#she is not a Mean Girl she is a schoolyard bully who will shove you into the dirt and stick your head in the toilet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kutemouse · 4 years ago

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Caught (Prologue)

Disclaimers: All “Save Me” webtoon and BTS MV/highlight reel/film references and plots belong to BTS and BigHit. Not sure who edited it or made it, but the “I’m Fine/Save Me” ambigram pic I used came from here. All pictures of Kim Taehyung belong to BTS and BigHit, I just edited them for my header. The picture of BTS came from Vogue Japan, I just edited it for my header. I got the Kim Taehyung Wings Film Gif from DannyBriz on Wattpad.

A Note from Kutemouse: Awwww, thank you for reading my stuff, @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash!

So, this sweet little mini series is inspired by several things… The movie 365 DNI, the Save Me webtoon, the BTS MV universe, and ideas I’ve come up with waaaaaay too late at night 😂 Honestly, I’m OBSESSED with the whole MV/highlight reel/wings films arc that started with The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1, and I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a story inspired by it. So, kutie pie @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash, thank you for allowing this dream to come to light.

About the non-con request, I was all like, “EEEERRRRRRMMMMMMMM idk,” because I’ve never written non-con and therefore don’t… know… if I’m comfortable with it…? I will attempt to do my best. Either way, I hope you like what has come out of my brain 😅

Also, thank you to @btssmutheaven for revealing my drafts (NOT REALLY, ILY) to @taemaknae for reading my shit and loving it, and to @kpopyandere for being the best unnie account and helping me realize I can write all the yandere ideas I want.

Age Recommendation: 21+ (this is NOT one for youngsters, kuties, and is MOST DEFINITELY NSFW)

Genre: Mafia!AU w/ BTS, Jailbird!AU w/ Taehyung, Yandere!BTS

Warnings: ALL THE WARNINGS. Just kidding, uh… Swears. There are minors in this section but they do NOT do anything sexual. I ain’t about that kinda life, y’all. F*ckboy Taehyung. Fluffy friendship. Angsty jealousy. Mentions of drug use and alcohol consumption (NOT by minors tho). Yandere themes including unhealthy obsession and possessiveness. Making out. No smut in this part, but it’s heavy af.

🚨TRIGGER WARNING. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH THE FOLLOWING.🚨

Mentions of abusive relationships, mentions of a parent abusing their child, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of schoolyard bullying, mentions of a violent murder.

These are not fleshed out or detailed scenarios. When I say “mention,” I mean briefly discussed after it happened, not during, and definitely not in any detail whatsoever. You DO NOT have to read my work. You decide what you are comfortable with. All I want is for you kuties to be happy.

Word Count: 6.1k (WTF is this even allowed?!)

Summary: Kim Taehyung was the absolute love of your life… until he became a murderer. With him serving a life sentence in prison, you were finally free to live out the rest of your life however you wanted. Just when you thought you were at the top of your game, ready to take on the world, Taehyung reappears like a monster not even your worst nightmares could dream up. He gives you a year to fall in love with him, but now the question is, can monsters even be loved?

Master List

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Caught (Taehyung Series, Yandere, Smut, Angst) Prologue

I remember the first time I saw Kim Taehyung. We were both fifteen, just starting out in high school. Back then, I remember the way he lazily leaned against a locker with his arms crossed, seemingly waiting for someone. His hair was bleached a ridiculous bright blonde on the top and left brunette everywhere else. He had on dramatic, black eyeliner that served to accentuate his inky eyes, and he wore a studded leather jacket with his shirt and tie rather than the traditional uniform. Intrigued, I opened my locker and picked out my books for my next class, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

I saw him zero in on his target and take brisk, wide strides towards her as she twirled the combo to her locker. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes as he caged her in by leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with flirtatious giggles and I turned away, rolling my eyes. So he was one of those assholes.

I watched him do this with every single girl in our class. I swear, he had his routine down to a science. Chat her up, openly flirt, flirt some more until she caved in to whatever he desired, then drop her like a hot frying pan. It took a couple months for his interest to finally land on me.

“Hey.”

I didn’t bother to look up as I twirled the combination to my locker and popped it open.

“Hey,” he said louder.

I flicked a glance his way. “Do you need something?”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I look like I need anything?”

I huffed out a sigh. “What do you want, Kim Taehyung?”

He let out a snort, leaning against the locker next to mine the same way he’d done a thousand times with a thousand other girls. “So you know my name, but I don’t know yours. You’re new, right?”

“I transferred in at the beginning of the year,” I said impatiently. “And we’re in the same class, so you should know who I am.”

Taehyung’s lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Really? No, that can’t be right. I definitely would’ve remembered you.”

I rolled my eyes and slammed my locker shut, walking quickly away. Taehyung jogged to keep up. “Just tell me your name,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“C’mon, I’m just trying to make friends.”

I whirled around, stopping both of us in our tracks. “Friends? Is that what you’ve been doing with every other girl here? Just making friends?”

Taehyung smirked once more and took a step towards me. I don’t know why, but I took a step back. I should’ve held my ground, should’ve told him to fuck off right then and there. Instead, I let him back me up against the wall and entrap me within his darkened gaze, the same way he would for the next three years of our lives.

He leaned down to whisper in my ear, his breath tickling the skin of my cheek. “We can be more than friends… but first, you have to tell me your name.”

I shoved him off me and practically sprinted down the hall, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. My peers and classmates who saw the exchange teased me for weeks afterward, no matter how much I kept my head down and avoided Taehyung like my life depended on it. It wasn’t until I heard him telling off some of the more tenacious gossipers I decided to give him another chance.

I tapped him on his shoulder as he stood in front of his locker. His eyes widened when he turned to see me standing there. “I’m L/n Y/n,” I said meekly. “And I wanted to thank you for what you said to those people.”

“You heard that?” he asked, the skin of his neck flushing pink.

I nodded.

“You’re welcome,” he said, tossing me a boxy grin.

That day, a seed was planted that eventually grew into a steady, beautiful friendship. A year later, I had come out of my shell quite a bit thanks to Taehyung, and I had a solid group of mates that I adored and relied on. Tae was my best friend, and I was his. Of course, we still got teased quite a bit about being a couple, but I figured we were both long past that.

Taehyung matured alongside our friendship. He stopped wearing thick eyeliner and sporting ridiculous hair colors, instead opting for a softer, more natural look with caramel brown locks and the unblemished glow of his slightly-tan skin. Gone were his dramatic, attention-seeking ways. His voice also deepened, dropping almost an entire octave. Yet despite all of his changes, he still stayed an absolute fuck-boy, shagging a new girl every other week. I came to realize it was all part of his personality, though, and I loved him no matter what.

The summer before our senior year was when I realized that love ran way deeper than friendship. We were at my best girlfriend Chaeyoung’s house when Taehyung stumbled in with yet another girl, his hair freshly dyed a bright cerulean blue. “Hey everyone!” he called out, slinging his arm around the girl’s shoulders. My smile faded as I looked over and noticed she was beyond gorgeous, with waist-length black locks that seemed to flow down the perfect curve of her back. I shuddered as a green monster reared its ugly head deep within me.

Taehyung was with that girl for a few months, which by his standards, was practically a lifetime. The entire time they were together, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff about to swan-dive into devastating heartbreak. Each time I saw him kiss her, each time I saw him smile at her, each time I saw him lean over and whisper something in her ear, a piece of my soul shriveled up and died. I did my best to put my feelings aside, knowing I already had my chance and he would probably never look at me that way again. Even after they broke up, I kept my love for him tamped down and tucked away deep in the recesses of my heart, scared of ruining our friendship.

His break-up only served to draw us closer together, and slowly, without me realizing it, our friendship began to bloom into something more. Taehyung and I started to tell each other everything, including the messed-up secrets our home lives made us keep. One day, we were sitting in an empty classroom after school. I was trying to study, but kept getting distracted by Tae staring longingly out the window. “What’re you looking at?” I finally asked, putting my pencil down.

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About when we’ll finally get out of here.”

I smiled, my heart thumping a little faster. “We?”

He turned and tossed me his signature boxy grin. “Yeah. We. We’ll make it out of here someday, Y/n. I’ll get away from my bastard of a dad, you’ll get away from your selfish mother, and we’ll have a house in the country with big, open fields and plenty of space to finally fucking breathe.”

I smiled and stored those words away, using them to comfort myself whenever my mother and her asshole of a boyfriend wouldn’t stop yelling at each other, or worse, when they’d pass out on the couch, too drunk or high to stay coherent.

One night around three in the morning, my phone began to buzz and didn’t stop until I finally popped an eye open, fumbled around for it in the dark, and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?” I mumbled.

“H-Hey.”

I sat up. “Taehyung?”

“Y/n, I n-need your help,” he said shakily. It sounded like he was… crying?

I immediately got out of bed and pulled some jeans on. “Tae, it’s okay,” I said soothingly, trying to hide the panic I was feeling. I knew Taehyung’s home life was extremely hard. In fact, most of our home lives were terrible. The only two in our friend group who even came close to “privileged” were Chaeyoung and Jin, and that was because their parents had more money, not less problems.

I myself had plenty of issues. The reason my mother and I moved here when I was fifteen was to escape her abusive boyfriend, and even then, we still lived in constant fear of him finding us again. I guess that fear drove her into the arms of the first strong-looking man who looked twice at her, because her new boyfriend, Manseok, seemed to fit the same abusive pattern. At least he didn’t hit her when he was sober.

I wasn’t exactly sure how terrible Taehyung’s life was until the night he called me. At his request, I stole a few bills from my mom’s purse as well as her ID and put us up in a cheap motel room for the night. Jumping up when I finally heard his knock, I quickly pulled the door open to reveal Taehyung, his blue hair stringy from the rain outside. He was panting like he ran all the way there. I covered my mouth with my hands as the dim lighting revealed his left eye swollen shut, covered in nasty shades of scarlet and purple. His lip was split and bleeding, and his right cheek had another bruise and cut creeping down to his jawbone. The worst part, though, were the red finger-shaped marks that covered his neck.

“Y/n,” he croaked out. I held open my arms and he fell into them, not leaving their safety until well into the morning. I iced his black eye and bruises as much as I could, and bandaged the cuts that covered his face. Taehyung’s face was pressed into my chest, his breathing deep and even as he finally slept.

I decided then and there I’d never let him go.

Thankfully, Taehyung felt the same way. Within a week, he brushed off every other girl he was chatting up and focused all of his attention on me. We spent hours with each other after school, either in person or on the phone, and it became a common occurrence for him to intertwine his fingers with mine or peck me sweetly on the cheek.

I quickly grew dissatisfied, sick of the friendship barrier preventing us from taking things further. We spent an entire day together one weekend, talking, laughing, walking the streets, and trying different foods from vendor carts. As the sun started to go down, Taehyung wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his chest into my back. He was teasing me, I forget about what, and he leaned down to kiss my cheek when I turned at the last second and let him peck my lips instead. I laughed as his dark eyes grew wide with shock.

That was all it took, though. One kiss, and he was mine. Or rather, I was his. Afterwards, he pulled me into a deserted alleyway and we kissed until the sun completely disappeared. As the stars appeared in the sky above, Taehyung asked me to be his girlfriend, murmuring in my ear about how much he loved me and how he had never stopped loving me, even after I turned him down. With my heart practically bursting, I readily agreed.

Back then, Taehyung had a knack for getting in trouble, and me being his new girlfriend did nothing to hinder that side of him. He was definitely the “bad boy” of our school, constantly rebelling against the system by swapping his uniform for street clothes and ditching classes. His favorite form of rebellion, however, was street graffiti. He loved spray-painting words and drawings all over the walls of our neighborhood alongside his best friend, Namjoon. Tae was nearly caught by the cops a couple of times, but thanks to his quick instincts, he managed to give them the slip.

Still, a boy with bright, blue hair was bound to stand out, so after a couple nights of close calls, Taehyung finally dyed his hair back to that soft, caramel brown that I loved running my fingers through. We sat together at a bus stop, watching cars and people go by with fingers intertwined, when Tae stood and pulled a paint can out of his jacket pocket.

“Again?” I asked. Despite my teasing tone, I smiled up at him.

Taehyung tucked his bottom lip between his teeth with a grin as he sprayed something onto the panel beside us. “Look,” he said once he was finished, tilting his head to admire his work.

I stood up to see the words “I’m fine” sprayed in green. The font was the most interesting part, though, too curly in comparison to Taehyung’s usual writing. “Now look at it from upside-down,” Tae said.

I threw him a skeptical look before obediently curving my neck and scoping out the piece of art as best I could. “Save me,” I read out loud.

Taehyung nodded. “It’s for us,” he murmured.

I looked up at him, emotions surging through me like a waterfall surging down a cliff. “It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice cracking.

Taehyung looked at me, concern filling his features. “Baby girl, what’s wrong?”

“I-I have s-something to tell you,” I stammered.

With many tears and a shaky voice, I began to explain to Taehyung the events that had transpired only a few nights before. How my mom’s boyfriend had quietly snuck into my room while she remained passed out on the couch. How he had told me to be quiet as his hand started stroking my arm. How he had held his hand over my mouth and yelped when I bit him. How I had screamed so loud our neighbors called the cops. How he was carted away by the police with my mother shrieking the entire time about how I was a brat and a dramatic liar.

Taehyung’s gaze grew darker with each word. “That bastard,” he spat, clenching his fists. “I will end that motherfucker.”

“Taehyung, stop,” I sighed. “It’s over. For now, at least. I’ll stay at Chaeyoung’s until graduation.”

“What do you mean? He’s not going to jail?”

I hung my head. “My mom left to pay his bail an hour ago.”

Taehyung slammed his fist into the same panel he just graffitied. “So that jerk is going to walk free?!”

I stood up and ran my hands soothingly over his shoulders. “For now. I’m going to press charges, but in the end, it’s my word against his. Who knows how the system will treat him.”

Taehyung let out a feral growl, turning away from me. “I’m sick of this shit,” he snapped. “My dad, your mom’s boyfriend… neither of them should be walking free after everything they’ve done.”

Not knowing what else to do, I hugged him tightly from behind. “Just another few months,” I said quietly. “And then we’ll be out of here. A house in the country, just like you said.”

“That’s not good enough,” Tae snapped, turning back towards me. My mouth parted in surprise as I looked into his eyes and saw something there I’d never seen before. It was like a slow-burning flame, one that hadn’t yet risen into a raging wildfire, but threatened to if it wasn’t quickly put out.

Taehyung suddenly grabbed my hand and tugged me down the street. “I’m dropping you off at Chae’s,” he said. “And then I want you to stay there for the next twenty-four hours. I don’t want you going out for any reason, you understand me?”

“Taehyung, what are you saying? You’re scaring me.”

He stopped walking, turning so we were facing each other once more. The flame I saw earlier began blazing, turning rapidly into something uncontrollable and destructive I didn’t know how to stop. “This ends tonight,” he growled.

True to his word, he dropped me off at Chaeyoung’s, not leaving until he made me promise I wouldn’t go out until he said so. After a week, with Tae’s permission, I went home to get some clothes and personal items only to find my mom sitting on the couch, strung out of her mind. “Is he here?” I asked tentatively.

She raised her red-rimmed eyes to meet mine. “Who?”

“Manseok. Your jerk of a boyfriend.”

My mom shrugged and scoffed. “Haven’t seen that bastard for a couple days now,” she said, her words slurring together. “He upped and left us. Stole some money from me to do it, too.”

The feeling of relief that I felt was short-lived once I remembered that asshole would probably be back for more, just like the others. I quickly gathered my things and left, stopping only to make sure my mom had enough food for the next few days.

Ever since that night, Taehyung withdrew into himself. He still held my hand and kissed me, but it was distant, emotionless, like he didn’t know how to feel his feelings for me anymore. He weirdly became somewhat possessive of me, keeping me practically glued to his side whenever he was with me, and constantly texting me when we weren’t together. Whenever other boys looked my way, Taehyung shot them down with harsh words and incessant bullying our friends joined in on. I insisted they stop that kind of behavior, and for a while, I thought Tae and his friends complied. It wasn’t until much later in life when I realized they never truly stopped. They just got better at hiding it.

One night, I was at Namjoon’s place waiting for Tae when Joon’s phone rang. “Taehyung?” he said, turning away from me when I looked up. “Hey, calm down. You did what?!”

He stood up quickly. I motioned for him to put it on speaker, but he waved me off. “Okay, stop. I’m coming over right now. Just stay put, dammit.”

Joon grabbed his jacket and rushed towards the door. “Wait!” I cried. “What happened?!”

“Nothing that concerns you,” he snapped. “Stay here. I’ll bring Taehyung to you, alright?”

Neither of them came back. Before the sun even thought of rising, I determinedly ran all the way to Taehyung’s apartment, desperate to see him and make sure he was alright. As my sneakers pounded against the pavement and my breath started coming out in ragged gasps, I suddenly felt a hand grasp my forearm and yank me into a side alley.

“What are you doing here?” a voice growled as I yelped in surprise. I looked up to see Jungkook standing there, glaring at me.

“I want to see Taehyung,” I retorted, ripping my arm from his grasp.

He crossed his arms. “Not gonna happen.”

“Like hell it’s not!” I snapped. “Where is he?”

Jungkook grabbed the front of my jacket, preventing me from pushing past him. “Go home, Y/n.”

“Absolutely the fuck not!”

Sick of my shit, Jungkook picked me up, threw me over his broad shoulder, and carried me out of the alleyway. I kicked and screamed the entire way. He set me down once we were on the main street. “Taehyung will call you when he can,” he said firmly. “I won’t say it again, Y/n. Go home.”

“No!” Tears welled up, and I furiously swiped them away. “I’m his girlfriend! Tell me where he is right now or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Jungkook snapped. “Y/n, you don’t even know where he is. Fucking leave, or I’ll carry you all the way back to Chae’s myself.”

It didn’t take much longer for me to realize Jungkook wouldn’t relent. Eventually, I went back to Chaeyoung’s and spent the day staring at the wall beside my bed. What did Taehyung do? What were his friends protecting him from? When had things gotten so fucked up?

My questions were never answered. After a full week of silence, complete with him missing school, Taehyung showed up at Chae’s place asking for me. “She doesn’t want to see you,” Chae snapped, closing the door as I meandered into the entry hall.

Taehyung stopped her by slamming his palm against the wood. “Please, Chae,” he begged.

Recognizing his deep tenor, I walked up and put my hand on my bestie’s shoulder. “I’ve got this, Chae,” I murmured. She left with a huff.

