which…

             “How did you know I was trying to fix something on my own again anyways?” you asked, more than a bit suspicious.

             The look he gave you in turn spoke volumes. You were going to kill Futakuchi, that little jerk, he was such a tattletale. It was no matter though, you’d just have to remind him once again, that Aone loved you most.

             The clear exasperation in your friend’s eyes told you he knew exactly what you were thinking, and you couldn’t help the joyful laugh that escaped your lips. Honestly, dragging Aone away to make flower crowns that day was probably the best decision you’d made in your whole life.

 The Future: Romantic

             You would’ve thought that of the two of you, it would be you who would initiate a romantic relationship with Aone, that you would jump into it just as fearlessly as you had jumped into being his friend. However, despite the feelings that had slowly but surely grown over the years, you hadn’t been able to take that last step. Something always held you back.

             A part of you desperately wanted it, so badly you could almost taste it. You knew the two of you could be good together, your years of friendship over two decades now, had certainly proved it. However, you were afraid. Back then, Aone had accepted your friendship in part because he simply hadn’t been able to say no. He’d been too shy and unsure to do so even if you both thought that it had worked out for the best in the end.

             He’d grown a lot since those early days, and you liked to think he was much more assertive about getting what he truly wanted these days. However, you’d noticed very early on that Aone never, ever, said no to you. It didn’t matter how much it might inconvenience him or how much he might dislike doing whatever it was you requested. He would quite literally bend over backward for you.

             It meant you’d had to be very, very careful about how you framed your requests, doing your best to be extra considerate of him and his feelings. It also meant that you were now too afraid to confess, afraid he would say yes to you just because it was what you wanted and not what he actually desired. Accidentally forcing a relationship on your friend because he was too sweet to say no to you would be the absolute worst, which meant you were stuck.

             Futakuchi, who’d noticed and teased you rather relentlessly over your feelings, had tried to insist that the only reason Aone never said no to you was because he was head over heels in love with you. However, you were pretty sure he was just being a jerk to you again, and you had done your best to adamantly ignore everything he said, much to his mounting frustration.

             You’d convinced yourself that it was for the best, that if you just waited you would get over your silly one-sided crush. Unfortunately, said crush had lasted over a decade and was showing no signs of fading any time soon. In fact, a part of you knew it was far beyond a crush at this point, but you were absolutely adamant about keeping silent, sure that you were doing what was best, not just for Aone, but for you as well. Because getting into a relationship with him, only to discover later that he’d only ever loved you platonically was a blow you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to recover from.

             Thus, you’d allowed yourself to stay firmly in denial, and didn’t suspect a single thing when Aone came by to pick you up from work that day. The two of you had planned to hang out together, and you were more than a bit excited, especially since he’d said he had a surprise for you.

             You’d noticed as you walked that he was dressed rather nicely, in dark jeans and a plaid button down rolled to the elbows to show off muscular forearms. It was actually a bit unusual for your friend who seemed to prefer comfy clothes in his off time, usually sticking to t-shirts and sweats, or athletic wear when he could. You’d hastily shoved the thought as far down as it would go the second it occurred to you though, locking it up with all the other non-platonic things you’d thought about your friend over the years.

             Instead, you’d focused on pestering him, trying to figure out what this surprise he had planned for you was. However, as to be expected, he was incredibly tight lipped about it, simply offering you amused, indulgent smiles that let you know he knew exactly what you were trying to do, and wouldn’t cave in.

             To your surprise, he’d driven you to a beautiful park, one filled with beautiful fields of flower. You’d been utterly ecstatic about it, practically bouncing as he showed you the picnic basket he’d brought along. The two of you had set up in a nice spot and hung out for a while.

             You’d been so preoccupied with the food and talking to him that you hadn’t noticed that he’d been doing something with his hands, right up until he carefully plopped a neatly formed flower crown on top of your head. You stared up at him in shock, fingers gently brushing the petals of the flowers set among your hair, confused but feeling a surge of warmth at the nostalgia of it all as you peered up at him.

             “No matter what, we are friends for life,” he told you, his voice serious as he held your eyes, the words making your heart squeeze painfully as conflicting emotions warred in your chest. The nostalgia and love you had for him, fighting with the fact that you wanted so much more with him.

             “Futakuchi has told me that I haven’t been obvious enough with my feelings,” he continued solemnly, the name of your nemesis helping to jolt you out of your internal conflict.

             You stared at him wide eyed as he gently took your face in one of his large hands, cradling your cheek as he stared down at you intently and told you, “I’m in love with you, bunny, and would like to be romantically involved with you.”

             It took a moment for the words to process, especially since you got caught up in his nickname for you, a byproduct of an unfortunate incident with marshmallows, Futakuchi, and the fact you were smaller than him. However, once what he said finally reached you, you immediately reached out to pinch your thigh, wincing slightly at the sharp burst of pain. You apparently weren’t dreaming.