Taehyung looked terrible. Dark circles ran under both eyes like he’d spent multiple nights without sleep, his hair was unkempt, and his skin was much too pale. Without another word, I immediately took him inside and dragged him up to my room. He took a shower in my en suite bathroom while I washed his clothes. After he dressed, we sat on my bed, still not speaking. “What happened?” I finally asked.

He tossed me a weak smile. “Life happened.”

I shook my head in disgust. “You leave me for an entire week with no explanation, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Baby girl, please,” Taehyung said, clasping my hands in between his large, rough ones. “I’m sorry I left you alone. I asked the guys to keep an eye on you, and they said you’ve been doing fine.”

“Fine is an overstatement,” I snorted, tearing my hands from his grasp.

He didn’t relent, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his broad chest. “Let go,” I ordered, trying and failing to push him away.

“No,” he said simply, tightening his hold. “I love you, Y/n. Everything that happened this past week happened for us. For our dream.”

I managed to pull back enough to look up into his eyes. The spark of mischief that normally resided there was gone, replaced by a dull sombreness that made me ache inside. Whatever had happened that week completely changed Taehyung for good. He was no longer quick to smile or joke, and I began to yearn for the blue-haired boy of the past. I couldn’t tell him that, though. Despite everything, I still loved him.

A month passed, and as our graduation approached, Taehyung talked more and more about moving out to the country. I responded enthusiastically outwardly, but on the inside, I didn’t know if moving out was such a good idea. It wasn’t just the way he had changed. It was having issues with my mom as well. Since Manseok never came back around, her behavior grew more erratic each day. I moved back in to take care of her, and she depended heavily on me. I was afraid if I left, she would fall off the deep end again and never be able to make it back to the surface.

The last day I saw Taehyung dawned bright and filled with hope. “I’m feeling good today,” he announced, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we walked to class.

I smiled up at him, glee spreading through my limbs when I saw a trace of that mischievous spark back in his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tossed me a grin. “I haven’t been able to go out and tag anything lately… but I kind of want to tonight. You in?”

“Of course.”

As night approached, we walked hand-in-hand down the street until Taehyung led us back to that bus stop where he painted the “I’m fine/Save me” ambigram. I sat on the bench and watched as he began to create something new. I don’t think he had a set plan. The painting started off in meaningless loops, the jet-black color standing out in stark contrast to the white behind it.

Suddenly, bright lights filled our vision flashing a blinding blue and red. “Freeze!” a loud voice yelled.

I remember Taehyung’s wide, dark eyes finding mine, filled with panic. I remember the rough skin of his palm sliding into mine and yanking me upright. I remember how we sprinted down the street, the fear of being caught pumping adrenaline through us. How he ran faster than me, tugging me along to keep up.

Taehyung looked back and pulled me into an alleyway to try and lose them. We turned a corner and met a dead end. With our backs pressed against the wall, I looked at Tae. “Dammit,” he panted, the corners of his mouth turning upwards despite our situation.

I began to run out the way we came, intending on dragging Taehyung with me, but he yanked me back, slamming me against the wall that entrapped us. He kissed me, feverishly pressing his tongue inside my mouth before I could stop him. He yanked my wrists upwards, pinning them almost painfully against the brick above us as his mouth continued exploring mine and his hands roamed up and down my body.

He pulled back, allowing me to finally suck in some oxygen, and even as I coughed, he continued pressing kisses from my cheek to my jaw to my neck. Tae finally stopped as loud voices and beams of flashlights got closer. “I love you, baby girl,” he murmured. “Don’t forget that.”

“Tae, what—?”

He stepped out from behind the corner, raising his hands in the air. I ducked down into the shadows the alley provided, scooting backwards and pressing my hands over my mouth.

“Get over here, punk,” a gruff voice commanded. I heard the grinding click of handcuffs closing over wrists as another voice began to read Tae his rights.

I scrambled to my feet, realizing too late what was happening. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t take the fall for both of us. Not like this. Still, even as I moved to step out into the light and reveal myself, something stopped me. I don’t remember exactly what it was. Possibly the thought of my mother, my friends, how close I was to graduation. Like I said, I don’t remember. All I remember was the panic I felt when I realized the love of my life had just been arrested.

I showed up late to class the next day, not wanting to answer questions from my friends about what had happened and why I looked like absolute shit. I realized my efforts weren’t needed when two detectives pulled me out of class and escorted me to the police station, causing my classmates to start buzzing with gossip like the annoying wasps they were.

“So… L/n Y/n,” the cop, Detective Kwak, said. I looked up at her, nervously twisting my hands in my lap. “You are dating Kim Taehyung, correct?”

I nodded slowly. She had brought me here for “routine questioning,” yet I began to suspect more when they put me in an interrogation room. “For how long?” the detective asked.

“About a year and a half,” I muttered.

“So your relationship was serious?”

“You could say that.”

“How serious?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how serious were you? Did you have plans for after graduation?”

“I guess. We were going to move in together.”

“Here in the city?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Somewhere far away.”

“Because of your troubles at home?”

It was then I got defensive. “What do you know about that?” I snapped.

Detective Kwak stared me down, an amused smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I know enough. I was promoted to detective only a month or so ago. Back in my street days, I was one of the cops called to your house.”

My mouth parted in surprise at her words.

“I remember that night pretty clearly,” she continued. “Your mom’s boyfriend attacked you, right?”

I swallowed hard and sank down in my seat, rubbing my arms with my palms in an effort to keep myself contained. “And she did nothing to defend you, correct?” the detective prodded.

“Stop,” I whispered.

“What about Taehyung? Did he do anything to defend you?”

“What the fuck is this about?” I burst out. “I thought you brought me here because… because…”

“Because of the graffiti?” she asked pointedly.

I nodded.

Detective Kwak leaned forward over the table. “Look, Y/n, I don’t give a damn about the fact you were his tagging partner in crime or whatever. This is much bigger than that.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat back and stared at me, her eyes like cold, dark tunnels. “Kim Taehyung has been charged with murder. His prints match a partial we lifted off of a crime scene.”

My mouth dropped open. “W-What?”

“That’s right,” she said. “We only identified the body yesterday. Does the name Lee Manseok mean anything to you?”

I froze as the syllables of my mother’s boyfriend’s name rolled off the detective’s tongue. She nodded at my reaction. “I thought it would. He was found in an abandoned warehouse about a week after he was killed. He’d been beaten to death.”

My blood ran cold, causing goosebumps to raise on the flesh of my arms. I shook my head fiercely. “No, that can’t be right,” I said. “The guy was a dick, anyone could’ve done that to him.”

“That’s what we thought at first. We first suspected his wife.”

“He… He has a wife?”

“And two kids,” the detective scoffed. “Your mom picked a real winner. But then we finally got Taehyung in custody thanks to your shenanigans last night and what do you know? His prints match the one we found at the crime scene.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” I said firmly. “Taehyung wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” she asked, folding her arms over the table. “Sounds like he really loved you and would do anything to protect you.”

“No, there has to be a mistake. Even if Taehyung did kill him, it had to be out of self-defense or something.”

“Maybe so. But if you knock a guy out and then continue beating him until he dies, is it really self-defense?”

“It is if that guy could come back and hurt someone you love for revenge,” I retorted.

The detective’s face remained expressionless. “Unfortunately, the law says differently.”

“The law can go to hell for all I care.”

She chuckled. “Whatever you say, kid. Look, the crime scene revealed that more than one person beat the literal life out of Manseok. If Taehyung did this, he didn’t do it alone. Do you happen to know who else would have helped him commit murder?”

I stayed silent as I thought for a moment. Any of our friends could’ve helped him, with maybe the exception of Chaeyoung. I thought of Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi and Joon. I thought of the way they moved around school like a unified group, making fun of anyone who wasn’t them and bullying people who got in their way, especially any other guy who dared look my way. Still, they wouldn’t have helped Tae commit flat-out murder, would they?

“Anyone at all?”

The detective’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. I shook my head. “No. No one.”

She sighed. “There’s something else. We’ve been trying to get ahold of Taehyung’s father, but he seems to be missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes. He hasn’t shown up at his job at all in the past month and a half. His credit cards haven’t been used, either.”

“So?” I snapped. “The guy was an alcoholic, he could be holed up somewhere drinking himself to death.”

“Maybe so, but my guess is we’re going to find him in some abandoned building or maybe at the bottom of the ocean one day. Your boy, Taehyung? I’ll bet he’s the one who put him there.”

I slammed my palms on the table. “LIES!” I yelled. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t he?!” Detective Kwak shouted, rising to her feet. “Tell me something right now, Y/n. Have you noticed him acting differently? Have you noticed any changes in his behavior?”

I immediately looked down at the ground. “No,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, NO!”

“Enough with the lies!”

“I’m not lying! You are!”

The detective opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it and sat down instead. “The evidence doesn’t lie, Y/n,” she said.

“Look,” I said. “If you want someone to put in jail, put me in jail. Taehyung’s gone through enough in his life. Please don’t put him through this.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and I put my hands over my face and began to sob. Detective Kwak stood up and came around to my side of the table before placing a hand on my shoulder. Once my sobs began to cease, she offered me a tissue. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “Thanks,” I muttered.

“Listen,” she said gently. “I’ve made arrangements for your aunt to come pick you up.”

I looked up at the detective in surprise. “My aunt?”

“Yes. Your mom’s sister. She’s filed to gain custody of you, and in light of recent events, a judge granted it to her.”

“Wait, my mom’s sister? I thought she lived in America.”

Detective Kwak’s mouth visibly tightened. “No, actually, she lives in Busan. Seems your mom kept that from you as well. Your aunt’s been trying to get in contact with you, Y/n. She says she sent letters.”

I stared at the wall across from me. Every limb, every nerve ending, every cell in my body was starting to go numb. It was all too much. My boyfriend was a murderer, my mom’s ex-boyfriend was dead, Taehyung’s dad was missing, and now all of a sudden I had a long-lost aunt who was now my sole guardian?”

“She’s very well off,” the detective continued. “She’s even offered to pay for your mom to get treatment in a rehabilitation facility. Whatever future you have with her is sure to be a bright one.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so. I’ve met her, only briefly, but she seems very nice.”

I let the silence grow between us, not bothering to give a response. The detective finally sighed and sat back down in her chair across from me. “Y/n, Taehyung is going to jail for a very long time. Maybe even for the rest of his life. I suggest you move on with your life. Move to Busan. You’ll attend a great school there, and probably university as well. You can start down an entirely new path.”

The memory of Taehyung’s handsome face swam before my eyes, his bright, boxy smile lighting my insides on fire the way it had for the past year and a half. “What if I don’t want to?” I whispered.

“Well… That’s up to you. But the sooner you move on, the sooner you’ll stop feeling this pain.”

Detective Kwak stood up, motioning for me to stand up as well. “Come on. Your aunt’s waiting.”

We exited the interrogation room, the skin on my face itchy and dry from crying. I knew I probably looked like a mess, but I didn’t care.

“Y/n!” a deep, familiar voice shouted. I froze in my tracks, slowly raising my eyes to his inky ones. He struggled in the grip of two cops, his hands handcuffed behind his back.

“Hey baby girl,” he said, smirking. “Nice of you to come visit me.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Detective Kwak hissed.

“You said to move him into the interrogation room.”

“While it’s still occupied?!”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung quipped. “We can share, right baby?”

“Get him out of here!” Detective Kwak snapped. “Now!”

The cops shoved Taehyung towards the interrogation room. I turned to look at him, desperation clenching at my heart. I realized this might be the last time I saw him, the last time I would get to tell him something. Anything. My mouth opened but no words came out.

“Don’t worry, baby girl!” Taehyung shouted, lurching towards me. “I’ll get out someday! And I’ll come for you! I will always come for you!”

I shook my head and felt tears prick at my eyes once more as the police wrestled with him. “I love you, Y/n!” he shouted just before they shut the door on him.

“Sorry about that,” Detective Kim said, holding a hand to her heaving chest. “You weren’t supposed to cross paths.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured, and to my own surprise, I meant it. I was glad I saw him one last time. I realized, in that moment, that the blue-haired boy I once knew and fell in love with was completely gone. His eyes, which once held a spark of playfulness and mischief, now held nothing but misery and woe. He let his anger for the world overtake him, allowing it to blaze a path of self-destruction that I could no longer follow.

Maybe the detective was right. Despite the fact that Kim Taehyung was the love of my life, maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Part One is HEEEEEEERE! 😉

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imperial-martian · 5 years ago

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Standing Tall {Atticus Finch x Reader}

A/N: so, I hadn’t realized Atticus didn’t go to high school when I was writing this. After I wrote this I passed the part in the book. Mind you, I had watched the movie first. Also, keep in mind, this is my first time ever writing for Atticus. If you want me to write more, than I can turn this account into a multi-fandom blog.

Teen! Atticus x Teen! Reader

Angst/Fluff

(High School AU, Bullying, Third Person Point of View)

•—•

The young h/c haired, e/c eyed girl knew from the moment she woke up that morning that it was going to be an awful day. Mondays were always awful, as well as Tuesday and the rest of the week until finally, the weekend came around.

Golden hues of the sunlights rays shined in through her white curtains, lighting up her bed and allowing for the covers to become warmer than the temperature they had been throughout the night. Knowing that it was time to get up and head off to school, Y/N pushed her covers aside and swung around to sit on the edge of her bed.

She rubbed at her eyelids, blinking a few once she removed her knuckles before she pushed herself up from the bed and made her way towards her wardrobe. Pulling open the uncared wooden drawer, hearing the awful scraping sounds that over time would begin to wear out the wood, she pushed aside some clothes before finding her uniform.

The jumper was a grey, blue, and stripes of gold patterned to look like some sort of checkers board, underneath was a sky blue button-up and black tie, and over the top of both of those was a black sweater vest. Her shoes were an unpolished leather black loafers that slipped over the top of knee-high navy stockings.

Y/N hated the uniform, but she's dealt with it for twelve years, and with two more years left to go for high school it was bearable. She wasn't ready for the morning yet, still managing to brush her teeth, brush her hair and wrap it into a neat ponytail before making her way to the kitchen where she was greeted with her parents.

Her father was reading the newspaper, already dressed in his formal suit. Her mother was in a yellow sundress by the stove, cooking them all breakfast while Zala, the maid, set the table.

"Good morning mother," she greeted with a kiss on her cheek. Then she moved over to her father, kissing him on the cheek as well. "Hello father, a new case today?" she asked, nodding to the briefcase on the floor beside him.

Her father looked up from over the newspaper, his f/e/c eyes gazing over to his daughter before he snapped the newspaper shut and nodded, a small smile resting on his face.

"Indeed, Y/N, unfortunately, I can't bring you to school because of said case. I have to head to the court early," he explained, giving her a sympathetic smile before glancing at his pocket watch. "Which reminds me, I should be heading out now," he said, standing and fixing his blazer before grabbing his case and leaving the papers discarded on the table.

"You do well at school, won't you? Be careful on your walk there," Y/N's father chided before standing after he received a nod

Her father walked towards Y/N before kissing the top of her head and patting her shoulder, then moved towards her mother whom to which he gave a small kiss to before waving goodbye to Zala and taking his leave.

Y/N watched her father leave before turning to Zala to finally say good morning.

"I'm sorry to ask mother, but since father can't bring me to school is it all right if I head out early today?" she asked, already readying her backpack as she spoke.

Her mother turned to look at her from over her shoulder. "That's fine by me dear, but here," she said, grabbing some toast and an apple, "take this with you and eat it on your way there."

Y/N nodded her head, giving her mom a wide, thankful smile before grabbing the apple and toast. "Thank you mother, goodbye, and have a nice day. You too Zala, I'll see you after school."

Zala smiled towards her and nodded, "you behave Miss L/N," she teased before walking her towards the door. "Guess I'll only be setting the table for two this morning," she said, holding the door open for Y/N.

Y/N laughed softly before heading out and waving back to Zala before beginning her dreadful walk to school. It was interesting to see how quickly her mood had changed as soon as the thought of school had entered her head. It was unfortunate, especially since Y/N loved going to school. She loved to learn. However, there were people there that she simply could not push aside. She couldn't stand up for herself. There were too many.

The girl had been unaware of the young, yet still older, boy walking behind her. Atticus Finch, a young, bright man on his third year of high school, was trailing behind Y/N in a sky blue button-up, navy tie, and black dress pants. He wore a black belt that matched his leather shoes which were polished till they were spotless. His dark brown, almost black, hair was parted perfectly and the matching colored eyes were hidden behind circular glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose.

Usually, a book would be resting in his hands that allowed his brown eyes to travel every word, picking apart each sentence with little care as to what or who was around him. However, today was different. Atticus was without a book, his hands even shoved into his pockets, and his brown eyes were scanning his surroundings rather than words on paper.

Atticus has been walking at a decent pace when Y/N had begun to walk in front of him. He had decided to pick it up a little till he caught up to her so that they walked side by side.

"Morning Y/N," Atticus greeted, startling her slightly, not because she didn't know somebody was standing beside her, but because she didn't know it was Atticus standing beside her.

She swallowed, eventually attempting to speak. "Atticus!" she exclaimed. "Good morning," she continued in a much more silent, shallow tone.

Atticus had only turned his head to look at the girl, giving her a soft smile as they walked side by side. Y/N's hands couldn't stop themselves from going up to the straps of her backpack and gripping onto them until her knuckles were white. She was terribly nervous, looking around as if she was looking for somebody.

"Hey Atticus?" she questioned, gaining his attention. "Where is your sister?"

"She has left early to walk with Maudie. She had said something about wanting to study for a test, however, it was clear as day that she was lying," Atticus chuckled, shaking his head a little.

Y/N frowned. "Ah, I see," she mumbled before turning her head to look off towards the houses that aligned the street.

Atticus, although noticing the sudden frown on the girl's face, said nothing, only continuing to silently walk beside her. He did, however, reach out a hand towards her, lightly placing his fingers against her arm in order to console her for whatever negative thought made her so sad.

Y/N's head snapped to the side, glancing down at the soft brush of fingers on her arms before she looked back up to Atticus' chocolate brown eyes. Her h/c eyes were filled with fear, not because she was afraid of Atticus himself, but God forbid Alexandra caught sight of this, her hell of a day at school would be as if she was burning in fire- like a slow and painful death.

Atticus has since removed his hand from her arm, placing it back into his pocket. "I didn't mean any harm by the action. I only wanted to offer some reassurance," the boy explained when he recognized that the girl was still in some deep thought.

Y/N blinked. "Oh no, Atticus, I-" she broke off, frustrated with herself for causing Atticus to think that he had made her uncomfortable. She stopped speaking after that, only because their school had come into view and the fright that she had felt just moments ago covered up the frustration she felt.

The bell went off the minute that they had stepped into the schoolyard, and quickly students began to disperse and head off to different classes.

"Hopefully I'll see you again before the day ends, Y/N. I wish you luck in all your classes," Atticus stated, offering Y/N one last smile before he headed in the direction of his class, just barely hearing the murmured 'you too,' that was returned.

The young girl knew it was best for her to head to class, and yet she was far too hesitant to take a step towards the direction she had to go. It didn't help when she caught the eyes of Maudie and Alexandra from the class windows.

Quickly, she averted her gaze, making her way into the school and walking the halls until she arrived at her class, only to be blocked off by the two girls she had caught the eyes of moments ago.

For a moment, she thought that the girls would shove her back in order for them to intimidate her, but when a hand reached out and grabbed at her collar the poor girl began to shake like a leaf.

"Why don't you tell us what you were doing with Atticus this morning, Y/N?" Alexandra, the one who grabbed at her, questioned while Maudie stood beside her to keep an eye out for the teacher.

Y/N didn't say a word. She never did when she was shoved around and questioned by these two, but this was different. Today she was trapped in Alexandra's grip. When her hand tightened a little, her knuckles digging into the skin of Y/N's neck, she gritted her teeth.

"What were you doing with my brother? I won't ask again you good for nothing twat," Alexandra demanded, her eyes searing with rage.

Y/N closed her eyes. "I wasn't doing anything with him. We walked to school near each other. That's all!" she exclaimed defensively, trying to assure Alexandra that she wasn't trying to do any harm.

"What did he say to you before he walked off to class then?"

"He wished me a good day," Y/N explained.

Just as Alexandra was about to speak again Maudie tapped at her urgently. "Mrs. Wooder is coming!" she warned.

Alexandra let go, taking a step back into the classroom where all the other students were huddled in their own cliques. She smiled, a sinister smile, towards Y/N before moving to take her seat.

Maudie brushed past Y/N, purposefully knocking at the girl in the doorway before taking her own seat. Y/N did the same.

Mrs. Wooder entered the classroom, slamming a heavy book against her desk like always to gain the attention of all the students. "Everybody take your seat," she said in a low, threatening tone. Everyone listened.

The class started soon after.

When lunch and recess finally came, Y/N had already endured her berating of words from Maudie, Alexandra, and their little followers. Each day seemed to be worst than the last, and today was no exception. Actually, it seemed far worse than she had thought it was originally going to be.

Their words were no longer solely aimed towards her, but family and others she cared deeply for, such as Zala. It was disgusting what she was told. It was times like these where the young girl hated herself. It was only ever times like these that she felt that way.

During lunch, Y/N did her best to sit as far away from the little group that constantly berated her. Of course, it wasn't far enough. Somebody realized and urged everybody else to join in and bother her.

Y/N said nothing. She sat there silently, enjoying the packed lunch that her mother had made while insults, threats, and other disgusting words were thrown at her.

It wasn't until she felt a hard kick to her side, one so hard that it must have left her rib bruised, that she finally acknowledged them. After a short coughing fit due to the impact, she stood, instantly getting pushed back into the wall she was leaning against.

For a moment, Y/N did nothing at all. She simply looked up at the girl who had pushed her. Maudie stood there, a grin on her face.

Y/N clenched her teeth and jaw, her hands clenching into first and crinkling the paper bag that was in her hand. She couldn't stop herself when she lurched forward and pushed back at Maudie. She did it with so much force that Maudie fell to the ground.

Y/N didn't pay attention to the damage she had done, just taking advantage of the shock of the group before sprinting inside after tossing the lunch out. She quickly made her way to class, waiting there with a few other students until the bell went off again.

She had no idea what damage she had done to Maudie, nor did she want to. She was already shaking so much in fear, she didn't want to know what would happen when Alexandra came back in. It was clear that she would be taught a lesson and not one by the teacher.

Thankfully, her next class was with none of the girls she feared at the moment, and for once she hoped that this class would end up lasting hours if it meant she could avoid them. Unfortunately, the class did not last long, actually feeling as though time went by faster than usual.

The final bell went off, and as students began to file out, Y/N took her time in packing up. When she could no longer stall anymore, she hesitantly made her way out of the class, looking around. To no one's surprise, Alexandra and the others stood before her.

Without even allowing Y/N to blink, the palm of somebody's hand met her cheek. The sound echoed down the halls.

"You twat," Alexandra spit out at her. "Your little stunt sent Maudie to the nurse. She's got a bruised back 'cause of you."

Alexandra has prepared to slap her again, winding her hand back. Y/N closed her eyes, tensing as she waited for the impact.

"That's enough Alexandra!" a deep voice called out from, what seemed to be like, the end of the hall. "You lay a hand on Y/N and I will have to report you to the head office, as well as mother and father. Blood or not I will not allow you to lay a hand on somebody, especially one that does not deserve it."

Y/N opened her eyes, tilting her head a bit to see that the one who had stopped Alexandra was Atticus. She felt the grip on her drop. Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped back.

Alexandra didn't say a word, shocked that her own brother had caught what she had done.

Atticus stepped forward again, standing in front of Y/N to shield her from the crowd. "I shall see you at home, for now, I'll be walking Y/N back to her house. I expect not a word from anybody. If anyone dares to touch her again, I may not let you all off with a simple warning next time," Atticus explained to everyone before looking at his sister once more. "You and I shall have a word when I get home."

Without another word, or waiting for a response from anybody else, Atticus took hold of Y/N's hand and began to walk out of the school. Y/N could tell that although Atticus was angry, he didn't dare show to what extent. He never let his anger show or take over his actions. He was always true to himself and acted accordingly to the situation presented to him. He was never out of line.

"Thank you," Y/N whispered to him meekly, walking beside him with her head down.

Atticus looked over towards her, taking a moment to access her. He gently grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her so that she faced him. He examined the bright red handprint across her cheek, the small purple bruises on her neck from Alexandra's knuckles, and the hand that Y/N placed over her side.

"I'll have to check you over when we get to your house. Your rib may be damaged worse than we think. I only want to make sure you don't need to visit any doctors," Atticus explained. "I'll explain to your mother what had happened, it's only right that I take the blame for my sister's actions. God knows how long she has been doing this to you," Atticus continued, shaking his head in disappointment.

Y/N felt tears in her eyes due to how grateful she felt. Not once did Atticus ask her why she never told him what was happening, or why she continued to let it happen. He just understood. He could question her all the way to her house with questions, and yet he only focused on his main priorities; tending to her wounds and explaining what's happened to her parents.

The walk was dreadful for Atticus, not because of the silence that filled the air, but because of the noises that did. No matter how quiet you tried to be, he could hear her small winces whenever she took a step that was just a little bit of a stretch.

He wondered what the emotional damage that Y/N had taken on was like, but again, he never asked. He could ask his sister for questions like that.

Once they finally arrived back to Y/N's house, Atticus walked up to the door and knocked on it. He shifted his arm a little, both his backpack and Y/N's- that he took when they first began walking -adjusting so that they wouldn't slide off his shoulder.

The door was opened by Zala who instantly could tell that something wasn't right.

"Mr. Finch?" she questioned, tilting her head.

Atticus offered the best smile he could, which was barely one at all. "Hello Zala, may I ask that you assist Y/N to her room, please? If you could also direct me to the first aid?" Atticus asked gently, trying to be as kind as he could even though he wanted to rush everything.

Zala, although confused, and now worried, nodded. "Of course," she nodded, taking Y/N's hand and walking up the stairs. Atticus entered behind them, wiping off his shoes and placing the backpacks by the door.

"Mr. and Mrs. L/N?" Atticus asked, peeking his head into the kitchen where he spotted Y/N's parents sitting at the table.

Their heads turned to look at the door. Mrs. L/N was the first on her feet, walking towards the young boy. "Atticus, what brings you here?" she asked, giving him a sweet smile.

"That's what I'd like to discuss," he explained, entering farther into the room. He took a deep breath as Y/N's parents shared a glance with one another, concern being the most present feature on their faces. A moment later Atticus began to explain everything.

He had finished doing that after a few minutes, excusing himself so that he could go and tend to Y/N while her parents spoke to one another about the situation, giving the two their space before they would go to speak with their daughter.

Atticus made his way upstairs, knocking on Y/N's door once he arrived. A small, 'enter,' was murmured from the other side of the door. He gently pushed the door in, walking into the room and noticing that Zala was applying a little ointment on Y/N's cheek.

She finished within the next minute and made her way towards the door, giving Atticus a small thanks for being so thoughtful as to make sure Y/N was taken care of and to even explain to her parents what had happened. Atticus only returned the thanks with a smile and nod before walking towards Y/N.

"May I sit beside you?" Atticus asked, doing so when she nodded. He let out a little sigh, turning so that he could look at her. He didn't say another word, simply observing as Y/N looked down at the floor before finally she met his gaze.

"Thank you, again. You didn't need to do this for me," Y/N said sincerely.

Atticus chuckled gently, shaking his head a little. "Of course I did. I couldn't watch somebody be beaten by my own blood, especially not somebody I deeply care for," Atticus replied, giving her a sincere smile.

Y/N struggled to speak for a moment, not able to find the right words. After a few minutes of silence she finally built up the courage to ask, "Atticus, how deeply do you care for me?"

Atticus took a moment to think, leaning his hands against the mattress a little as he thought of an answer to those questions. He'd only been able to come to one conclusion, and it was one that he had known for a while but wouldn't admit to. Not until now.

He couldn't seem to express his care for her in words but decided to resort to actions. Atticus gently took Y/N's face in his hands, being mindful of her cheek. He tilted her head up towards him, allowing his thumb to gently stroke her skin before he closed his eyes and connected their lips in such a soft and tender kiss that would end up leading to many more for years to come.

#atticus finch #atticus #finch #atticus finch x reader #to kill a mockingbird #to kill a mockingbird book #to kill a mockingbird movie #x reader #atticus x reader #high school au

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until-we-fall-in-love · 5 years ago

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barba à papa

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The sky behind him is sherbert orange, melted dreamsicle, and the tang of lemon as the sun glides lazily beneath the horizon of Brooklyn. Blue moon, soft and overarching, begins to bloom in the sky as you keep kissing him on your front step.

Snapshots of your life growing up alongside Bucky Barnes in the 1930s and 40s.

Warnings: Light violence (like a fist fight), light smut towards the end, angst.

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello everyone!! this is for @cametobuyplums 2k writing challenge!! congrats!! i adore your writing!! and for this, my prompt was “barba à papa” which means cotton candy in French! i believe i’m put down on her post as my main blog @maria-beee but i post all my fics to this side blog! i had a lot of fun with this even though it became a little angstier than intended! please let me know what you think! thanks for reading :)

Read on Ao3

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You’re five when you tear your favorite, cotton candy pink dress on your walk home from school, skidding your knees until dark blood blooms on the edges of the pink fabric like flowers opening against a rosy sky. You start crying, big, hiccuping tears because you know your mama will be real angry about the tear. Your knees hurt, too, and there are pebbles in the palms of your small hands. But it's your favorite dress and you know you probably won’t get another.

Bucky’s there, though, the neighbor boy who's two years older than you and walks you to and from the schoolhouse with his friend, Stevie. He’s only seven, but he’s got three younger sisters so he knows exactly how to ease you back up onto your wobbling feet. “You’re okay!” He quickly starts to say, “It’s okay, it’s just a scratch!” And he tries to smooth out your dress, brush off your little palms. Small, clumsy hands push your hair away from your tear-damp cheeks, the way he sees his own mom do with his baby sisters when they take a fall. Your nose is running, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s my favorite dress,” You cry, taking shuddering breaths as your little fists latch onto the sleeves of his patched-up shirt. “My mama’s gonna be so mad,” You gasp, more worried about her than the blood that races down your shins in crimson ribbons.

“Stevie, you got something I can wipe her knees with?” Bucky asks over his shoulder before he turns back to you and he tries to wipe your tears again, little fingers rough and stumbling but you don’t care. “I’m sure your mama can fix it. Or mine or Stevie’s could, too.” He tries to comfort you as Steve rummages through his little, blue backpack.

He pulls out a crumpled napkin and hands it over to Bucky, who quickly, messily tries to wipe away the blood. Fix the damage done. You sniffle at him, cheeks blotchy and pink.

“C’mon,” Bucky says, taking your little hand in his, “We’ll get you home.”

And he takes you home, trying to cheer you up the entire way until you laugh through tears.

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

You’re nine when you and Steve pick a fight with a twelve year old boy that’s been picking on some of the younger kids on the schoolyard. It ain’t right, you and Steve agree, just before following him right into trouble. But it doesn’t last long because the boy catches Steve in a hit to his jaw that sends his small, frail body to the ground in a heap.

Your mouth pops open, worry tracing your features before anger flickers through you, bright and quick, for this bully. You watch Steve take in a few ragged, rattling breaths and you move towards him, but don’t get far.

You get shoved by the older boy, right onto the hard cement before his greedy, chubby fingers yank the cotton candy, softly pink ribbon right from your hair just to be mean. You yelp, clawing at his hand as it’s swiped away.

It’s Bucky that steals it back, growing a little lanky at eleven, but lighter on his feet than this bully. He scarcely dodges a sloppy punch from the other boy before taking his own shot, knuckles splitting across the bully’s mouth.

And the bully starts crying and screaming real loud, all blubbering and wailing when he touches his fingers to his lips and they come way with blood. He runs to tell a teacher.

“Jeeze, what the hell did you two get yourself into?”

He’s been saying hell and damn lately to sound grown up but you got scolded by your ma when you tried it. She said it was no way for young ladies to speak.

Bucky hoists you up, looking over you, making sure you’re okay. He pushes your hair from your face, sees no injury before crouching beside Steve.

“You okay, pal?” Bucky asks and you drop to your knees beside him, gravel biting into the soft skin there.

“Stevie?” You ask, laying a hand on his back.

Steve turns his face to the both of you, shows you the fat, bloody lip that’s begun to run red down his chin. He smiles all shaky and crooked, “Never been better, Buck.”

“Oh Christ, Steve.” Bucky swears again and shifts to try and help him up. You stand, sliding one of Steve’s thin arms around your shoulders to help lift him. Bucky supports his other side; Steve looks dazed and wobbly, like a newborn lamb taking shaky steps.

You pick your head up, blowing hair from your eyes just as you see a teacher marching out to the three of you, looking sour and angry. You gulp. Oh, you’re in real trouble now.

Which is how the three of you end up in the principal’s office, knees knocking against each other as you sit and wait. Steve’s got an ice pack to his mouth but there’s blood on his blue shirt.

You know you’ll all at least get detentions for this. Maybe worse. Bucky will probably get the worst punishment, despite deserving it the least. Guilt gnaws at you, settles into the pit of your stomach alongside the worry you feel for when your mama finds out what you’ve done.

But Bucky nudges you with an elbow and you glance over at him, watch as he uncurls his fist to reveal your ribbon, rumpled and delicate looking in his hand. You’d almost forgotten about it and you can’t help the soft smile that touches your lips, wobbly because you think Bucky’s a little too good after all the trouble you’ve caused him now.

Gently, you slide it from his hand and into yours, your fingers brushing his palm. “Thank you, Bucky,” You murmur, looking at him with wide, sweet eyes.

Bucky smiles back, boyish and crooked and young. “‘Course,” He says back, as if he’d do anything for you.

Looking at him, you think he just might.

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

You’re twelve and being forced to grow up too quickly, caught somewhere between being a young woman and clinging to girlhood. Everyone is treating you differently, looking at you differently, too. Steve doesn’t. But he’s been getting sick lately, bedridden and fragile looking, swearing to you that he’s alright.

You know he isn’t, but you tell him of course you are, anyways.

Bucky doesn’t treat you much differently, but there is a strange shift.

You clamber out onto his fire escape with him as the evening dips into night, the last rays of the sun falling over all of Brooklyn in gentle gold and dainty, cotton-candy pink and blue, all swirling into the lullaby violet of an oncoming night sky. The city doesn’t sleep, the world below you full of life; people shouting, distant jazz music that slides through the streets, kids playing in the alley below as they try to drink up the last of the day, and the tired, working people who drag their feet home with crooked arches in their backs.

The wind lifts your hair from your shoulders, tickles your collar bones.

Bucky pulls out a cigarette- all the boys his age are smoking them- lights it with a little spark and takes a slow drag.

He’s got too much weighing on his shoulders, the small Atlas that he is. Three sisters to worry about, a single mother, trying to nurse Steve back to health, and you know it’s hard times because the adults always say it. You know he worries and fusses. But he’s just a boy still, not quite a man to you, yet.

He likes to be quiet with you sometimes, his shoulder brushing yours as the sun falls over him, eyes alight and soft and contemplative.

But tonight, he says, pulling the cigarette from his lips, “You know, my ma thinks we’re gonna get married. Mrs. Rogers does,too.”

This isn’t new to you; your own parents tease you about Bucky. They have since you were small, always attached to him, clinging to the sleeves of his shirt. But for some reason, this time it makes you flush. There’s a shift in the way he looks at you, a little softer, differently. Something inside of you unfurls slow and tentatively. You can’t name it but it makes you warm and vulnerable.

“Yeah,” You exhale, “My parents think so, too.”

He doesn’t quite respond; there’s no more whines of ew, no way! Girls are gross! Boys have cooties! That used to cloud your childhood. Now it’s just you and him and the words that settle between you like a chaperoning third.

When he doesn’t respond at all, you reach over and pluck the cigarette from his fingers. His eyebrow quirks upward, “What are you--”

And you try and take a drag, just the way he always does. But you’re not expecting the way it burns and unfurls down your throat. You choke, sputter, then begin coughing as if you’re trying to get rid of your own lung.

Bucky laughs, taking the cigarette back and you try and hit his shoulder but your eyes are watering, still coughing. You have no idea how he can smoke that--

But he puts his hand, growing and soft, on your back, rubbing in gentle circles until you can settle down. He teases you about it until the candy colored sky gives way to the blue of the night, until all that’s heard on the streets is the slow, faint crooning of jazz and the occasional car petering past on the streets below.

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

You’re fifteen and wide-eyed about the growing world ahead of you, curious and a little too innocent. You haven’t quite grown into yourself yet, awkward and fussing about things you never used to.