             “Are you sure?” you asked him, unable to help your worry or your disbelief that this might actually be happening. Your hands were clenched tightly in your laps, nails digging into your palms as you tried to fight the rising hope, “This isn’t because Futakuchi told you I’m in love with you is it? Because you have to be sure, and if he did tell you I swear to all the kami I…!”

             Your torrent of babble was cut off by a gentle finger on your lips, one that instantly made you fall silent and stare up at your friend in confusion. However, seconds later the finger was replaced with gentle lips, sweet and surprisingly soft against your own, the feel of them enough to make your heart race as your eyes fluttered shut.

             You savored the feeling of his mouth on yours until he pulled back. You blinked your eyes open to find him watching you with the softest expression you’d ever seen on his face, full of affection and care.

             “Futakuchi did nothing but encourage me to confess my own feelings,” he assured you, gravely, then reiterated, “I am in love with you.”

             “I love you too,” you confessed, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered, your heart racing, giddy joy flooding through you as you realized this was actually happening.

             “Good,” he affirmed, leaning forward to kiss you again.

             You reached for him eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and basking in the euphoria of knowing your feelings were returned, noting that you probably owed that idiot Futakuchi a gift basket or something. For now, you were just going to savor the feeling of his lips, and enjoy the fact that you were absolutely and irrevocably in love with your best friend.

[rosy-cheekx]

Peeling Labels

Aspec Week, Day 7: Something New-- @aspecarchivesweek

an exploration of Jon and demisexuality! As a demisexual mspec person, a lot of this is based on my own anxieties as an aspec person and not being “ace enough.” (thanks to @ombreblossom for listening to me try to parse out how being demi feels and how to word it for the fic.)

Rated T for reference to a sex dream, but no explicit language/smut words used!

-

Jon has a weird relationship with labels. Labels are good, they categorize and compartmentalize feelings, situations, states of being. An archivist’s dream, really. But when they are applied to Jon, either by himself or someone else, they feel non-Newtonian, as if holding onto the word for too long causes it to slip through his fingers.

Usually, it’s fine. He knows that labels don’t really matter, but they still feel good. It’s comforting to know that he isn’t broken or a liar or confused; there are people in the world who share a word with him. They are bonded under a flag of black, white, purple, and grey.

Jon had set the precedent quickly, with Martin, on the first night they had been in Jon’s flat, pressed against a doorframe and exploring each other with gentle urgency. “I-ah, Martin,” he had broken away from Martin’s lips, eyes shining with a mix of adoration and anxiety. “I don’t think I’ve told you before, but I’m asexual. Just-uh, well. Thought you should know.”

Martin had nodded, eyes soft and full of understanding. “Okay. Do we have a boundary I should know?” The answer was yes: anything below the belt was strictly off limits, to give or to receive. And that was that. Martin was the perfect gentleman, checking in constantly whenever they were in the heat of a moment. The rule remained and was never crossed. Rules have labels and that label was: asexual.

 Except, it wasn’t that easy. God forbid anything was easy for Jon. Labels are nice and they’re helpful to the part of Jon that craves structure, order. He’d found his ace identity while dating Georgie, after she gently asked him what was up after his third gentlemanly refusal of her advances. He had stammered out that he liked her, but didn’t want sex, at all, and he didn’t want her to be upset with him. And of course she wasn’t, because she’s Georgie, and she helped him find the word asexual, that glorious, blessed word that made so many frustrations and doubts slot into place.

Their romance didn’t end because of his aceness, far from it in fact. In fact, honestly, they were probably together as long as they were because their friendship was the strongest part of their relationship. But god, they were too similar to be in love. They were both too stubborn, too determined, unable to reach compromise when it came to the silliest things like movie nights (Jon found Georgie’s Lord of the Rings box set far too long and far too pretentious for his taste) or how their cupboards should be arranged. Their relationship was something they could win, and they were both determined to be the victor.

In the end, they both lost.

--

While Jon and Georgie had been a couple first, friends second, he and Martin had a foundation. There was friendship, shared trauma, a love that surpassed romantic and dug into something deeper. When they’re in bed and the dark is warm and heavy, limbs intertwined, Jon is reminded of the Greek myth of soulmates: a four armed, four legged being split in two, deemed to be too powerful by the gods. Sharing an essence, completing each other, making two halves whole. It makes Jon smile and kiss Martin’s forehead affectionately. They had been too powerful for the gods, hadn’t they? Unstoppable, really.

All this to say…what he has with Martin? It’s new. Something he has never experienced before. And it’s leading to a host of new, confusing experiences. He’s been in a relationship with Martin for nearly six months now. Jon really thought that at 32 years old, after battling down fear entity after fear entity in an apocalyptic hellscape, there were no new feelings he could experience. But here he was, lying awake, trying to trace patterns in the ceiling and understand the dream he had woken up from.

Not a nightmare. No, quite the opposite. Nightmares he knows how to deal with: slip out of bed, make a cup of tea or a glass of water, slip on the lamp by the bed, and cuddle into bed, reading quietly until sleep steals him away. But he does not know how to deal with this new dream of Martin, hovering above him, low voice stealing his breath and pressing kisses along his jaw, collarbone, shoulder as delicate, warm, strong hands brushed his body, dipping low with confidence. Jon woke up to a heat pooling in his core, tight and powerful, one he hadn’t experienced in such a way.

Jon has a libido, sure, but it’s always been a bodily desire, not a…what would you call this? Emotional one? He certainly never fantasized about another person, especially not someone he knew, that felt so invasive. He felt a flush heat his cheeks and chest as he pictured that image of Martin his subconscious has supplied him, above and around him with that concentration face he wears whenever he’s starting a puzzle or stuck on a particular difficult crossword, the one that always makes Jon grin and kiss his wrinkled forehead. But this one looked more heated, more filled with lust. And it… it affected him. Jon realized with a dawning that he liked it. A lot.

Jon glanced at the bedside clock and sighed at the blinking green 5:15 on the LED screen. Good a time as any to get a hot shower and let his feelings wash away with the soapy water. He extracted himself carefully from Martin’s warm arms and slipped into the ensuite, stripping to the sounds of water pounding from the showerhead and letting the steam and hot water envelop him. He scrubbed himself down harshly, watching suds rinse down his legs and down the drain, trying desperately to keep his mind off whatever that had been.

Once his skin was blotchy from heat, Jon decided he had enough. He slid into the flannel trousers he’d left abandoned on the floor of the loo and slipped back to bed, trying to do so without disrupting his sleeping boyfriend. Martin looked so lovely like this, auburn curls streaked with white plastered against the pillow and his forehead, mouth hung open and naked torso splayed so openly, so unguarded. He looked so lovely, the freckles smattered on his shoulders and stretch marks carving beautiful lines across his skin; the stars and the rivers below, a whole world in the work of art that is Martin Blackwood. How would he feel if he knew Jon had had that dream about him?

Jon’s staring, the lowercase-b-beholding of the man he loved was broken by Martin sleepily opening his eyes, a moment of confusion followed by focusing on Jon, who was kneeling on the edge of his side of the bed, captivated.

“Mmm. Hi there, love,” Martin mumbled, running a hand through his hair and sleepily glancing over at the clock. “You alright? Bad dream?”

Jon nodded; the spell broken. “Ah, yeah.” He couldn’t tell Martin, it was just a dream; he didn’t want to confuse Martin or worse, convince him he was a liar, that he wasn’t asexual, that it had all been to avoid-

Oh. Martin had spoken. He was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response. “Sorry, say it again?” Jon asked meekly, sliding back under the covers.

“Do you want to talk about it, Jon?” The voice was patient, so patient. Jon shook his head and tucked himself into Martin’s side, tying up his damp, freshly brushed hair out of the way.

“I don’t really remember it anymore.” Lies. “It mustn’t have been that bad.” Martin’s hands were cool on his skin, still warm from the shower, as they brushed over the planes of his face in a slow way, stroking his nose and cheeks and forehead in the way Martin always did when he wanted Jon to go back to sleep. With some reservation, Jon let himself fall back against the pillows.

--

Jon thought about “The Dream” quite a bit in the week that followed. He wanted to understand it: why it had happened at all, but also, why it was still affecting him. Every so often, between emails sent and papers graded, his mind would drift back to the image of Martin, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy, gazing down at him with such affection and Jon’s whole body would freeze up. Why was he suddenly attracted to Martin in such a new way? He loved that man with his whole being and yet, there was suddenly a new element, something unexpected, coming over the horizon. It’s been almost six months with Martin; why now?

The implications scared Jon. He had always identified as asexual; it was a core part of who he knew himself to be. Had it all been an unknowing lie? Had he just never been attracted to Georgie properly? Was it like when people get STIs; would he have to ring Georgie up and say, “hey, sorry to bother, I was never asexual, oops!”? He really didn’t want to have to do that. Would Martin be upset, angry that he had missed out on six months of potential sex just because Jon was…what? Prudish? Naïve? Afraid?

The worst part was that this…desire hadn’t come on all at once, he realized. He hadn’t even noticed the way his stomach would flip when Martin’s hands brushed his thighs, blaming his touch-based love language. It was in the way he stared at Martin when he couldn’t see it; eyes tracing his form and wondering what it would be like to feel every inch of him, in a way he had yet to experience. 

God he…had to tell Martin, didn’t he? He didn’t want to feel like a pervert in his own relationship, observing and imagining from afar without Martin’s knowledge. It felt…dirty.