Bucky and Steve have started to call you doll and dame and baby. They get all protective when other boys look at you now. Steve’s started fights over it, gotten black eyes and broken noses because he guards you a little too closely. Bucky’s started to bring girls around; you take to them well enough. You like to tell them embarrassing stories from when Bucky was young, they laugh and indulge you. One did your makeup once.

You know they’re kind of his girlfriends because Stevie tells you. Or complains to you about it.

But you still find yourself asking Bucky one night, both of you sitting too close on his old fire escape, “Have you ever kissed anyone, Bucky?”

And he barks out a slight, surprised laugh. Your cheeks turn pink. He answers, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ve kissed someone before.” And he cocks his head, looking a little older, nearly a man, as he studies you a moment. And then he asks, “Have you?”

You shake your head, quick, “No!” And your cheeks warm further, burning up. You become sheepish, “Should I have?”

Bucky bites his lip to keep from smiling at how flustered you’ve gotten, but he shrugs lightly. “If you want to, I guess.”

“Has Stevie?” You press, tentative but too curious.

Bucky eyes you again, but he nods, “Yeah, Stevie has, too.”

“As many as you?”

He laughs again, full and warm and curling around you in a way that makes your heart stutters.

“No,” He shakes his head, “Not as many as me.”

He looks at you then, blue eyes glittering, one corner of his lips hitched up into the smile you’re so familiar with. He looks handsome, you realize, and you suddenly understand why the other girls coo and gush over him. You think about the girls he brings around, the way he holds their hands or puts his arm around their shoulders. You’re sure he kisses them and you--

You want him to treat you that way, too.

And before you can think, you ask, “Would you kiss me?”

His brows shoot up, lips parting slightly, “I--” He shakes his head, “No, I can’t.” He tells you and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, your eyes suddenly swimming, heat welling up uncomfortably to prickle at your ears and neck. Why would you ask that? You mourn, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your blouse.

Have you ruined everything?

“Sorry,” You mutter, move to stand in a jerky, sharp movement. You want to leave, you want to leave and bury your face in your pillow and scream and cry and never see his face again.

But Bucky snags your small wrist, catches you quick, “Hey,” He hushes, “Slow down.” And he tugs at you, until you give way and sink down onto your knees in front of him. You’re almost in his lap, too close, and you can feel him looking at you. But you’ve averted your eyes, turned your face from him and the delicate rays of sun. You’ve never felt so strange being so near to him until now.

“It’s okay, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I was being stupid--”

“You’re too young, is all.”

Your eyes snap back to his, brows furrowing, “I’m only two years younger than you.” You protest.

“I know,” He says, calmer than you feel, his hand, grown so big, still wrapped around your wrist. Your pulse flutters, hummingbird wings beating beneath the rough skin of his palm. But he shakes his head again slightly, “But you’re still-- you’re little to me.”

You swallow, look away from him again, unable to face him this near. You feel young, you realize, inexperienced and unsure with a boy two years older than you. You feel mold-able and thin, cotton-candy heart and sugar-crushed feelings that are too easy to bend and shape and melt. The eagerness to impress him is caught in your chest and it’s always been there but now it’s different. Changed. Like you, like him. Sticky sweet with a touch of desire. Longing.

He takes your chin between his fingers with his free hand, urges you to look at him. “It’s not you.” He promises, soft and reverent. You believe him. And he gives you a slight smile now, tipping your chin up, “Just grow a little and then I’ll kiss you, if it’s still what you want.”

And he lets you go, lets you grow up untouched and seeking.

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

True to his word, Bucky kisses you on the eve of your twenty-second birthday in the soft dark of your living room once everyone has left.

He swears you taste like pink vanilla, cotton candy girl, the sweet warmth of your lips as he lays you out on the couch beneath him. You tremble soft and cling to him, small hands latching onto his patched up shirt, and he’s delicate and undeserving.

It doesn’t feel like a sin when he moves down the line of your body, lips gentle and warm. He parts your legs, kisses soft against the skin of your hips, his hands now large and rough cradle your thighs. He settles between your legs as if he belongs there.

You gasp, squirm, bury your fingers in his dark hair to try and ground yourself. You open for him, timid and with fluttering lashes as the warmth of his mouth touches your center.

You jolt at the heat and a broken cry falls from your lips, hips arching and he tightens his hold on you, hushing you soft. “Relax,” He coos, rubbing his cheek against the sensitive, soft part of your inner thigh. His eyes find yours in the darkness, lower his lips down to where you need him most and you exhale shakily.

He takes you apart slowly, as if you have eternity to lay with your body bared to him and the sweet darkness. And after you’ve fallen apart for him, reached a peak and tumbled over with a delicate cry, he’d crawled back up your body and greedily, eagerly, you’d kissed and twined around him. Tasted yourself on his lips, foreign and strange but warming you from the inside out.

You squirm, try to push your hips up into his, desperate for something you’ve never experienced. But he tells you, low and soft against your cheek, “Slow down, sugar.” And stills your hips with a broad palm.

He kisses you leisurely, soothes you until all he does is hold you, determined to keep you by his heart, to take his time with you. There is a lot that Bucky has rushed, but you are not one he wants to add to that list. He isn’t quite sure he’s man enough, yet, isn’t sure he deserves you but all he does know is that he feels like he's holding the world with you in his arms. As if the sun rose and fell inside of him when he holds you.

Fearful of losing you, of losing whatever it is that glimmers and burns between you two, that night is not mentioned again.

You continue as friends, scared to push at each other, to drastically change all that you have and know.

Regardless, nights like those happen again, few and far between, you both regard them as sacred and secret. Keep them bottled to your chest, precious and soft in their memories even as time goes on.

——————————————

Bucky is twenty-six and you are twenty-four when he receives the fateful, damning letter that requests his life for his country.

“I’m comin’ with you.” Steve declares and your heart has dropped like a stone, down, heavy and hard into the pit of your stomach.

“C’mon Stevie, you can’t leave me, too.” You try to joke but it comes out flat and wobbly.

Steve swallows, looks away, some of that fury in his blue eyes dim.

Bucky looks older, you realize, like a man who's lived a life with a little too much weight on his shoulders, the Atlas that he is. He is quiet, holding the letter that wavers in his hand, paper soft and thin, like the wispy, cotton candy clouds outside his window. Morning pushes forward. Time pushes forward. The world keeps turning even if you feel yours has stopped.

He has two weeks until he gets his orders. Once you’d felt you’d have a lifetime with Bucky now becomes two weeks.

He promises you the best summer for what he has left; just like when you were kids.

———————————

On a sticky hot, hazy sort of day Bucky demands you and Steve go to Coney Island with him. There’s little you’ll deny him, and though Steve protests about it, he still tags along anyways.

Steve throws up on the Cyclone not long into the day, though, face woozy and Bucky laughs when he shouldn’t as you both try and hold him up afterwards. You get him water and coo over him, playfully scolding Bucky who can’t get a sincere apology out without laughing like a schoolboy.

“You’re a jerk, Buck.” Steve whines pitifully, cheeks flushed as he dry heaves into a small bag you’d found him after the ride. You rub his back, brush his blond hair from his face.

Bucky looks at you over Steve’s shoulder, and you add, “He’s right.” But there’s a slight twist to your lips.

“I’m sorry, pal, how was I supposed to know you’d hurl on it?” Bucky asks but he’s still smiling and Steve’s not really mad. You feel like a kid again, stuck to your two best friends, except Bucky looks at you differently now.

After Steve has kept cool water down, you continue walking around, letting the sun fall onto your skin, warming you from the outside in. Bucky’s been dropping his arm over your shoulders, sliding his hand to the small of your back as you walk, ducking his head by your ear the way he does on the nights neither of you talk about.

You don’t care, even if you should; Steve’s looking at you two a little strangely, perhaps wondering when your relationship shifted. And in truth, its happened so gradually and so simply that you aren’t quite sure, either.

Bucky buys you cotton candy, the soft sugar that melts the moment it hits your tongue. It’s sticky and sweet around your lips, especially later, when Steve’s gone home and Bucky walks you home, kisses you goodnight on your doorstep.

He cradles your cheek, tongue gliding along your bottom lip, tasting sweetness and candy. The sky behind him is sherbert orange, melted dreamsicle, and the tang of lemon as the sun glides lazily beneath the horizon of Brooklyn. Blue moon, soft and overarching, begins to bloom in the sky as you keep kissing him on your front step. You want to go fast and hard, desperate and needy but he forces you slow with his lips, the gentle demand making you syrupy and gooey beneath his palms.

When he breaks away, he kisses your cheek, innocent and boyish before pulling away from you. You want to invite him in, but he steps away, respectful and gentlemanly.

Some nights you wished he treated you like he treats other girls, kissing them hard, quick, messy. But not you, never you.

“Goodnight, doll.” He says with a smile that makes your heart ache.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” You say, a little breathless, watch as he walks away, whistling a gentle tune to himself with the last rays of light bathing him in gold.

It sounds familiar, like the jazz that slipped through the city streets when you were young and tucked away on his fire escape.

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

The last night that Bucky is in Brooklyn, he goes out with Steve, tries to wrangle him on a date for the final time. It’s bittersweet as he tries to pretend this is only one more normal day in his life. He promises to see you after, so you doze on the couch, in and out of a too-light sleep. All you can think about is seeing Bucky off tomorrow.

You don’t hear him enter, only his hand on your shoulder, urging you awake, “Wake up, doll, it’s me.” And you blink up at him. He’s in his uniform still, hat crooked atop his head and you take him in. The man he’s become from the boy you once knew.

You sit up, “You and Steve have fun?” You ask, rubbing at your eyes.

“Stevie took off early. I danced a little, but I wanted to see you.” He says, brushing your hair from your face, tender and soft.

You only have a moment to lean into his touch before he straightens up, moves to the record player in the connected kitchen. You hear him rustle around, find the right track before honey-slow jazz seeps out and fills your apartment.

“I still want to dance. Will you dance with me, sweetheart?” He asks, taking his hat off and tossing it onto a kitchen counter. There’s little you deny him, so you find yourself stepping into his arms.

There is no coyness tonight, you press yourself up against him, fit your body to his as he holds you tight and sways. Your apartment is dim and small, pressing you closer together, as if you could be the only two in the world left. You lay your head to his chest, commit his heartbeat to memory.

One song dips into another, you’re still holding onto each other. Too tight, maybe, trying to keep out tomorrow and hold fiercely onto today.

You lift your head to look up at him, to study his face but the moment you do, he leans down to press his lips to yours. It’s gentle at first but something inside him pulls taut before breaking because between one moment and the next, you’re being lifted onto the kitchen counter and his lips have become more demanding.

You can’t help the gasp, can’t help the way you arch and squirm against him, desperate for him. How long have you been this desperate for him? Your hands disappear into his hair, tug and pull as if you could somehow get him closer.

“Remember how everyone always said we’d get married?” He asks against your mouth, warm and voice rough. His eyes are half-lidded, almost sleepy but burning, jaded blue.

Your heart nearly stops.

“Yeah,” You say cautiously, eyeing him, “What are you getting at, Bucky?”

His lips drop to your neck, they seal over a tender spot below your ear, make your back arch into him. You hook a calf over his waist, pull his hips snug to yours. He almost whines against your neck, ruts into you like a teenager, half-wild and tenderly desperate.

“Just that I wanna marry you, sweetheart.” He breathes and your heart does stop this time. You almost push him away, ask if he’s being serious, if he’s lost his mind but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Are you proposing?” You ask, pulling away so you can look at his face. His nose runs along the plain of your cheek.

“Not officially,” He murmurs, “But I--” He pauses, presses a kiss to your heated cheeks, “Would you wait for me, doll? If I asked you to?”

You exhale shaky, your fingers curling into his hair, into his uniform jacket. Would you? You bite your lip, watch his eyes trace the movement with contained heat. It burns you, makes you squirm. Would you?

“Yes,” You breathe before you can stop yourself but the answer is from somewhere deep and honest and base inside of you. It bubbles out before you can stop it. Has there ever been anyone else but him? Did you ever have any doubt? “Yes, Bucky, I’d wait for you if you asked.” You tell him softly, searching his face, eyes seeking and burning.

“Then that’s what I’m asking, honey,” He rumbles, voice low, full of promise just before he kisses you on your open mouth.

And there’s no preamble tonight, no soothing and slowing you, there’s nothing but the heavy reminder that tonight is your last night with him in a long, long time and the choiceless hope in what he’s just asked of you.

He gets your blouse half undone, let’s your breast spill from the tops of your cotton candy pink brassiere, which he takes one look at and groans into the hollow of your throat, as if you ruin him, as if you’ve wrecked him.

But then he’s gotten your skirt off, left it forgotten and misplaced on your kitchen floor. He pushes your panties to the side then, pulling you forward and easing into you as his lips move against yours. He burns and stretches sweet and perfectly--

It isn’t your first time but it feels a little like the last.

You mewl, kitten soft and broken, clinging to his broad shoulders. He holds you as if you’re precious, rolls his hips in a way that makes your head tip back. His nose skims the line of your neck, lips sealing there, leaving red bloomed bruises to be remembered by.

You won’t last long; as if the tether between the two of you has been made molten and warm from over the years, simmered with all your want and love of him . He fits in you perfectly.

And he tells you so, “Babydoll, you’re everything.” He gruffs, “My perfect girl, Christ-- you feel so good.” His fingers dig lavender bruises into your hips, and you feel fragile and breakable in the best way possible. Too vulnerable and split open by him, the soft, sugar-sweet part of your heart bared to him.

“I love you,” You half gasp as he sinks deeper.

A moan is pulled from the depths of him, broken and ragged. “Say it again, baby, please,” He begs, lips wet and warm and open against your cheek.

“Fuck,” You choke, “I love you-- I love you.”

It should take more than that, but it doesn’t, and the tension inside of you bursts outward in a flare of heat and desperation. You fall apart, body rippling, half-sobbing against Bucky’s shoulder.

He doesn’t last much longer, pulling out and spilling onto your thighs, sticky mess in the afterglow as he nuzzles and kisses and rubs strong hands over you. He kisses your cheek, nose running gently against your jaw.

And he gives you a smile, lopsided and sweet, “I swear I’ll marry ya when I get back.” He promises and it hurts to hear him say just as much as it soothes you.

You cup his face between your hands, pull him towards you to kiss hard and keep close. “Just come back to me, okay?” You breathe, pushing your forehead into his.

All he does is smile back boyish and crooked and young. You’re tugged back into your memories of him, growing up beside you, always looking out for you; the tender and delicate type of love that leaves you humming and open, unfurling beneath his gaze, cotton candy soft. You cannot remember when you started loving him this way, only that you can’t imagine ever not loving him now.

He tells you “‘Of course,” As if he’d do anything for you.

And looking at him, you think he just might.

#2000plumswritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction

164 notes · View notes

qobiin · 5 years ago

Text

when i fill them, they’ll shine forever | ch 1

pairing: todobakudeku (bakugou x midoriya x todoroki)

genre: fluff, angst | abo au, growing up au, canon-compliant

warnings: swearing, trans male character, mentioned instances of transphobia, coming out, gender dysphoria

word count: 3152

summary: Katsuki being an omega from birth changes a few things.

day four of @bnhaomegaverseweek (hoping my love will keep you up tonight)

chapter one of when i fill them, they’ll shine forever

“Wow, Kacchan, your quirk is so cool! I hope my quirk will be as awesome as yours!”

Katsuki keeps her gaze forward, a wide grin spread across her face as Deku allows her to lead. It’s not often that people let her lead, unfortunately. How she longs for the chance though! She would show everyone a thing or two about proper leadership. But she is an omega and none of the alphas at school would ever let her take control. No matter how capable she’s proven herself to be, no matter how much stronger and cooler her quirk is than anybody else’s.

Well, none of the alphas except for Deku. He always lets her.

Her alpha always lets her do what she wants. He has never held her back and has never Ordered her around. She has always been the one to take charge between them and he never gets mad at her for it. In fact, if she didn’t know any better, she would say that he wants her to be the one in charge.

She tightens her hold on the large net in her hands and strides forward confidently. “I’m sure it will be, Deku!”

Of course, neither of them know that they’ll be wrong, but they continue onward anyway, smiling as if nothing could ever disrupt the dreams they have built up around each other.

Katsuki has known Deku as long as she has known her own parents.

He’s been a constant in her life for as long as she remembers. Her mom likes showing off the multitude of photos of them in the bathtub when they were babies. Katsuki would probably find it embarrassing if she didn’t still take baths with Deku now. The collection only continues to grow to her dismay, but Katsuki doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t mind it. Not too much anyway. Deku is her mate and her alpha after all. He likes bathtime with her, so she doesn’t complain.

Even if she feels weird whenever she notices that the bottom half of their bodies aren’t the same, she keeps her feelings and words to herself. It’s something she’s actually quite good at.

Of course, she does explode at school. A mess of curses and bloody fists as she fights all those that try and hurt her alpha or any of the other quirkless kids in their class, but that’s a given.

No one hurts her alpha. No one is allowed to hurt her mate.

She still remembers when they both knew they were mates because it was Deku’s third birthday and when she came over for his party, their eyes met and glowed gold. She couldn’t forget the way the light glimmered on his face and made his freckles stand out so much. She swore to herself after that no one was allowed to hurt what was hers.

Heroes are supposed to protect those that can’t protect themselves and she wants to be a hero.

And she’ll be one. With a quirk like hers, with an alpha that lets her do what she wants, she can do it. She’ll surpass All Might and be number one. Deku will be her support or maybe he’ll take up her offers on training together and become a hero himself. It doesn’t matter if he’s quirkless.

They can do it.

They can do anything if they're together.

“You’re just a useless Deku! You’ll never be a hero if you’re quirkless!”

“Who the fuck are you calling useless, you piece of shit!” Katsuki yells, running forward to pin the beta to the wall.

Deku still stands where he was before, pressed against the other wall and trying to look as small as possible. Katsuki has told him over and over again that the bullies will leave him alone if he fights back just once. Just one punch, one shove back, one mean word in their direction to make them back off. Katsuki can’t be the only one holding off bullies for the rest of their lives after all. But she knows he won’t do it.

He’s too nice, too kind. Too soft and forgiving for any of the crap he gets. And he deserves none of the venomous words spat his way. Katsuki is more than sure of that.