--

Jon made dinner, nine days after the dream. Nothing extreme, tikka masala, rice, and garlic naan. Martin’s favorite. As he cooked, he vacillated between trying to plan out what he wanted to say and very-much-not-thinking about how the evening could end. The worst outcome, he imagined, was Martin storming out, betrayed and heartbroken. That…that probably wouldn’t happen. No, he knew Martin Blackwood. Better than anyone else in the world. That definitely wouldn’t happen. Lo-fi techno crooned through the speakers as Jon cooked and he let his thoughts float away with the music, trying to focus on the spices of dish he was making and not the knowledge that Martin would be home in ten-

Oh. Jon heard the shhlik of the door sliding against the welcome mat and felt his whole body tense up.

“Jon? You making dinner?” Martin’s voice was warm as he called through the entrance, he didn’t know yet what Jon was going to tell him, that it was all a lie-

“Yes!” Jon called back, determined to keep his voice light and casual. “Your favorite. Be ready in five, so get out of your work clothes.”

“Smells delicious,” Martin was behind him now, voice low against the shell of his ear. Jon felt a shiver run down his spine, to where his stomach and pelvis met and a ball of electricity crackled there, unbidden. Martin kissed the crook of his neck chastely and Jon froze, unsure how to reciprocate.

“You okay?” Martin’s chin was on his shoulder now, voice soft.

“Fine, fine. You smell like crayons. The cerulean one.” Jon nudged Martin away casually, trying to pass off a witty remark.

“Hazard of the job, I suppose. You know you love it,” Martin mercifully pulled his hands from Jon’s waist and retreated to the bedroom, and Jon exhaled in relief.

Jon plated the masala. Martin poured the wine. They sat down to dinner. Jon felt it all happen, was there for it all, but it passed in strange jerky stop-motion, and he couldn’t seem to slow it down. He couldn’t see to find the words, so elected for none at all, eating silently. Eye-contact would give away the anxiety brimming inside him, so he kept his eyes on his plate and the wine and the sleeve of Martin’s sweatshirt, anything but Martin’s warm hazel eyes that he knew so well.

“Jon.” He could hear it in Martin’s voice, the gentle prompting. He could hear the worry, the confusion. God, it was going to happen wasn’t it? He was going to tell Martin and what happened happened and he couldn’t do anything to change that. “How was your day?”

“I-ah. Martin.” He said, voice jerky, unable to find a rhythm that felt right. “I have something to tell you.” The words fell from his mouth in a tumble.

“Oh?”

“I. I had a dream?” Martin’s eyes widened and he set his fork down. “N-not one of the Eye’s dreams,” Jon reassures quickly. He really wished dreams weren’t such a theme in his life. “Not a statement dream, but a… different kind of dream.”

“I…I don’t follow.” Martin was confused, eyes searching Jon’s face.

“A dream…about you?” he tried, unable to add the words “sex dream” into his vocabulary quite yet.

“Oh. Oh!” Martin understood at last, eyebrows raised and forehead that adorable, confused wrinkle. “That’s, well, nice, I guess?” Jon’s face must have given way to his thoughts, as Martin tried again. “O-or maybe not?”

“Martin,” Jon steeled himself. “I…I think I’m maybe not asexual.” The words rang sharp in his ears, grating; they didn’t feel right. But it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what sort of explanation there could be.

When Jon dared to look into Martin’s face, he saw an expression he didn’t know how to parse. Furrowed eyebrows, eyes searching Jon’s face, head cocked slightly. “Okay. Because of the dream?”

“Um-kind of? But also…” Jon felt blood rush through his cheeks, was certain the Desolation had picked now to tear its way through him, and was grateful. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About you. In-in ways asexual people shouldn’t. A-and I thought you should know, because I didn’t want you to think I was lying to you and I don’t want to be having those thoughts without you knowing because that feels rude, in a way? Like I set a boundary but have been crossing it in my head this whole time?” Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Martin’s voice was even, level, hard to parse as he spoke. “Jon, can I ask you a question? Only because you seem upset and I want to try to help you.” Jon was frustrated. Why wouldn’t he have the decency to be upset? At a nod, Martin’s chair scraped backwards, and Jon found Martin kneeling him beside him, hands on his knees as Jon swiveled to face him. Taking his pockmarked hands in his own, Martin rubbed Jon’s knuckles slowly, tenderly.

“Have you ever felt those feelings before?” Jon shook his head meekly, certain the lump in his throat would betray him. “Have you had those feelings the whole time we’ve known each other? Like, since the Institute?”

This time, Jon shook his head. “Not-not until after we were dating. The safehouse, maybe?”

“This one’s gonna sound a little rude, Jon, but bear with me. Do you think you’ve ever been as emotionally close to anyone else as you are with me?” He squeezed Jon’s hands warmly, adding: “And I am with you?”

Jon shook his head. Of course not. Martin was something new to him, something untapped in the world. A treasure, a diamond in the rough. There was nothing that compared to their relationship.

“Jon. I don’t want to tell you how you identify, that’s not my place, but I, I think you’re still asexual.” Jon’s eyes snapped to meet Martin’s; it was his turn to furrow his brow. “After you came out to me, remember? I started looking into asexuality. I wanted to be able to impress you at Pride this summer,” Martin ducked his head, wincing at the cheesiness of his words. “But did you know there’s a bunch of subtypes of asexuality?”

What? This was news to Jon. There’s wanting sex and not wanting sex, right? He shook his head numbly and felt a comforting, grounding squeeze of his hands again.

“There was one I researched a little extra, because it confused me, and I wanted to understand the difference,” Martin continued, moving a hand to stroke Jon’s cheekbone, to guide his face to meet his. “Demisexual, Jon. It’s a subtype of asexuality, and it’s when-” Martin’s eyes rolled back in his head, as they were want to do when he was struggling to recite something from memory. “-you don’t even have to option to feel sexual attraction until an emotional bond is established. And it’s not, like, a one-to-one thing, either. There was a woman talking about her experience on a forum and she basically explained it like sex being a door, right? And the door has a padlock on it. Emotional connection opens the padlock, but you still have to open the door.”

Jon’s mouth was agape. He…there were so many things to parse out here. “You…you looked all this up for me?”

Martin’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I wanted to make sure I understood asexuality. It’s a whole subgroup of its own; it was interesting.” Martin had been a Researcher for a reason, Jon supposed dimly.

“I. I want to research for myself, but demisexuality?” He rolled the word in his mouth as he spoke. It felt nice, weighty. “And it’s still asexual?”

Martin nodded, vehemently, pulling out his phone as he spoke. “Yeah! Its flag is the same colors too, just arranged differently.” He showed him the white and grey flag, divided with a smooth purple stripe and a black triangle on the edge. “A-and, I mean, if you realize you’re not asexual, or you’re something else, you know I’ll still support you regardless, right? I don’t love you because of your sexuality, or your identity. I love you because you’re Jonathan Sims, and everything else besides that is bonus.”

Jon exhaled, feeling the Choke release the hold on his chest. “Demisexual. I…Thank you, Martin. For listening and believing me. I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead, carding fingers through the tumbled curls. “Let’s eat, and maybe you can show me that forum afterwards?”

[jeannereames]

Hi, Dr. Reames! I just read your take on Song of Achilles and it got me thinking. Do you think there might be a general issue with the way women are written in mlm stories in general? Because I don't think it's the first time I've seen something like this happen.

And my next question is, could you delve further into this thing you mention about modern female authors writing women? How could we, beginner female writers, avoid falling into this awful representations of women in our writing?

Thank you for your time!

[It took a while to finish this because I wrote, re-wrote, and re-wrote it. Still not sure I like it, but I need to let it go. It could be 3xs as long.]

I’ll begin with the second half of the question, because it’s simpler. How do we, as women authors, avoid writing women in misogynistic ways?

Let me reframe that as how can we, as female authors, write negative (even quite nasty) female characters without falling into misogynistic tropes? Also, how can we write unsympathetic, but not necessarily “bad” female characters, without it turning misogynistic?

Because people are people, not genders, not all women are good, nor all men bad. Most of us are a mix. If we should avoid assuming powerful women are all bitches, by the same token, some women are bitches (powerful or not).

ALL good characterization comes down to MOTIVE. And careful characterization of minority characters involves fair REPRESENTATION. (Yes, women are a minority even if we’re 51% of the population.)

The question ANY author must ask: why am I making this female character a bitch? How does this characterization serve the larger plot and/or characterization? WHY is she acting this way?

Keep characters complex, even the “bad guys.” Should we choose to make a minority character a “bad guy,” we need to have a counter example—a real counter, not just a token who pops in briefly, then disappears. Yeah, maybe in an ideal world we could just let our characters “be,” but this isn’t an ideal world. Authors do have an audience. I’m a lot less inclined to assume stereotyping when we have various minority characters with different characterizations.

By the same token, however, don’t throw a novel against the wall if the first minority character is negative. Read further to decide if it’s a pattern. I’ve encountered reviews that slammed an author for stereotyping without the reader having finished the book. I’m thinking, “Uh…if you’d read fifty more pages….” Novels have a developmental arc. And if you’ve got a series, that, too, has a developmental arc. One can’t reach a conclusion about an author’s ultimate presentation/themes until having finished the book, or series.*

Returning to the first question, the appearance of misogyny depends not only on the author, but also on when she wrote, even why she’s writing. Authors who are concerned with matters such as theme and message are far more likely to think about such things than those who write for their own entertainment and that of others, which is more typical of Romance.

On average, Romance writers are a professionalized bunch. They have national and regional chapters of the Romance Writers of America (RWA), newsletters and workshops that discuss such matters as building plot tension, character dilemmas, show don’t tell, research tactics, etc. Yet until somewhat recently (early/mid 2010s), and a series of crises across several genres (not just Romance), treatment of minority groups hadn’t been in their cross-hairs. Now it is, with Romance publishers (and publishing houses more generally) picking up “sensitivity readers” in addition to the other editors who look at a book before its publication.