She hates the fear that is wafting off her alpha in waves. It makes her hackles rise and something primal in her howl for blood, to protect, to defend. She shakes the beta in her hold and lets him fall to the floor unceremoniously when he nearly pisses his pants. She knows just how scary she can be when she wants to be, especially thanks to her explosive quirk. People know better than to go after Deku when she’s around, but sometimes, there are the stupid shitheads like this beta. The ones who think they have any fucking right to tell her alpha what to do.

The way Katsuki sees it, if she isn’t allowed to push Deku around, then no one is.

“Don’t talk to my alpha ever again or I’ll make you fucking regret it!” Katsuki yells at the beta’s retreating back, glaring at him and all those around them that stood by and did absolutely nothing, the spineless bastards. “What are you shitty extras looking at!”

The other kids scatter, spooked and terrified of her anger. Katsuki watches them go then turns and takes Deku’s hand. She coaxes him away from the wall, gentle only for him, and leads him down the hall until they enter the playground. They’re both silent as they walk, but Katsuki doesn’t let it remain that way for long.

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” Katsuki asks once they have reached their tree near the edge of the schoolyard. “You know I don’t like it.”

Deku shakes his head and sits between the tree roots, his feet laid out in front of him. “I don’t know. I just freeze up every time it happens.”

Katsuki wants to say something. Deku looks so small at this moment, so lost, and all she wants to do is vow to always look after her alpha, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. She’s an omega and she knows that Deku would never get angry at her for this, but it just isn’t her place. It’s not.

No matter how much she wishes it was.

So she sits beside him instead and stays silent until Deku asks, “I’m not that great at protecting myself, but… You’ll protect me, right Kacchan?”

Katsuki sniffs, trying not to let her pleasure bleed through. “Do you want me to?”

“Always,” is Deku’s solemn answer.

“Then,” Katsuki begins with a grin that slowly grows until it is spread wide across her face, “I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who tries to hurt you, Deku!”

She pumps her fist into the air to show she’s serious and has to fight back a laugh when Deku smiles at her. It’s her favorite smile, the one he reserves solely for her and her alone. It’s sweet and cute and always makes Katsuki a little nervous to look at, but she keeps his gaze anyway and startles when he leans in.

Deku’s lips are soft on her cheek and only stay there for a moment before he pulls back. She presses a hand to her face and feels it warm underneath her touch. Katsuki hopes she isn’t blushing tomato red like Deku sometimes does. That would be embarrassing and Katsuki doesn’t do embarrassing.

They continue on like normal, but for the rest of the day, Katsuki catches herself subconsciously raising a hand towards the cheek Deku kissed.

Katsuki holds still as Deku rubs his face into her neck.

He has started to scent her every time they come back from school. The first time, she had held so still she barely thought to breathe before he abruptly pulled away and reminded her.

She knows that the scenting is a form of comfort. That it’s to make his scent lay heavy on her, to drive away other alphas and betas that might be interested. She learned that much from her father when Deku turned six and said he was surprised that Deku hadn’t tried scenting her earlier. She knows what it’s for and that it’s to reassure Deku, but she can’t help but feel uncomfortable.

Because it leaves Deku smelling of her in return, which normally she wouldn’t mind, but she doesn’t like the way she smells.

Her scent is too floral, too sweet and sugary and makes her insides twist into knots. It makes her want to bury herself in Deku’s scent instead, but that wouldn’t help much.

And, of course, Deku notices how stiff she is, how she forces herself not to react when he scents her. He isn’t stupid. Her alpha is one of the smartest people she knows. How else would he be able to remember so much about heroes and their quirks?

So Deku asks if he can scent her. He always asks and if she hesitates for too long, he steps back and gives her space. He never crowds her and he never tries to force anything. He is always so good to her, even when she feels like she doesn’t deserve it.

Something in her twists and coils at the barest hint of her scent. On some days, she feels sick just being in her body and having to smell herself every second of the day.

She starts showering a lot more often than what is necessary and sprays her father’s cologne on herself in the mornings. It calms her, more than she ever realized.

Deku doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t press her for answers or asks questions. He simply accepts it as a new part of her and smiles every time she allows him to scent her.

It doesn’t solve everything for her, but it helps. It helps her start to feel comfortable in her own body again and that’s what matters.

When Katsuki is seven, he knows.

He knows and no wonder he has never felt right. No wonder he hates his natural scent and his stupid long hair.

No wonder he hates his body so much.

It’s the wrong one.

He was born in the wrong kind of body.

A few weeks after his eighth birthday, he tells Deku.

It has been eating away at him, his alpha not knowing. Deku knows everything about him. Katsuki has never held a secret from him. His alpha has always been his sole confidant. Always.

And it’s about time he tells him. For his own sanity at least. Maybe it will help or maybe it will not, but Katsuki won’t know until he tries.

“I’m not a girl,” Katsuki murmurs, for once on the verge of tears as he admits his darkest secret to his alpha. “I’m not.”

Deku stares at him, confusion on every line of his face. “Then what are you?”

“A boy.”

Deku nods but says nothing. Instead, he taps his fingers on his chin and studies Katsuki like this is the first time he has ever seen him.

(And well, it’s not like that analogy is wrong.)

“I’m sorry.”

Deku frowns, his confusion growing. “What for?”

Katsuki hates the fact that his alpha is acting so dense. Of course, he has to know what for! Deku is one of the smartest people he knows. He knows Deku knows what he’s talking about.

It’s clear though that Deku is waiting for him to say it. For him to lay it all out there and open up for once.

He groans and rubs a hand through his hair, his fingers twisting into the ends of it now that it is a lot shorter than before. “Because we’re mates and you wanted a fucking girl as your mate, right? And I had to go and fucking ruin shit by being born in the stupid, wrong body.”

Deku’s expression cycles through a myriad of emotions. First anger, then confusion again, then irritation, and then a steady calm that does absolutely fucking nothing to settle Katsuki’s nerves.

“Kacchan, I want you,” Deku finally says.

Katsuki feels his head snap up in surprise, meeting his alpha’s gaze without meaning to. Deku doesn’t falter, doesn’t let any hesitation or uncertainty slip into his voice as he continues and in the back of his head, Katsuki is grateful for it.

“You can be whoever or whatever you want to be. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially not me, Kacchan,” Deku says, reaching out and taking Katsuki’s hands in his own. “I’m not in charge of your body. You are.”

“But, you’re my alpha. You have the right to tell me what to fucking do!”

Deku steps closer. “I am. I am your alpha and I will always be your alpha if you want me to be. But it’s not my place to tell you what to do. I would like to go our whole lives without Ordering you. You make your own decisions for yourself, Kacchan. That isn’t mine to take away from you. It wouldn’t make me a very good alpha and I want to be the best alpha for you.”

Shit, he really is going to cry, isn’t he? Fuck.

“I want to be the best alpha for the best version of you, whatever or whoever that might be. I’m not going to take your free will away, not ever,” Deku continues, his stupid green eyes already overflowing with tears. “You deserve the best kind of alpha, Kacchan.”

Katsuki buries his face in Deku’s shoulder and tries to stifle his sobs, but ultimately fails.

Later, once Katsuki is sure there is no trace of his stupid tears, he pulls away from Deku’s embrace.

Deku watches him warily, waiting to see if it really is the end of their crying fit. Or Katsuki’s crying fit, at least. Deku never really seems to run out of tears. He has always been a huge crybaby and that alone would irritate Katsuki if he was any other person, but Deku is Deku and Katsuki doesn’t have it in him to find his alpha annoying or irritating.

At least, not usually anyway.

“Do you want to tell Auntie and Uncle?” Deku asks, his voice still warbled by tears.

Katsuki stomps down the heart-wrenching fear that question brings with it and makes sure his voice is steady when he says, “I don’t know how they’ll react.”

“They’ll support you,” Deku says without missing a beat. “They love you.”

“They love their daughter,” Katsuki hisses, unable to stop his voice from shaking and cracking in multiple places as he does.

Deku’s face is still wet with tears, but his voice doesn’t waver and neither does his resolve. “No. They love you, Kacchan.”

Shit. He just finished crying too. Fucking hell.

Katsuki ends up telling his parents.

They don’t make a big deal out of it and they don’t disown him like he feared they would. Instead, his father goes out and gets him a boy’s uniform for school. Katsuki is wary but wears it anyway.

The first day he goes to school in it, people stare at him. Sometimes it looks like his teachers are going to point it out and say something, but for the most part, people are quiet. They don’t say anything to his face yet that doesn’t mean they don’t say anything at all.

Which is something he quickly learns when Deku gets suspended from school for fighting.

Katsuki storms into his apartment afterschool - spares a moment to politely greet Auntie Inko - and then barges into Deku’s room where he is lying on his bed.

“Who the fuck did you fight?” Katsuki spits out.

Deku sits up slowly, surprised to see him. “Oh! Kacchan, I didn’t think you’d hear about that so soon.”

“Of course, I fucking heard about it! It’s all anyone wants to talk about at school. The stupid extras wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone, asking why you did it and a whole bunch of other shit.”

Deku hums, like that in itself can be an answer, but Katsuki steps forward and jabs his finger into his alpha’s chest. “So why the fuck did you do it, huh? Did you finally snap?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Deku replies, his head tilted to the side as if this entire conversation is difficult. “I mean, I sort of did?”

Katsuki growls, “What made you snap? You’re full of fucking rainbows and sunshine and other mushy shit. What pissed you off so bad you finally fought back?”

“Do you really want to know?” Deku asks, oddly serious.

“Yes! I wouldn’t be fucking asking otherwise!”

Deku smiles at him, like what he just said was hilarious. The little shit. Katsuki exhales and fights the urge to tackle his alpha. He knows how well that would work out and he doesn’t want to be pinned down right now.

Something in him tells him he is going to need space after Deku finally fucking answers him.

“Someone pointed out your uniform and said some things I don’t want to repeat.”

Katsuki freezes, his breath caught in his throat. “What the fuck.”

Deku shrugs. “I know that I’m a pushover most of the time, but something in me didn’t like the way that other alpha talked about you and before I knew it, I had kicked him in the face.”

“What the fuck,” Katsuki repeats.

“Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I’m your alpha and I know I don’t really act as an alpha should, but you’re my mate. You’re mine and no one gets to say the kind of stuff about you. Especially not in front of me,” Deku says, his eyes darkening for a moment before he exhales and his usual bright smile greets a stunned Katsuki. “I know you don’t like it when others help you. I’m sorry, but I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

Katsuki watches him, confused and pissed off, but pleased too. Way too pleased actually. Pleased enough to not act on his anger, to not go after that alpha himself, to not fight his own alpha. Beyond the pleasing feeling is something else much more fragile and shy swooping low in his belly.

He just fucking fell in love right now, didn’t he? Is that what the swooping feeling is? Did it really take Deku finally getting violent for Katsuki to admit this to himself? Fucking hell. And fucking Deku and his stupid, gigantic, good heart too! His stupid gentleness and understanding and unfalteringly support. Deku’s dumbass bright smile, the scattered freckles on his face and the way the stupid fucking sun hits his eyes sometimes. Shit.

“You’re an idiot, Deku,” Katsuki finally manages to spit out.

Deku only smiles, his stance beginning to relax as he does. “Yeah. I know.”

a/n: if you’re interested about how this is all coming together, check out my #progress-report tag (:

thanks for reading! please remember that my requests are open

#bnhaomegaverseweek #todobakudeku #bakudeku #todobaku #tododeku #bakugou x midoriya x todoroki #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #chaptered #f:bnha #g:fluff #g:angst #t:chaptered #p:ot3 #p:bakugou/midoriya/todoroki #wifttsf #s:hmlwkyut #m: fic

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sushisama · 6 years ago

Text

Katchan is a Dumb, Oblivious Werewolf

I wrote a sequel to that silly Halloween fic I wrote last year. This one takes place in their third year of UA.

Enjoy and Happy Halloween!

Izuku was already regretting his decision to follow his classmates. A group of them had bailed on school, opting to try out a haunt that Kirishima had brought up. They were all in their costumes, a silly decision made weeks ago to enjoy the holiday. They stood out, he was sure, the lot of them walking the streets in their outfits.

They stood out like sore thumbs. It would be easy for any adult to call them out for their truancy. Even if most of them were technically adults themselves, they should still be in school. Izuku should be in school. How did he get talked into this?

And then Katsuki was looking back at him, grinning, reminding him of his taunting before. He had been challenged by him, not directly so much as him just saying he wouldn't be up to going.

Scared, Deku? Just like when we were kids?

That was why he had come. They had become friends again after a long road since first year, but there was still that bit of rivalry driving them on.

The small group of six was led by Kirishima. He had heard of the haunt from someone in class 1-B (he assumed Tetsutetsu), and convinced them just before getting into the schoolyard. He had been talking to Kaminari and Katsuki about it, convincing them to go off with him. Izuku had just been walking up, and he only heard the tail end of it before he was called over and invited.

Despite the half-hearted argument Katsuki put up.

Izuku had declined at first. Katsuki did a one-eighty, commenting that he was scared. He had been confused, but he still rose to the bait, and agreed to go. Katsuki almost seemed pleased by that answer, though he quickly hid it away again, acting as if it was an inconvenience to them.

Kirishima nudged him, giving him a knowing look. Kaminari just laughed.

What was going on with them?

They picked up Ashido and Uraraka on the way out. They would have gotten more, as Kaminari said, but they didn't want to risk going on school grounds and getting caught. So they left, Izuku in the back of the group with Uraraka, who seemed rather enthusiastic about the trip.

The thirty minute trek (which included a bus ride, how far out were they going?) brought them away from busy streets to secluded school building. Izuku was put off at first, not sure what had led them this way. But as they got closer, he noticed the state the building was in: it was falling apart, the disuse evident by more than the 'No Trespassing' sign on the gate. The windows were broken out, the paint was peeling, and the grass had grown wild.

Was this where the haunt was? Izuku couldn't hold the shudder that went through him. How creepy...

He looked over at the others. Katsuki's gaze was intent on the building, a slight smirk on his lips. He seemed eager about all of this.

"So we just... go in?" Kaminari asked.

"Only if you aren't too chicken shit to." Katsuki was already jumping over the gate. Kirishima grinned and followed him without question.

Within a few moments, they were at the entrance to the school. Were he feeling more brave, he would think about exploring the grounds. Anything to keep away from the darkened doorways leading inside. But when he looked around, he found various debris of desks and chairs and overgrown plant life everywhere. There was nowhere else to go.

Nowhere else but inside.

"Nervous, Deku?"

Izuku rolled his eyes. "I'm a hero, no silly haunted houses are going to get to me."

Katsuki only smirked. Why was he so focused on him today?

"C'mon, Deku," Uraraka chirped. She looped her arm with his, Ashido on her other arm. They formed a line behind the other three and followed them in.

Somehow the locker area was almost pitch black. The windows were covered in boards and paint. There was a divider just beyond the foyer step. There seemed to be a slit in the middle, probably were they would be going through. And in front of it was an offering box, like at a Shinto shrine.

Something about it seemed oddly familiar.

"Do we just go or we wait?" Ashido asked Kirishima.

He shrugged in response. "I was just told where it was, nothing more."

"Maybe this is the wrong?" Uraraka suggested.

Katsuki was looking over the box. Izuku came to his side, a small smile on hi slips. A wave of nostalgia had flooded over him. He was thinking of when they were younger, when they spent so much time together, even during their ambiguous bully/friend stages of elementary school. He thought of all the Halloweens they spent together, even if sometimes it was forced on them by their parents.

"Hey, Katchan," he said. "Remember all those haunted houses you used to drag me to? When we were kids?"

Katsuki scoffed. "You mean the ones you followed me to?" He was smirking, his teasing clearly good natured.

Izuku rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "Oh, please, you never wanted to go alone to any of those."

"If that's the way you need to remember it, Deku."

Izuku laughed. Even Katsuki had to chuckle. It was nice to finally be at a point where they could talk so casually. He felt at ease around Katsuki, and he thought it was the same for him.

Behind them, the others were discussing whether to go forward or turn back. It seemed half on the side of staying and just exploring the building. Kaminari and Ashido, though, were okay with just leaving and hanging out at a local mall. There was a consensus not to go back to school, but that was about all they agreed on.

Izuku looked at them over his shoulder, just listening to their conversation. Katsuki glanced back, but he didn't make any comment. He fiddled with the nails on his wolf costume, almost like a nervous tick.

Katsuki had worn the outfit for Halloween off and on for years. Izuku assumed it was for a similar reason he was wearing his ghost costume for the third year in a row: it was just easier to wear the same thing. Why bother with a new costumer? They were too busy training, anyway.

Well, that was his excuse, anyway. Almost everyone else in the class had different outfits each year. The only other one he knew not to be bothered with it was Todoroki, but he normally didn't even wear one. It was the girls in the class that pulled him to the side and put makeup on him, but it worked for him better that way, it seemed.

They were quiet, both of them just standing over the box. The others didn't bother them as they continued their discussion. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two there.

"...hey, Deku."

Izuku glanced over to him. His brow was furrowed, and he was still staring at the box. Something serious was on his mind, he could tell.

"Yeah, Katchan?"

"Do you... have you ever...?"

"Welcome, boys and girls!"

The whole group yelped and jumped back at the sudden appearance of a tall and thin man just behind the offering box. He was dressed in a tattered suit that looked stained with age. He seemed to be a teacher, or at least that's the way the outfit came off. It was a little off-putting with his pale makeup with bright cheeks and a wide grin.

Izuku thought he looked familiar, he just couldn't place it...

"Were you there the entire time?" Uraraka asked incredulously.

The man ignored her question. "Shouldn't you all be in school?"

"And miss this?" The excitement was clear in Kirishima's voice.

The man's grin grew. "Well, how can I say 'no' then." He gestured to the box, and said, "You can go in after you leave an offering to the spirits here."

It was clear that was just a set-up. No one called it on him, though.

He held up two fingers. "But you can only go in, two at a time."

There was a couple of groans among the teens. Izuku looked over his shoulder at Uraraka, opening his mouth to ask for her companionship, when he felt a shove from his side. He glanced over to find Kaminari nudging him closer to the offering box.

"Midoriya, you go with Bakugou," he insisted.

Izuku held an expression of confusion. "What? Why?"

Katsuki looked over at Kaminari, his brow furrowed. Both Kaminari and Kirishima were nudging them on with wide grins. Izuku looked back at Uraraka and Ashido, but they both shrugged it off. His friend only mouthed it's fine to him.

"Let's just get through this," Katsuki growled. He pulled out a yen piece and tossed it into the box.