Yet sensitivity readers are hired to be sure lines like “chocolate love monkey” do not show up in a published novel. Yes, that really was used as an endearment for a black man in an M/M Romance, which (deservedly) got not just the author but the publishing house in all sorts of hot water. Yet misogyny, especially more subtle misogyny in the way of tropes, is rarely on the radar.

I should add that I wouldn’t categorize The Song of Achilles as an M/M historical Romance. In fact, I’m not sure what to call novels about myths, as myths don’t exist in actual historical periods. When should we set a novel about the Iliad? The Bronze Age, when Homer said it happened, or the Greek Dark Age, which is the culture Homer actually described? They’re pretty damn different. I’d probably call The Song of Achilles an historical fantasy, especially as mythical creatures are presented as real, like centaurs and god/desses.

Back to M/M Romance: I don’t have specific publishing stats, but it should surprise no one that (like most of the Romance genre), the vast bulk of authors of M/M Romance are women, often straight and/or bi- women. The running joke seems to be, If one hot man is good, two hot men together are better. 😉 Yes, there are also trans, non-binary and lesbian authors of M/M Romance, and of course, bi- and gay men who may write under their own name or a female pseudonym, but my understanding is that straight and bi- cis-women authors outnumber all of them.

Just being a woman, or even a person in a female body, does not protect that author from misogyny. And if she’s writing for fun, she may not be thinking a lot about what her story has to “say” in its subtext and motifs, even if she may be thinking quite hard about other aspects of story construction. This can be true of other genres as well (like historical fantasy).

What I have observed for at least some women authors is the unconscious adoption of popular tropes about women. Just as racism is systemic, so is sexism. We swim in it daily, and if one isn’t consciously considering how it affects us, we can buy into it by repeating negative ideas and acting in prescribed ways because that’s what we learned growing up. If writing in a symbol-heavy genre such as mythic-driven fantasy, it can be easy to let things slip by—even if they didn’t appear in the original myth, such as making Thetis hostile to Patroklos, the classic Bitchy Mother-in-Law archetype.

I see this sort of thing as “accidental” misogyny. Women authors repeat unkind tropes without really thinking them through because it fits their romantic vision. They may resent it and get defensive if the trope is pointed out. “Don’t harsh my squee!” We can dissect why these tropes persist, and to what degree they change across generations—but that would end up as a (probably controversial) book, not a blog entry. 😊

Yet there’s also subconscious defensive misogyny, and even conscious/semi-conscious misogyny.

Much debate/discussion has ensued regarding “Queen Bee Syndrome” in the workplace and whether it’s even a thing. I think it is, but not just for bosses. I also would argue that it’s more prevalent among certain age-groups, social demographics, and professions, which complicates recognizing it.

What is Queen Bee Syndrome? Broadly, when women get ahead at the expense of their female colleagues who they perceive as rivals, particularly in male-dominated fields, hinging on the notion that There Can Be Only One (woman). It arises from systemic sexism.

Yes, someone can be a Queen Bee even with one (or two) women buddies, or while claiming to be a feminist, supporting feminist causes, or writing feminist literature. I’ve met a few. What comes out of our mouths doesn’t necessarily jive with how we behave. And ticking all the boxes isn’t necessary if you’re ticking most of them. That said, being ambitious, or just an unpleasant boss/colleague—if its equal opportunity—does not a Queen Bee make. There must be gender unequal behavior involved.

What does any of that have to do with M/M fiction?

The author sees the women characters in her novel as rivals for the male protagonists. It gets worse if the women characters have some “ownership” of the men: mothers, sisters, former girlfriends/wives/lovers. I know that may sound a bit batty. You’re thinking, Um, aren’t these characters gay or at least bi- and involved with another man, plus—they’re fictional? Doesn’t matter. Call it fantasizing, authorial displacement, or gender-flipped authorial insert. We authors (and I include myself in this) can get rather territorial about our characters. We live in their heads and they live in ours for months on end, or in many cases, years. They’re real to us. Those who aren't authors often don’t quite get that aspect of being an author. So yes, sometimes a woman author acts like a Queen Bee to her women characters. This is hardly all, or even most, but it is one cause of creeping misogyny in M/M Romance.

Let’s turn to a related problem: women who want to be honorary men. While I view this as much more pronounced in prior generations, it’s by no means disappeared. Again, it’s a function of systemic sexism, but further along the misogyny line than Queen Bees. Most Queen Bees I’ve known act/react defensively, and many are (imo) emotionally insecure. It’s largely subconscious. More, they want to be THE woman, not an honorary man.

By contrast, women who want to be honorary men seem to be at least semi-conscious of their misogyny, even if they resist calling it that. These are women who, for the most part, dislike other women, regard most of “womankind” as either a problem or worthless, and think of themselves as having risen above their gender.

And NO, this is not necessarily religious—sometimes its specifically a-religious.

“I want to be an honorary man” women absolutely should NOT be conflated with butch lesbians, gender non-conformists, or frustrated FTMs. That plays right into myths the queer community has combated for decades. There’s a big difference between expressing one’s yang or being a trans man, and a desire to escape one’s womanhood or the company of other women. “Honorary men” women aren’t necessarily queer. I want to underscore that because the concrete example I’m about to give does happen to be queer.

I’ve talked before about Mary Renault’s problematic portrayal of women in her Greek novels (albeit her earlier hospital romances don’t show it as much). Her own recorded comments make it clear that she and her partner Julie Mullard didn’t want to be associated with other lesbians, or with women much at all. She was also born in 1905, living at a time when non-conforming women struggled. If extremely active in anti-apartheid movements in South Africa, Renault and Mullard were far less enthused by the Gay Rights Movement. Renault even criticized it, although she wrote back kindly to her gay fans.

The women in Renault’s Greek novels tend to be either bitches or helpless, reflecting popular male perceptions of women: both in ancient Greece and Renault’s own day. If we might argue she’s just being realistic, that ignores the fact one can write powerful women in historical novels and still keep it attitudinally accurate. June Rachuy Brindel, born in 1919, author of Ariadne and Phaedra, didn’t have the same problem, nor did Martha Rofheart, born in 1917, with My Name is Sappho. Brindel’s Ariadne is much more sympathetic than Renault’s (in The King Must Die).

Renault typically elevates (and identifies with) the “rational” male versus the “irrational” female. This isn’t just presenting how the Greeks viewed women; it reflects who she makes the heroes and villains in her books. Overall, “good” women are the compliant ones, and the compliant women are tertiary characters.

Women in earlier eras who were exceptional had to fight multiple layers of systemic misogyny. Some did feel they had to become honorary men in order to be taken seriously. I’d submit Renault bought into that, and it (unfortunately) shows in her fiction, as much as I admire other aspects of her novels.

So I think those are the three chief reasons we see women negatively portrayed in M/M Romance (or fiction more generally), despite being written by women authors.

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*Yeah, yeah, sometimes it’s such 2D, shallow, stereotypical presentation that I, as a reader, can conclude this author isn’t going to get any better. Also, the publication date might give me a clue. If I’m reading something published 50 years ago, casual misogyny or racism is probably not a surprise. If I don’t feel like dealing with that, I close the book and put it away.

But I do try to give the author a chance. I may skim ahead to see if things change, or at least suggest some sort of character development. This is even more the case with a series. Some series take a loooong view, and characters alter across several novels. Our instant-gratification world has made us impatient. Although by the same token, if one has to deal with racism or sexism constantly in the real world, one may not want to have to watch it unfold in a novel—even if it’s “fixed” later. If that’s you, put the book down and walk away. But I’d just suggest not writing a scathing review of a novel (or series) you haven’t finished. 😉

[ashes-in-a-jar]

A Double Date at the End of the World

Melanie, Georgie, Jon and Martin have an interesting conversation in their journey through the tunnels.

Cw: second hand embarrassment and lots of teasing (I guess)

Melanie took the lead. Because of course she did. Martin made sure not to get in her way, still feeling awkward after offering help.

She was right. He didn't fare any better than her and most likely worse. The tunnels were darker and damper than he remembered, smelling faintly of earth and... Gas? He didn't dwell on it too much. He found it was better to file those bits of ominous details away until they inevitably come back up on their own.

On his fourth or fifth stumble around a corner Jon caught his arm to steady him. He was walking behind him and Martin was pretty sure he was clutching his backpack for support himself.

"You alright Martin?" He asked softly, his voice just below the level of echo.

"Y-yeah. Thanks Jon. How are you feeling?" Martin asked, his tone changing to worry. He noticed how Jon was during the conversation as they entered the tunnels. All of his worries from the last days in Salesa's home came back, along with the despair at finally having reprieve and knowing Jon won't remember it. Maybe this time it's different, he thought desperately. Maybe the effects will not be the same. God, he hoped so.

"I'm fine, I think. No different than before. It's not getting worse this time... Yet." Jon answered with a hopeful squeeze at Martin's bicept. It was a bit awkward, given they were practically going single file but Martin raised his hand backwards and gently stroked the hand that clutched him. It was dry and cold and all he wanted to do was turn around and warm it properly in his palms.

"Good. I'm glad to hear. Let me know if you start to feel any different."

"Okay. Thank you Martin." He murmured, and Martin could hear the fondness seeping into his name.

He recalled the frustrated argument they had right before Martin stormed away to cool off only to be found by the girls in the tunnels.