Izuku sighed and followed suit. The man watched as the coins fell into the box and settled at the bottom. He looked at the two youths, the corners of his mouth upturned to his ears. He stepped to the side, revealing the slit in the divider.

"Right this way, boys," he called.

Izuku stepped forward first, expecting Katsuki to be right behind. He hadn't, though, hanging back to whisper harshly to his friends. He only barely caught the exchange.

"...thinking," Katsuki all but snarled.

"Don't complain," Kirishima insisted. "This is exactly what you were talking about."

"The hell it is."

"Just go," Kaminari ushered. "Give it a shot."

Katsuki let out a huff through his nose. For a moment, he reminded Izuku more of a bull than a wolf.

"Katchan?"

Katsuki turned and came to his side. "Let's go, nerd."

"Katchan, what are you--?"

"Leave it, Deku." He was pushing past him and into the other side of the divider. Izuku frowned but followed close behind.

The curator watched them as they went, his odd smile still in place. He moved to cover the hole as they passed into the other part of the foyer. It was even darker on this side. The only light was a path on the ground made by cheap flameless green tea lights. It led on down the hallway and just beyond their sight.

"Follow the lights," they were told. "Be mindful of your steps. How long it takes is up to you. You'll be going through the whole school."

Izuku nodded his understanding. Beside him, Katsuki fidgeted.

"Have fun, boys," he said. "And this time should be much more... interesting."

Izuku blinked. What did he mean by that?

He gave a start when his wrist was grabbed and pull on. Katsuki's grip was tight as he dragged him down the corridor along the green lit path. He objected to the treatment, but he didn't pull away and instead let himself be led.

Katsuki's hand was warm, he thought. And not too unpleasant. Not that he would mention that out loud.

Izuku glanced over his shoulder, and as they went further down the hallway, he noticed the beginning part of the path changed from the sickly green colour to a dim glow of orange that led in a different way. He guessed it was the path the new two would go down, so there wouldn't be much of a wait.

Katsuki's step was purposeful as he led them. He didn't let go of Izuku, but he wasn't really pulling either. Izuku was able to keep up with his only somewhat rushed step. He couldn't see him too well in the lighting, but he could still see the way his jaw was tight.

"What is it?"

"This place is going to be lame," he answered. "Probably full of paper bats and shit."

"What makes you say that? The set-up is actually pretty—"

Izuku was interrupted as Katsuki suddenly went still. He ran into him, their bodies bumping. Izuku stumbled back, thrown off by the hard boy. Katsuki hadn't let go, instead pulling him back so he didn't fall.

"You didn't recognise him, did you?" The lights came from underneath, leaving an odd glove over the fur glued to his jawline.

He would be cute with a beard, came the thought. Izuku shook his head, both as an answer, and also to get the image out of his head.

"Should I?" Izuku asked. "It's not some villain, is it?"

He furrowed his brow. He didn't remember hearing anyone that fit his description over any police reports, but he had been focused on Shizuoka more lately. But he should still be able to recognise a bad guy, right? Should they go back? It shouldn't be hard to subdue him. Even if the others were too far away, he had Katsuki. The two of them were unstoppable, they'd shown that many times before. They could easily—

"Deku."

Izuku looked up as Katsuki was pulling his hand away from his mouth. He'd been muttering, he could tell by Katsuki's expression and the lingering feeling of teeth on his thumb.

"We've been to one of this guy's haunts before."

Izuku gave him a slightly confused look. "We have?"

Katsuki frowned. Even in the lowlight, Izuku could tell he was disappointed.

"Let's just get through this."

Izuku felt a coldness as Katsuki fully let go of him and started to walk down the path. He watched him go, the tail of his costume almost showing the slight dejection he had seen on his face with the lifeless sway.

What was going on with him? It hadn't been the first time he thought about it that day, and he didn't think it would be the last.

The two fell into a tense silence as they continued between the green lights. Izuku's eyes never left his back, using him as a guide more than the path. He almost wanted to reach out, to get led by his warm hand once more, but Katsuki seemed too distant to reclaim the past moment.

The lights led them to a courtyard outside. Izuku had expected some of the sunlight from the day outside, but the courtyard had been boxed in up top. There were several sheets of cloth stretched out from the highest floor windows, thick and plentiful enough to block out the sun. There were little lights in the trees, not really a lot, but enough to see all the windows in the upper halls and classrooms had been painted black.

It was more atmospheric than anything else. The subtle lights were more of an eerie beauty than anything scary. Izuku found himself in the middle of the courtyard, admiring the foliage. Next to him was a fountain, running slowly. There were more dim lights in the bottom, making a beautiful cascade.

Katsuki didn't rush him. He didn't even say anything as he waited for him, sitting on the edge of the fountain. When Izuku was done looking, he turned to announce he was ready to move on, only to find eyes looking back at him. He started at Katsuki's intense look, and he averted his gaze, a blush creeping up.

How long had he been staring at him? What with that look?

"Let's move on..."

Katsuki stood and moved down the lit path to the double doors across the way they had come. Izuku fell in step, close to him. He eyed his hand and the fake nails pressed onto it. He thought of how even when he grabbed his wrist earlier, he hadn't felt them. Katsuki been mindful enough not to hurt him even when it was clear he was frustrated.

He remembered how he was the same way when they were kids. Even when he was dragging him around, yelling at him for some perceived inconvenience, his hold was thoughtful and never hurt. They used to hold hands so much...

Would it be weird to hold hands now?

"Did you need a moment?"

Izuku blinked. He looked up to find Katsuki too close, his eyes intent on him. He hadn't realised their proximity, so lost in thought and memory. But now his warmth was everywhere around him. Katsuki was always so warm, his skin always radiating heat. He had known it since they were little, but it meant something different as they had gotten older.

Everything was different now they were older. Everything looked the same but meant something else.

It would mean something else if they held hands now than when they were little.

Izuku shook his head. "No, we can go on."

Katsuki shrugged. He came back to the door and reached out for it. As his hand connected with the handle, the whole courtyard plunged into complete darkness. Katsuki cursed and Izuku made a startled noise.

He pulled his hand back, unnoticed by Katsuki before he could reach his.

Izuku looked back over the courtyard, though he couldn't see anything. It was a little spooky, he thought, but nothing really worth fretting over. He turned to Katsuki, waiting for him to open the door and go to the next room. All he heard was the door rattle.

"Katchan?"

"The door's locked."

"What?"

The door rattled again. Silence. Izuku gave a start when he felt warmth on his arm. Katsuki's grip was light on his forearm but was still leading. He pulled him away from the door and back into the courtyard.

"Some gimmick."

Izuku would agree if something about the dark made him apprehensive. There was no reason to be so nervous, though: it was just a haunt, there was nothing to worry about. But the air still had him on edge, and he was silently grateful that Katsuki was holding onto him. It was silly, but that was the point of haunts, right? Being scared was part of the whole experience.

He remembered the ones he went to when they were kids. He remembered being so scared sometimes that he almost couldn't be removed from Katsuki. He was terrified in the moment, but when they were done, he felt excitement. He enjoyed it, if only after the fact, and he knew part of it was because he had his 'hero' with him to protect him.

Now that hero was with him again, but he was a hero, too. That meant he wasn't allowed to cling to him anymore, doesn't it? Something about that was disappointing. He felt that took out some of the fun of the whole thing.

"Katchan." He moved closer to him, navigated by his body heat. He wasn't pushed away: if anything, Katsuki seemed to move into him. He let go of his arm and bumped shoulders with him.

"Hold on."

Izuku nodded. He twitched, feeling something on his hand. He scratched at the tiny sensations, and he could have sworn he felt something under his fingers.

A large flash filled the courtyard in front of them, coming from Katsuki's outstretched hand (the one not so close to Izuku he had subconsciously grabbed onto). The area lit up and showed the fountain, though something was off about it. There were also little flecks in the air, something Izuku couldn't place.

Katsuki pulled him forward, guiding him toward the middle of the courtyard. By now, Izuku's hands were holding onto his bicep, using it as a lead as he moved them. Katsuki was always better at seeing in the dark than he was. He didn't pull away, keeping him close as the sound of the fountain got closer.

Izuku scratched at his neck. Then his arm. Then his face. It felt like something was crawling on every part of exposed skin.

"Do you feel that?"

He could hear Katsuki scratch at himself. "Don't worry about it."

Izuku frowned. What was the point of all this? Was it to scare them? What were the other rooms going to be like?

There was a loud click that drew his attention back to the fountain. There was a pause and then the light came back, but this time the lights were red. The water seemed thicker, flowing just a bit slower, and it looked more opaque than before. There were large flecks of something in the water, but he couldn't make it out what it was.

Another itch on his arm. Another scratch.

The lights in the courtyard slowly started to return, illuminating the boxed in area with more light than before. He found the flecks everywhere, on the trees, the fountain, the ground, the air. He squinted, trying to see what they were. As the light came up more, he could see something protruding from each. Legs? Yes, those were legs...

"I think these are—"

"Yeah, but are they real?" Katsuki scratched him again.

Izuku flinched at another tickle on his neck. He swatted at it, but he didn't want to know what caused the sensation. His eyes fell to Katsuki, but he was looking into the fountain, his brow furrowed. Izuku followed his gaze. In this light, the fountain almost looked like it was over-pouring with blood.

He almost opened his mouth to ask, when he caught the movement. Something just beneath the waters. Ripple after ripple... And coming close to the edge. The water divided, and a scaled hand came from underneath the surface. The hand turned into an arm, then a shoulder. More and more of the body was coming up.

It was almost a distraction from the continued itch of the bugs in the air.

Katsuki grit his teeth and readied his hand. As a spark started, the lights went out again. The body had only started to emerge when it was hidden in darkness again. Katsuki cursed and a small flash came his still outstretched palm.

Izuku looked around, trying to see more, though he couldn't in the darkness. Nut until the path of green lit up once more, this time leading down another path. The itching let up as the lights came on.

A misdirect. Of course.

There was another spark from Katsuki's hand. Izuku rolled his eyes and grabbed at his wrist. He let out a confused growl and started to question what was happening. Izuku led him on, dragging him down the new path.

"What—"

"This way," Izuku said as they came to another door. He pushed on it, and it easily gave way. There was a loud wail from the direction of the fountain as the door was opened. Izuku dragged them both over the threshold, silencing the cry as the door closed behind them.

The corridor they came into was a little better lit with the green light. Izuku was able to see Katsuki a lot better than before. He was glaring, his jaw locked tight.

"What the hell do you think—?"

"It's supposed to be scary, right?" Izuku interrupted. "Supposed to have you on edge, all of that?"

It was a moment more before it seemed to register what he was being told. His brow was still furrowed, but his expression came more mortified. He said nothing, only scoffed.

Izuku chuckled. "You were ready to attack, weren't you?"

"Listen—"

"Were you trying to defend me?"

Katsuki was taken aback by the question. Even in the green light, he could tell Katsuki was blushing.

Izuku smiled. "You used to do that when we were little."

Katsuki was quiet for a long moment. He seemed to be thinking hard on something. "...do you remember the hero's reward?"

It was Izuku's turn to blush. He did remember what he used to call the 'hero's reward.' Though he only did it a few times for the few times Katsuki let down his arrogant façade to be his hero again, he could recall how important it was to him. He also remembered Katsuki waiting for it, even if he verbally said his disdain for the action.

Izuku nodded, his expression soft. "I remember."

There was a pause where neither said anything and only barely looking at each other. Katsuki was the first to move, muttering something under his breath. He went to move around him, and get back onto the path of green lights.

He stopped when Izuku reached out for him, pulling on his sleeve. Katsuki looked back at him, brow raised. Izuku was quiet as he moved in to kiss his cheek.

Katsuki closed his eyes and sighed, a light smile on his lips.

Izuku didn't move at first, staying close. Before he could, Katsuki had put his hand on his cheek. He leaned in, and he watched as Katsuki came closer. He closed his eyes just as dried lips touched his. He held in his breath for all of a moment, and then Katsuki was pulling away.

"Katchan...?"

"For stopping me," Katsuki said, "before I blew some dumb show worker."

Izuku grinned and nodded. "Of course."

He looked over his shoulder, down the hall, then back to Izuku. "Ready?"

Izuku glanced down the row of green lights. "Only way out is through, right?"

"Unless you want to see who was taking a swim."

Izuku snorted. "Not really."

"The let's get going," Katsuki said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning.

Katsuki had started down the hallway, but stopped when Izuku called his name. He looked back at him, brow raised.

"...can I hold your hand?"

Katsuki huffed. "Stupid nerd," he said. "Shouldn't come if you get so scared."

He still removed a hand from his pocket, one that Izuku took with a laugh and a smile.

#katsudeku #katsudeku fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bakudeku fanfiction #deku #kacchan #bakugou #midoriya

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echoes-of-realities · 6 years ago

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13 for tour!verse please [:

13. “You make me feel safe.”

[Part One, Two, and Three]

Because Santana kind of stranded Mercedes in Lima, she volunteers to go and pick her up at the end of the week. She’s still renting the car, after all, and she does feel a little guilty for sending Mercedes to hang out with some of their old high school friends without her (not that guilty though, because aside from her mom and Mercedes, Santana would just as soon let that hellhole town fade to the oblivion of her memory).

Brittany insists on coming with her, and Santana’s definitely not going to argue with that, so they pile into the car with some ridiculously priced coffee and Brittany’s iPhone plugged into the speakers and they head for Lima. Santana’s mom is still in Seattle with her aunt, but Santana promised to fly out and see her during the break in the tour in a couple months, so Santana’s hoping that she will be able to slip in and out of Lima undetected.

They make it to Lima in good time, and before she knows it, she’s narrating her childhood to Brittany; the playground where she broke her arm on, the parking lot where she drove her mom’s car for the first time, the schoolyard she took her first drag of a cigarette in, the street corner where she first realized she was definitely, one-hundred precent gay, the stop sign where she failed her drivers test the first time, she even drives past the extravagant neighbourhood she used to live in back when her dad still cared about his family, and then the sketchier neighbourhood her mom raised her in, the one that actually felt like home.

They pull up to Mercedes’ childhood house but Dr. Jones’ car isn’t out front and Santana shrugs in slight disappointment; while she won’t get to see Mercedes’ parents, at least, she thinks as they get out of the car, it means she doesn’t have to spend anymore time in Lima than she has to. Brittany is still excitedly bouncing around at the chance to see where Mercedes and Santana are from. Santana smiles, butterflies fluttering around her when Brittany takes her hand at the front of the car and quickly kisses her on the cheek. Santana lets Brittany pull her up the driveway in a slight daze, she’s pretty positive she’ll never stop getting a thrill every time Brittany does something so simply affectionate.

Brittany rings the doorbell and quickly kisses Santana on the cheek again as they wait. When the door opens, Santana quickly wishes it hadn’t; Quinn Fabray, one of her sort-of-friends and definitely-mortal-enemies from school, stands on the other side with a lazy smile. Her eyes dart down to Brittany’s hand clasped in Santana’s, and Santana’s stomach twists painfully at the smirk that spreads across her face. It wasn’t necessarily that Quinn was ever outright homophobic to her, it’s just that being gay was something of a weakness in this town, and Quinn loved exploiting all of Santana’s weaknesses back in high school to wrestle the title of head of the school away from Santana.

“Lopez,” Quinn says in that haughty, snide way of hers. “I see you’ve graced Lima with your presence for the second time this week.”

Santana stiffens; she knows Mercedes wouldn’t have said anything, but small towns have a way of knowing your business, no matter how hard you hide it. “Fabray,” Santana greets coldly. She feels Brittany squeeze her hands reassuringly, and when she glances up at Brittany, her normally expressive blue eyes are colder than Santana’s ever seen them. “Britt, this is Quinn Fabray,” Santana introduces, “we went to high school together. Quinn, this is my girlfriend, Brittany.” (Despite the circumstances, warmth swells in Santana’s chest at the world; Brittany is her girlfriend, something she’s been secretly hoping for since just about the first time they met. Based on the thawing in Brittany’s eyes and the small, adoring smile she shoots Santana, Santana’s pretty sure Brittany feels the same.)

“Girlfriend?” Quinn asks, and though she laughs there’s a slight, bitter edge to it. “But you’re such a bitch.”

Santana can feel Brittany bristle beside her, and she quickly runs her thumb over the back of Brittany’s hand to soothe her.

“I can see you haven’t changed at all, Quinn,” Santana says quietly. Santana has been out since her senior year of high school, and despite her mom’s love and support and Mercedes’ friendship and the fact that she’s been all over the country, she still just feels small and scared in Lima; she knows that Quinn could so easily make a her visiting girlfriend a big deal, and the last thing she wants is to the the buzz of Lima again. She’s been beat down and bullied by this town enough and she desperately wants to avoid that this time.

Brittany’s holding her hand and she’s not ashamed of who she is, not anymore, but she’s also not stupid.

Quinn stiffens and Santana can barely start to brace herself for the verbal attack she knows is coming before Mercedes pops up beside Quinn and lays a friendly but firm hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, Quinn,” Mercedes says with an easy smile, “We gotta get going if we wanna sleep before our flight tomorrow morning.” Mercedes quickly hugs Quinn and ushers her out the door and to her car across the street. Once Quinn has pulled away and Santana has relaxed, Mercedes locks up her parents’ house and tosses her suitcase in the back of the car rental before climbing in.

As soon as they’re all in and buckled up, Mercedes shakes her head. “Lord, I love that girl,” she says, “but Jesus she needs to get out of this town.”

Santana chokes on a laugh as she pulls away from the Jones’ house. Mercedes spends almost the entire way back to Columbus affectionately teasing Santana and Brittany, over the moon happy for two of her best friends. Mercedes tells them how glad she is that they could drag themselves out of the hotel room to pick her up and ignores their blushing protests (they spent most of the week holed up in the hotel room, only emerging for food and to prove to the other tour members that they are still alive, but they didn’t spend all of their time in their room having sex, but it— they did spend a good portion of their time doing that).

They stop for a quick supper on the outskirts of Columbus before heading to their hotel by the airport. While Santana and Brittany both kind of just want to curl up in their bed, they are eventually cajoled into going out with the tour members for one last night in Columbus; though they just end up cuddling in a corner booth and nursing a couple of beers like a couple of old ladies anyways, much to everyone’s amusement.

Santana is curled in Brittany’s lap, one arm around her shoulders and the other clutching at where Brittany’s hoodie covers her hip, her nose nuzzled in Brittany’s neck. Brittany has one arm supporting Santana’s lower back and she’s tracing patterns along Santana’s thighs, which are thrown over her lap, and making Santana even sleepier, when she suddenly pauses in her ministrations to speak.