He recalled the quiet and uncertain way Jon said his name then before telling him he might be more focused after getting out a statement. It was a tone that made Martin stop his venting to really listen and look at Jon. God he looked so scared. It was the first time in a while he saw Jon like that. He instantly regreted his tirade and felt that same fear that he himself tried to suppress begin to make its way to the forefront of his mind. He realized that tampering it down by fantasizing of the violent ways they'd exact revenge on Jonah was doing exactly what he warned himself against while in his own domain. Sinking into his expectations instead of facing reality. So he went to cool off, get his head in order again and think realistically how to solve their problem instead of kicking walls and squishing sentient cameras (he shuddered at that memory).

He should apologize to Jon for his behavior. He knew Jon understood but still. Once they get a bit of privacy again he should make sure they talk it out. Clear the air so the bad feelings won't hang over them when they need to make a difficult decisions again together. Because that will come eventually and they cannot afford to falter because they weren't on the same page.

Having made that decision, Martin's reveries were interrupted by a noise of someone clearing their throat behind him.

He noticed that Georgie, who was bringing up the rear behind Jon, was trying to get their attention. He also noticed he had slowed down and had reached to fully grasp Jon's chilled hand in his.

"So," Georgie began and immediately Martin became worried. "You too, huh?"

Jon chuckled and as Martin started, reflexively pulling his hand back to quicken his pace. But Jon just held onto to him tighter.

"Yes Georgie, we are together now." He said and Martins heart soared the same way it did when Jon affirmed it in front of the Boneturner. It felt good that Jon wanted others to know. It felt so good to validate their relationship with an outside perspective when they have been alone for so long now.

"How long?" Georgie asked, a little too eagerly.

"Um, a couple of weeks before... all of this?" Jon said vaguely. Their time in the safehouse was interesting in regards to the buildup of officiating their relationship. The actual conversation about it took a while to happen even though they were already very much attached to each other from the moment they left the Lonely.

"Wait, what?" Melanie called out from the front, her voice echoing around them.

"Hah! I told you!" Georgie cheered.

"No way! I was so sure Jon would never have the guts. Surely not before the world ended."

"Wait. What's going on?" Martin was confused.

Georgie, still amused, explained. "Melanie and I had a... Wager when exactly you too would get together. She thought you both were too gutless to take the first step. I thought your unbelievably daft pining, at least from Jon's side of things would eventually become too much for him to handle."

"Georgie," Jon admonished, clearly flustered.

The explanation caught Martin off guard. He knew Jon had some semblance of feelings towards him after the coma. Some bits of chased conversation, vague massages in recordings, his offer to literally run off and become blind together. It wasn't blatantly obvious though it was far from subtle. But Martin never learned how much Jon actually wanted it during those months. Jon spoke about it more generally and didn't seem to want to go into specifics.

"What? You were so obvious about it even before your coma. And then you came over to try to pull us back in to help him... Well, I mean, come on!" Georgie said defensively. "It was pretty hard to miss."

"you should have seen him in the institute." Melanie jeered. "He brooded all day every day. You couldn't even say Martin's name without making him look like a kicked kitten. It was brutal."

Jon let go to cover his face while Martin started chuckling in hidden glee. "Melanie please. I wasn't brooding, I did not mope! Besides, we were all having a bad time."

"Yes but you were so melodramatic about it, like a heartbroken teenager. You should have seen the faces he made whenever Peter's name came up. Oh boy that was something."

"How do you mean?" Martin was struggling to keep his voice straight, every new morsel of information giving him more joy.

"It was the type of face you make when talking to a Tory. The type you want to strangle or punch and are debating which you should do first." Melanie was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Jon was always good at faces." Georgie giggled.

Martin couldn't help but laugh at that out loud. I was true, Jon did not know how to school his expressions.

Jon groaned "Martin don't encourage them please."

Martin half turned around to grin at Jon "They're not wrong though, are they? It is pretty funny."

Jon grimaced at him "Shut up."

Martin let the Eye contact linger a moment and in the dark he mouthed 'I love you' to Jon, hoping he could see. Judging by the affectionate huff he heard, the message was received. He turned back smiling and quickened the pace to catch up to Melanie's confident strides.

"God you guys are sappy" Georgie sighed. "At least it's an improvement to the mess you two were before."

"Truer words have never been said" Melanie seconded. "I'm glad I was wrong about how assertive you two are. It seems I need to reevaluate my impression of Beholding's baby and his lover boy."

Martin and Jon sighed simultaneously. "Please stop" Jon muttered, mostly to himself.

"Um, how about we change subject, hm? Yes, we're finally together and so are you and this is basically a double date at the end of the world so let's just... Conclude it at that." Martin said, hoping this assertion will work.

"Alright, yeah let's change the subject, shall we?" Georgie said in a dangerously mischievous tone again. "Jon, is that my What the Ghost merch you're wearing? Have you been wearing that the entire time now? You know I'll be needing that back. Our wardrobe is wearing pretty thin."

The tunnels were filled with Jon's groans and Melanie's roaring laughter as they continued onwards towards the survivors' camp to meet the others, finally take a breather and regroup to plan for their fateful future.