“Everyone always calls you a bitch or says you’re mean like Quinn today or whatever,” Brittany says, “But I just don’t get it. You’ve never been anything but soft since I’ve known you.”

Santana shrugs and nuzzles into Brittany’s side. “I was— I was really mean back in high school because I was so scared. And then I got outed and— Well, I laid pretty low after that. But Mercedes,” Santana hesitates and smiles a little. “Well, there’s a reason she’s still one of my best friends even after high school.”

Brittany smiles and something warm bubbles up inside her; she loves Mercedes, but now she appreciates her friend even more than before.

“Anyways,” Santana continues, “as I got more comfortable with myself it got easier to not have to be scared and mean. But sometimes I still am, in new situations and stuff, old habits or whatever. That’s why some people here think I’m a bitch.”

Brittany chews on her bottom lip and absently runs her hand down Santana’s leg, only really noting how Santana stretches slightly and curls further into her. “You’ve never been mean to me. Even when I accidentally shoved you to the ground the first time we met.”

Santana smiles up at Brittany, all dimples and deep eyes and scrunched nose. “You make me feel safe,” Santana whispers easily, “You’ve always made me feel safe.” Santana tightens her grip on Brittany’s hoodie, tugging herself even closer so she’s curled over Brittany. Her eyes are bright and adoring and Brittany shakes her head, biting down on her lip so she doesn’t do something insane like ask Santana to marry her right this second. Instead, she kisses Santana, quick and deep and perfect.

Santana’s smile is wide when she pulls back and she presses her forehead to Brittany’s, their noses bumping together; Santana’s smile turns from sappy to mischievous even as it remains adoring. “Even when you make wrong turns and get us stuck in the basement,” she teases.

“Hey!” Brittany laughs, still partially recovering from the butterflies that are swirling through her at Santana’s words and kiss, “You said you thought the rehearsal room might be downstairs, so I took us downstairs.”

“Cause we were on the forth floor and everything was locked!” Santana protests around her giggles. “There was no more up! It had to be downstairs.”

“The basement is downstairs!” “I didn’t mean that far downstairs!”

Brittany just kisses Santana instead of arguing, and considering the sigh Santana releases into her mouth, she’s pretty sure that, despite losing that argument, she just won something much more important.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #mercedes jones #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #prompts #anon #first tour!verse #I'm working on the older prompts but I just got this one today and I couldn't focus on anything else until I got this out of my system #brittanacedes

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happily-lost-in-oc-writing · 6 years ago

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I’m not going to keep having this conversation.- Wilted Flowers part 7

“Lily please!” Raven calls, it’s 6:30 and they’re both headed towards school. Lily walks ahead of her, keeping her hands on her bag straps. Raven jogs in her converse and skirt, pristine sweater. Lily is in a button up- surprisingly. Lily hated button ups before. High waisted jeans and black Chuck Taylor’s. Lily groans as Raven grabs her arm and yanks her back.

“You can’t keep avoiding this conversation.”

“Watch me, Bitch. You broke my heart. You hurt me. You rubbed salt in the wound. You ignored me. You made me feel like shit. You ruined my summer. You ruined my life! I-“ Lily cuts herself off. “I’m not dignifying this schoolyard taunt with a response.”

Raven doesn’t give up. She steps in front of Lily again.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sor-“

“Fuck you! Sorry works when mistakes are made, not when trust is broken. Forgiving is easy. Forgetting is not. I’m not in the mood to do either, Raven!” She yells- losing her temper. But it’s more in pain than angry, “you pretended I didn’t exist! You made fun of everything I loved. You pretended everything was hunky-dory because you got exactly what you wanted! The grass might be greener on the other side, HUN, But that doesn’t mean it was better! You ever think about what the fuck you did?! To ME?!?? But noooooo! Now that you’re little miss perfect American-dream, girl all the boys want, everything is okay and we can be friends again!” She said with sarcastic happiness.

“I NEVER said I was the girl all the boys want.”

“But you’re the one they’ve all had.” Lily snaps- immediately regretting it.

“You- bitch!” Raven breathes out, laughing so the tears won’t fall. “I regret what I did every day. I shouldn’t have done that to you- but it was so much better than being bullied for you-“

“Bullied for me? Oh. Yeah. Go ahead and martyr yourself. Tell me- how did you come out to your parents again-? Oh. Wait.” Lily smiles bitterly. “You didn’t. I did. I had to tell my parents I was in love with my best friend and almost got sent away. I had to tell the school I was gay when it wasn’t their damn business. I had to take something that was only for us and publicize it and then get called a dyke pervert all because YOU were too scared people would judge you. YOU were too scared your mom wouldn’t like you. YOU were scared you wouldn’t be cool. You want this conversation? Fine. Tell me why the fuck you decided to tell everyone we kissed when it was a moment that involved you and I.”

.....

Raven pales.

“I- I never told you I told people-“

“Word gets around. You used to tell me all the shit they said about me. Why were they so comfortable saying it around you? Was I a joke to you? A bet? A poor baby bird with a broken wing you could fix all because my mom and dad divorced and my brother is in correctional school and my adopted brother is god knows where doing god knows what? That shit? Or- maybe you wanted to fix the girl who couldn’t go to school without coming home with a bruise! Who practiced changing with her eyes down in the locker room so she wouldn’t get mocked?!?! Or the kid who told you she loved you just to be kicked when she’s down!?! HUH?!!” Lily shoves raven, her face red, tears pour down her face as she keeps her heavy glare, the sobs working her way up her throat.

Raven is quiet for a moment, thinking. Collecting herself. “I was your friend because you didn’t care. You had- the biggest heart in the world. You were- so kind to me and so lovely and so perfect. You- made me feel things I’ve never felt before. You made me happy and you made me feel like i was normal. I was wrong to turn against you so I wouldn’t get hurt. I was scared of being fed to the wolves so I threw you in. I made you feel horrible and I- I have no excuses for that. Lily. I meant it when I told you I loved you. She gets up and walks to the shorter girl- her hands gently on her cheeks, rubbing them.

“Don’t- you don’t-“ Lily shakes- about to sob. “......You don’t get to do this.....” Lily whispers.

“I’m sorry. I meant what I said when I told you I love you.”

“I don’t-“ Lily cant breathe- she sobs hard, and raven pulls her to her chest, petting her hair with a saddened look. Raven wraps her arms around Lily and rests her head on her shoulder, and for a moment

All is quiet.

#wilted flowers #wilted flowers part 7 #Lily x raven #oc writing

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deathwis-arc · 3 years ago

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when it comes to transfers, or new students in general, being bullied is a rite of passage. life is tough shit and school's all about making sure you can handle it ; taking your naturally mushy core and testing it. after all, who gives a fat fuck about what the teachers drone on about? every student knows, deep down within themselves, that all this education will go to waste one way or another anyway. all that matters come graduation is what the constant torment and humiliation has made of you. whether your peers gossip as you walk by or laugh or tremble. how you react to the bruises you spot peppered along your jawline in pristine bathroom mirrors, or if you're still too sensitive to face the music. dennis is well mastered in the vicious cycle of schoolyard boyhood - the victims and the victors. he knows most girls turn up their noses when they spot him roughing up some fresh meat, acting like they're above it ... but they aren't. and dennis isn't above hackling them either. pointing out the ridiculous embroidery on their too long skirts ( “didn't know the puritans were still around!” ) or snatching up their prettied diaries and looking through them with eager eyes. all while he easily bats them away with larger hand and obvious muscle. mocks them for the contents before dropping it on the floor or in the nearest trash can, oozing disrespect. this doesn't even begin to brush on the most bizarre thing about tormenting girls, which is that sometimes they get all flustered about it. but that's besides the point, and dennis doesn't care if they like it or not. it's not about having girls dangling off his arms it's about exerting prowess and clambering up the charts. who would dennis be if he wasn't releasing his aggression in bursts ; anger shimmering on his face whenever he can't get it all out in his games. ( or in his music, which is ... another field entirely )

all of that is why he can't leave the new girl alone. someone's gotta show her the ropes, since she's clearly too stuck up to mosey by without some damage dealt first. girls like her get it the worst in schools like this. she reeks of smarts and beauty and wealth, and all the other chicks are bound to swarm around that eventually. it's like blood to this shit creek of leaches. they'd tear her down and it'd violent enough for dennis to describe it as dismemberment in his notebook - if he ever cared to draw inspiration from that phenomenon. really, dennis is doing her such a favor. shouldering away bitches and bastards alike to shove her along himself, get her warmed up and prepped for even worse. he's not nearly as mean to her as he could ( should ) be, which is a fact that weighs awkwardly on the football player's chest. but he's still troublesome enough in public to keep others at bay. dishing out easy, snide remarks in class to humiliate her ... and christ, the moment he saw her nose stuck up some book's ass he realized the dance he's charging into right away. practice makes perfect, and dennis has been harassing geeks for years. has his own practice dummy at home in the form of anthony, a guy he can rail on at any time if he so pleased. there was this tilted drop of his stomach, numbing disappointment, when he realized he's done this all before. even the ignoring gig is common ground! it's a little boring, so much so that sometimes dennis fears falling asleep on his feet while constantly poking her, yet he keeps at it. spurred on by something he doesn't understand. his commitment to it turns into standard routine, and he can't say he's surprised when she starts getting comfortable.

so when he saunters into the library on cue, the boy's working up a plan. eyes more brooding than stony or amused. all dark hues with the only light in them being the spark of flint, or the glimmering of a sharpened kitchen knife. he finds her in her usual spot and his lips twitch, as though his face can't decide between a smirk or a frown. bold eyebrows pursed, knotting together as he regards her cooly. blake's her name, which resurfaces in his mind now of all times ... like he hasn't known that since her first day here. despite all the meathead comments aimed his way ( courtesy of his jockey status ) he's more clever and slick then he usually lets on. especially when it comes to the act of torment, since you can't exactly slip up on it, not even once. but he keeps thinking about her name ( blake. what kinda girl name is that? real fucking geniuses, her parents ) when she turns to look at him. all defiant and prepared. she really thinks she's hot shit, huh? dennis lazily smiles at her then, tilting his head to the side and squinting at her through strands of brown fringe that ghost over the edge of his eyelids. expression more wicked then hers and the back of his neck instinctively warming up. pulse quickening in anticipation like it always does around her, because sometimes when the football player prods at her just right, she reacts. and he can't deny that that's his favorite thing out of all this. watching pretty features morph into irritation and annoyance, the push and pull of schoolyard teasing. she pushes, he pulls in. it could almost be friendly.

but it's not, a point dennis drills inside his brain as he gazes at her. square features hardening from the softening edges of that thought. swallowing back a sigh, dennis parts bitten lips to give out a greeting laced in his cocky nature ... but he doesn't get the chance. eyes dart to the motion of her hand, the demanding and self assured way she uses her fingers to rap against the ground all while her mouth remains pressed together stubbornly. dennis can't control himself then. brutish nature melting off his face with the way his eyes go cartoonishly wide and his locked jaw loosens. plans skirt away from him in fluent movements and he looks from her to the spot next to her. does so a couple times warily, face pinching together with every sweeping glance. later, he'll regret showing how easily she threw him off guard and sent him stumbling ; how his confusion was so plain to see. for now, however? dennis blinks at the spot, broad shoulders hunched and body tense with alert. there's some angle here, he knows. she's trying to turn tables. a smart move, actually - means she's finally learning the game here. too bad it won't work on him, whatever lame bullshit it is. he keeps that attitude within himself as he slowly sits down next to her, movements agonizingly slow. face feeling a little too warm for his liking. pink faintly dusted around the bridge of his nose and along the firm outline of his face. trying to show confidence, he slings an arm on the back of his seat. fingertips dangerously close to her flowing black hair. he doesn't know why that matters, it's not like he's gonna tug on the strands or anything. that's kindergarten tricks, something that he'd never be caught dead doing at school. only if he's playing dirty in a fight, or if he's bothering anthony or tanya back home.

a novel's shoved into the wideness of his chest and dennis' audibly sputters. shock jolting along his skin to make his posture shift, almost curling inwards at the force of her slight shove. once more, his emotions are too obvious with the way he gawks down at the novel, before staring at her with the most clear message in the whites of his eyes. the, are you fucking serious? quit acting crazy before i beat it out of ya! not like he'd lay his hands on a girl that bad ( he's kept some manners ... and mom would kill him ) but still! it's the goddamn principle of it! who does she think she is? the accusation registers late, free hand now nursing the book into his chest where she left it, but once it hits he scoffs. heart thumping in his ears which are now heating as well. great! “you're even loonier then i thought if that's what you fucking think! i'm not looking to spend time with you!” he says hotly, voice rising defensively as he keeps staring at her. hasn't even managed a look at what shitature she pushed off on him yet, too amped up to do anything but watch. she's telling him to be quiet? what an awful joke, holy shit. he thought he's heard it all but this chick's really surprised him, which isn't as good as it sounds. he watches as those unique golden hues start drifting from him to the book in her possession ; a clammy sensation drifting along his body to accompany the sudden clench of his heart. feels like rejection, but not quite. nostrils flare as he huffs a disbelieving, cruel laugh. biting out, “should've known you'd be lonely enough to make that kinda delusional up. what's the matter? nobody seeking you out lately?” like i do? goes unsaid, because dennis is pretty sure that'd be used against him somehow. blake wouldn't get the massive favor he's doing her anyway.

finally, the wannabe rockstar lifts the novel up to examine it. holding it drastically close to his face and angled above his head, chin held high as he glares daggers at the description. looks like childish garble to him, something his personal demon of a sister at home might write with those trigger fingers of hers. he soldiers on, regardless, to properly read it. something something, girlish sap fest, something something ... guitar? heartbreaker? he shifts another look over to blake, uncertain. did the newcomer actually try and pick something that she thought would appeal to his ego? what an actual ... weirdo. the fact she might've put any effort forward is honestly laughable, though he doesn't make a sound. only drifts back to reading the back while pursing his lips over it, looking almost thoughtful. a rare expression on him unless she's somehow caught him playing with his guitar, which is impossible. for someone who snaps at him like she'd pay to shove him off a roof, she sure pays attention. dennis' skin splotches with warmth before he forces himself to cool it, a silent sigh brushing all the evidence of her worming under his skin away. the love interest sounds cool, he guesses. not gnarly enough for his tastes and dennis is certain he could kick his ass if he wanted to steal the leading lady, but ... whatever. it's a nice gesture, no matter how much this weirds him out. makes his skin feel too tight and prods at his core, looking to palm it into something less pierced and fenced. when he lowers the book from it's dramatic positioning, the boy makes sure to scoot close to blake. tonguing the inside of his cheek as an impish energy surges forth again, utterly renewed, and revealing itself in the way dennis nudges the book near her ear and begins obnoxiously flipping through the pages with a calloused thumb. the slap of sheets almost too loud in the somber library. dennis snickers, even if it's too airy for his liking.

“guess you didn't know, but hey, some free advice? i don't like to read.” his voice grits out, the odd churning in his stomach quickly being released in hastily made red paint. the novel slips past his fingers and lands with a thud! on the table. how's that for quiet, blake? he thinks with a vindictive glee that really helps him glow - a bursting light that has dennis preening beside her. though he forces himself to settle down in order to do exactly what she didn't want, which was lean in even closer. head bent purely to bother her further ; nose almost bumping into the space where her neck and collarbone mesh. he manages to steel himself in time before that, yet his hair does brush with her own. a mix of burnett and ink. typical raw throat vibrating with a hum as he tries to skim every line he can, eager to absorb before she can hiss and push him away. it's probably ridiculous as hell, because dennis is ninety-nine percent sure he sees the word ninja mentioned in there and that's actually pathetic. what's appealing about those guys? their latex? was their black clothing even that, or was it just ski masks and hoodies and black jeans? what catches his eye, though, is the ... errrr ... he blinks real slow. any victorious grin easily changed into a thin line with the sudden way he presses his lips together. canines hidden. when dennis speaks, it sounds blank. “he's gonna do what now.” and no, it's not a question. dennis is only attempting to grasp it. trying not to feel too hot under his collar at the fact blake, apparently not all that innocent blake, was reading this in a public place. that's like if dennis brought his mags to school and just whipped it out! what the actual fuck? suddenly, dennis is eyeing the novel she gave him again with a new outlook. why would she give him a book with that sorta crap in it? what does it mean when a girl does that ... dennis' face really can't catch a break today with how much his cheeks keep swelling up.

@deathwis / random starter

blake can’t say she’s used to being teased. even when she was growing up, she never used to get picked on back home. sure, kids are mischievous, and she’d seen others get picked on. but the other kids in her class usually left her alone. maybe because she always had her nose stuck in a book… or maybe because her dad was the high leader of the white fang and the chieftain of all of menagerie. who knows, right?

but transferring to school here, covering up her ears with black ribbons that seem to twitch when she gets too excited, is a totally different experience. too scared to reveal her faunus status to people who would quickly relegate her to cheap slave labour isn’t something she’s particularly keen on. anyway, for the most part, people do leave her alone. but there’s one guy who just… keeps… bugging her! and she has no idea why. it’s not like she bothers anyone, always reading by herself in some corner of the library.

pointedly ignoring him hasn’t won her any points so far. he just keeps pestering her until she slaps his hand away and snaps, “can you quit it already?”, to which he always ends up snickering. blake knows his name — dennis, she recalls, cause he’s one of those guys the teacher loves to call on when they’re feeling particularly sadistic. or masochistic, depending on how you look at it. he’s a troublemaker, always starting problems in the class with his bad attitude. put simply, he’s exactly the kind of guy she always ends up associating with.

so when dennis comes sauntering back into the library like clockwork, blake is prepared. since he insists on interrupting her when she’s reading (and since she’s right at the good part of ninjas in love), she peers up at him with narrowed gold eyes and taps the ground next to her. once he sits, (surprised into obedience, she guesses), she shoves a novel into his chest. “you want to spend time with me? fine. but at least be quiet, okay?” the book she’d chosen for him is a cheesy romance novel about a teenage heartbreaker who plays guitar. she’s actually read that one before, and it gets pretty steamy in a couple parts. hopefully, it’ll interest him enough that he won’t bother her. or lean over her shoulder and realize just how steamy her book actually is.

#◆ ROCKSTAR ENVY ﹎ dennis / in character #&& pseudoneiric #not tagging a verse but like !! went normal human dennis route for now !! bc my rw.by verse isnt fleshed out yet but !!#here ya go ... i said youd get to have a thread with blake and i never fib abt threads !!#this was fun !! i felt so bad about like. dennis LMAO but its fun writing him with ppl besides the other clarkes #bc hes way more cruel and like. aware of himself around other people. anthony & tanya are his lil special cases <3 #even if he has a little crush on blake hes like : *bullies her and insults her and hes not getting flustered around her he SWEARS!*#im so sorry blake you truly deserve better. but at least i get to rp some more bully dennis ...#also i can see this wannabe rockstar going : im a feminist 🙄 everytime he picks on girls adhskkdka ... hes just. built crazy ok #anyway anyway im a little iffy on how this came out but i wanna get better at posting my writing even if i hate it #esp for you since you seem to like my stuff for some reason so !! here !! hope you enjoy aaah

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southsidelover · 7 years ago

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@chaosblossomed liked a starter call

The showdown in the hallway seemed to amount to nothing. And it took her a moment to piece it together, but the face, matched, to the girl from the news, more accustomed to seeing her features wrapped and twisted in heartbreak, but there was more. That night at the diner. Their barbed exchange, from that, it wasn’t hard to think of why the girl was looking at them and seeing nothing that worked in line with her life, her school. The things that she viewed as mere possessions in a life where she had everything, rather than the opportunity that both Toni and the other Serpents saw it as. But that was a benefit of those who were born to choice, to opportunity. Which was why her words burned, the assumptions made as they fell from her lips, toxic, wondering what it was, exactly, that made her so twisted. Feeling at least if there was some form of karmic justice within the world, it felt sickening, but selfishly good to know that her brother had fallen victim to her father in the basement of the very place she worked. Toni having heard the gunshots, but hid away with Sweet Pea to avoid having to answer for what had been done. And while Cheryl Blossom was blaming FP for the pain she was in, the reality was that the rot started within her own family, a deep unhappiness that couldn’t be erased. And she saw it in her, in those dark brown eyes, that sharp, foxen turn of her sneer. No sympathy, now, as her shoulders squared with anger at the idea that they were worth less than anything. Grabbing the girl by her upper arm so that she hadn’t the chance to wrench away from her, delivering her words with cold, icy clarity. “Listen, bitch... you think you own this school, and you want to play the schoolyard bully, and don’t want to share? Go ahead, be mad all by yourself. If you think we’re going anywhere, you’re mistaken. If you want to cause problems... then little girl,” a misnomer. Cheryl’s height edged her own out by more than a small amount, but the meaning still was there. “I will fucking end you. And if you want to test what the means, be my fucking guest. But if you think your shit words and your shittier attitude is going to change anything, you’re in for a rude fucking awakening, princess.” Letting go of her with a shove, disgusted that she even had to touch her, in the moment. Head tilting towards Sweet Pea, who waited for her, to let him know that she was fine... he didn’t need to worry. A bell ringing, attention brought back to the redhead in front of her, her voice raising up by a few levels. “Wow, Blossom, I didn’t expect that you’d walk me to my next class. Thanks, this place is still so confusing.” Weatherbee, watching only now, nodding his head in agreement. “Cheryl, please escort miss Topaz to her advanced chemistry class.... that’s what it is, I believe, correct?” A smirk on her lips, pink head nodding. “Amazing memory. Let’s go, before Professor Utonium wonders how you got out of the lab.”

#( script ) &&. i write sins not tragedies #[ cheryl blossom: and when i'm lonely / cherry's there / and she plays along while i sing out my blues ]#( riverdale ) &&. bittersweet symphony #[ warning notice: riverdale spoilers ]#chaosblossomed

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cherryinthesun · 8 years ago

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When the Soul Speaks [Sailor Moon] [Makoto x Naru]

I'm publishing the story that won the Sailor Moon contest I've held a little while ago!

As an award, I've created a cover art to it :) You can see it here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/8405281

Check out the author’s fanfiction profile: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/1757067/1/When-the-Soul-Speaks

Made with love by Al Kristopher

Self-reliance. Why bother going to school when she already knew that truth? Self-reliance. To rely on one's self. To come up out of the pit on your own strength, with your own ropes and levers. She probably fashioned them herself, to boot. Self-reliance. She didn't want it, she liked being dependent, but she didn't have a choice. When her mother and father were killed in that plane crash, the only person she had to rely on was herself-and of course, from time to time, her dearest and closest friend Shinozaki. But for the majority of her life, Makoto L. Kino was self-reliant.

Hence, her strength. The girl's heart and will was something; her body was another deal. Being self-reliant, independent, for ten years or so forced her to grow up, to bulk up, to become this damsel that was never in distress. She vowed to earn her strength because being self-reliant, independent, meant that you had to be strong enough to take care of yourself. Makoto didn't want that, but she didn't have that freedom, that choice. She either had to become strong on her own or else fall into the pit and stay.

But trauma bears scars, and no strength save that of the love of others could cover up those gaps in her heart. Makoto was a lonely, lonely, loveless little soul, cold and scared and becoming hard like a chunk of ice. Loner. Antisocial. Karate freak. Knives dug through her ears and went straight to her heart, until it too decided to become strong, and formed a barrier of stone around it, to protect from the daggers. Maybe that was why she was such a vigilante. She saw herself as a protector of the weak, a schoolyard anti-bully force, a defender. She might have been Don Quixote for all her efforts.

And then there was Naru Osaka, hardly one of strength since her mother was alive and quite well (her father was another story). Owning a jewelry store simply did not result in living out on the street. She was pretty, sophisticated, and bright, even as a youngster, though she picked up much of her guile and razor's repertoire in the schools and streets. She only needed wit and charm to last through her years, and gentleness of the heart. She loved many but not all, and even those she did love were not loved completely, but the young woman was by all means a well of love, and certainly wit and charm were thrown in.

Naru only needed to rely on her wit and her charms to get her out of tight spots. Sometimes she outsmarted her problems and foes, or else used her friendliness and cheer to get past them. Her body was designed to be delicate and soft. Had she been in the same seat as Makoto, the same situation, there was no telling whether she would've survived. But even Makoto had been frail once, a long time ago, and was now anything but. These two were not total opposites, though they had few similarities. The one outstanding thing they both had in common was that they attended the same school.

Yes, once upon a time, long ago, the charming Naru and the self-reliant Makoto once went to the same school. They didn't know each other-not just yet anyway, but a strange, sleight twist of fate determined otherwise. Fate required that a dependent person needed to fall into the care of an independent person for the meeting to work, and the two girls fit the descriptions perfectly. The act was ready to begin. All it needed was a little push in the right direction.

Naru Osaka was rudely shoved into the dirt by one of the many school bullies. It wasn't the first time it happened.

"Well, get up. C'mon, spoiled little rich girl, get up!"

"Why are you doing this to me?" wailed poor Naru as she struggled to crawl to her feet. "I never did anything bad to you! I'm not spoiled or rich either! Come on, just leave me alone!"

"No!" insisted the bully, leaning in to leer at her. He had the face of a lizard and a disposition to match. "Now gimme all your money! My friends and I are real hungry, and a puny little school sandwich just won't cut it. Now fork it over!"

"No!" she screamed, desperately raising her arm to defend herself. "Leave me alone!" Suddenly, the wind whistled sharply as a small object popped the bully on his head and landed neatly in the ground. It was a rose earring.

"Ow!"

"Hey, you heard her, you bullies!" barked a very strong voice from afar. The nasty kid turned around and paled, wide-eyed, as the schoolhouse "karate freak" stood defiant atop a jungle gym. He and his cohorts quickly scampered away, too frightened by stories and rumors about the person to test them. Naru was left on the ground, trembling a little as she waited for something to happen. She didn't know if her savior was there to help or hurt her.

As it turned out, the person was a tall, pretty girl with long, free flowing brunette hair, with the most heartwarming smile and the most beautiful earring. Naru noticed that she only had one, and it looked exactly like the one that had struck the bully. She smiled awkwardly as the tall girl extended her hand and asked if she was okay. She reached over and grabbed the small jeweled rose.

"Uh, you dropped this," she managed. The brunette laughed quietly.

"Yeah, I did. Had to get his attention somehow." She quietly affixed the jewel onto her ear, talking as she did. "So what's your story? Those bullies are terrible, but they don't usually gang up on someone unless they have a reason. I heard them say you were rich or something."

"No, not even remotely," managed Naru, and pulled herself up with the brunette's help. She was frankly amazed at how easily the taller girl picked her up from the dust. Perhaps those crazy "karate freak" rumors were true, at least partially. But no, she looked gentle and kind, perhaps too kind for that rough little world all the other mortals lived in.

"So, what then?"

"Um, my mom just owns a jewelry store. I don't have any more money than the other kids do. My lunches and breakfasts are all the same." Naru smiled shyly and hugged herself as she realized her savior was staring. She blushed and stared down at the ground. The young lady smiled and raised her chin up delicately.

"Well, please take care of yourself from now on. I'll be watching you just to make sure those morons don't come back, but maybe you should learn how to fight back as well."

"Oh, but I couldn't do that!" insisted the redhead. "I don't know how to fight, and my mother doesn't like violence. Besides, I'm a girl, and I'd never be able to fight off those boys!"

"Then how do you explain me?" countered brunette with a sly smile. Naru flushed.

"Oh. Well, um… I mean… well, sorry. I didn't mean to say that it's not ladylike."

"You do what you have to in order to stay a step ahead of the game," said the brunette gently. She gave Naru's shoulder a pat, and went off on her own before the stammering redhead could even ask her name. Naru was left by herself, but not for long, as the bell rang for everyone to come into class. She sighed, wondering what sorts of strange things the rest of the day would bring her. And she hoped to see that pretty girl again.

It wasn't as if Naru obsessed over the beautiful stranger for the rest of the day (so much so that her studies were phased out by the façade of a tall, gentle, karate maniac). Hardly. She was able to concentrate, able to answer questions and take quizzes. But for sure, her savior occupied her mind whenever she allowed it. It was like a tickling sensation in the back of her mind, something that nagged but not overbearingly so. Naru was more curious than she was obsessed, really. Who had that been?

Chances were that unless her harassers had wised up quickly, she would probably find out the hard way. If it came down to it, Naru would rather be safe and not know who the girl was, than be picked on again and find out. She wasn't naïve, though. She anticipated another attack in the near future, probably sparked by the same illogical reason as before. So her mother owned a jewelry store. So what? Why did that make her more of a target than anyone else? Naru sucked on her lower lip nervously when she left school and began the long walk home.

No bully attacked her, and for the record, her fear that something even worse would jump out was never realized. Naru had to stop briefly, rub her face, and get a drink. She was starting to grow paranoid. She took a deep breath and kept walking. Naru actually was interrupted on the way home, but by somebody whom she knew she would be safe with, the very person who had saved her and who she was curious about. She smiled softly and gave a meek wave.

"Uh, nice to see you again."

"Yeah. So do you walk home?"

"Mm-hmm, every day. I don't know anybody who could drive me and the bus doesn't even go near where I live. It's good exercise."

"Mind if I join you?" she asked. Naru smiled.

"Sure! I could use some company! You know, I've been feeling very paranoid recently."

"Oh."

"Yeah, ever since I got picked on by those boys today, all I can think about is getting attacked again. I moved on from the school to the sidewalk, and all of a sudden I'm afraid of a burglar, or worse! Heh… pretty silly, huh?"

"I don't know," replied the brunette, stretching her arms behind her head as she walked. "Sometimes even the safest neighborhoods can be dangerous. Maybe I should keep an eye on you just to be safe."

"Yeah." Naru gave her savior a warm, bright smile, and inched closer until they were walking directly side by side. Makoto Kino, the gentle "karate maniac", smiled shyly at the shorter girl. She badly wanted to know her name.

"So, ah, where exactly do you live? Maybe I can walk you home better if I knew." Naru slowed down and raised her hand above her, stabbing the air with her finger.

"You see that avenue way over there? It's marked by all those lovely trees. In the spring their leaves turn pink and it smells gorgeous; in the fall, it looks like they're on fire." Makoto stood on her toes and squinted to see.

"The one with the big weeping willow?"

"Yeah! I live right across from that tree!" Makoto smiled and stood at her usual height.

"A beautiful girl living in a beautiful neighborhood. Now I know why those creeps were after you." Naru blushed shyly and turned her face away. She had never been called beautiful before, at least not by a stranger.

"Y-yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. They were jealous. I'd be too, except I know you're not stuck-up about it. May I see where you live?"

"You're the one who's walking me home!" she exclaimed shyly. Makoto laughed, her face beaming with delight and joy. Naru couldn't help but stare at the simple face. She barely knew the young lady, yet already she was enamored with her. She was also just young enough and just innocent enough to feel such admiration, such a liking to the girl, without knowing any adulterations. This was merely the act of one human being attracted to another human through their innate goodness, and that was a very pure act indeed.

"Well, come on," smiled Makoto after she finished laughing. "I'll take you home, and maybe someday your parents will let you see mine. It's a really nice place, but it gets kinda empty."

"Oh? Where do you live?" Makoto smiled, her eyes twinkling just barely as she led the smaller redhead into the "beautiful neighborhood".

"Not far."

As usual, Naru came to an empty house, so she unlocked the outer door and led herself in. Her mother wouldn't be home until sometime that evening; her father wouldn't be home at all, to their grief. Inwardly, Naru was proud that her folks had "divorce-proofed" their partnership and remained faithful and loving all their years together, but the vow of being parted only by mortality had taken a very literal, very painful turn in the lives of the Osakas. It had been all girls since, but Naru had learned to be comfortable with it.

"You wanna come in?" she asked, seeing Makoto holding the glass door open (the Osaka house had a glass door that swung out and an oak door that swung in). The brunette smiled shyly. If anyone had told Naru that this young woman had been the same fearsome, independent, bullish karate maniac of the schoolyard, she would have laughed. Makoto was definitely strong but certainly not cruel. She had warmed up to young Osaka like a kitten would warm up to a cozy fire, perhaps instinctively since the girl rarely interacted with anyone else, at least on friendly terms. Naru began to think she was the only friend Makoto ever had, and wished that she would accept.

"Well… you sure your mom won't mind?"

"Oh, she won't mind. She loves it when I bring my friends around. Of course, I really don't have very many people I would call a friend, since I'm sort of shy."

"And the bullies."

"Yeah, and because a lot of people think I'm 'too good for them'. But I like you. You're different." Naru blushed faintly as she realized what had spilled out. I like you. Of course, this was an innocent gesture of camaraderie, something she would probably also attribute to good music, or a nice movie, or a book she could never put down. Makoto had a good song to her voice, moved and acted comfortably, and was received with goodwill and cheer. She began to wonder if her brunette savior, her new friend, felt the same.

"Thanks," replied Makoto simply, after a lengthy, awkward pause. She took a step and cleared her throat. "Um, so… may I come in?"

"Uh? Ah, sure, sure!" Naru led her new friend into the house, bounding across the large rooms and halls until she got to the kitchen. She yelled from inside, "Do you want anything to drink or eat? I'm afraid we don't have much of either, but I'll get you something if you want it."

"Iced tea?"

"Coming right up!" Makoto knew better than to decline an offer from a host (or hostess, in this case). It bridged the small gap between resident and visitor, it broke the ice, and it was a small, subtle act of friendliness. Besides, she was honestly parched. Naru found a pitcher of cold, strong tea from her refrigerator and poured it into a tall class cup. She made another glass exactly as the first, and set it down on the table.

"Lemon, sugar?"

"No thanks."

"Something to eat? Crackers? We have some cookies left over from a party."

"Ooh!" Naru laughed and went for the box of cookies. She laid them down between her space and Makoto's, and sat down with a smile. Makoto returned it. From the humble act of service she had witnessed, the brunette lady could already tell that she would like Naru. Here was a girl who was warm, kind, simple despite her rumored social status, pretty, friendly, and generous. She was by no means a snob, nor was she even remotely afraid of Makoto's reputation. Of course, Makoto had been anything but mean to her hostess, so why base something off of rumors when the truth was right there, smiling and chewing on chocolate chip cookies?

"Mm! Did somebody make these?"

"No, store-bought," admitted Naru shyly. "My mother can't cook very well. I can do a little. We usually buy something easy from the store and warm it up, or else we eat out. You'd be surprised at how much a jewelry store owner really makes."

"Not nearly as much as those guys thought," replied Kino. Osaka smiled.

"Mm-hmm. So what does your mom do? And what about your father? Mine died a few years back." Makoto smiled gently and reached out to touch Naru's soft hand. The girl was so humble and self-conscious about her mother's job that she didn't even wear a ring or bracelet.

"I know how that feels." Naru blinked.

"Ya do?"

"Mm-hmm." A pause. Naru blinked again until she was given clarity.

"Oh. And your mother?"

"The same." Naru's face became dark as her stomach sunk. The sweet cookies suddenly felt bitter in it.

"Oh. Gosh, I'm sorry. It must have been awful."

"It still is, what with that big house I live in." Makoto's voice was frail and monotone, not quite quavering under grief. Naru turned her hand around until it clasped the one on top of it, and the two girls comforted each other quietly.

"All by yourself?"

"I don't have many friends."

"Oh. Gee, I've got to come over and cheer you up! It doesn't sound right, just living alone! Tell you what: I'm gonna ask my mother if I can spend the night at your house." Makoto's face brightened like a bulb in a black room. She didn't really expect Naru to say something like that, at least not yet. She definitely liked the girl-it would be hard not to-but she didn't know how she felt until just now.

"W-would that be inconvenient?" she managed.

"No! Not at all! Odds are my mother already has plans for this evening. All I'd need to do was ask, and she'd let me. She's not going to be home for awhile, but-"

The telephone rang. Both girls laughed.

"Speaking of which… hello? …Oh, hi mother! …Yeah, I just got home! I'm here with a new friend from school!" Naru gave Makoto a friendly wink while listening to her mother; Makoto became warm inwardly and outwardly, and could not contain the gentle, beautiful smile. The wink was just a harmless signal; what really made her melt was Naru's open declaration of friendship. There would be no doubt that Makoto would accept the honored position.

"Well, there's not much in the cabinets or fridge, except for leftovers," answered Naru. "…A-huh. …Yeah. …A-huh. …Oh, really? I was just telling her that you'd probably be out for the evening! …Well, I was wondering if it'd be all right if I spent the night at her house. …I don't know, I'll ask her." Naru covered the receiver with her hand and whispered, "Can you cook? My mom is thinking about letting me, as long as you can make us dinner." Makoto tried to give Naru her humblest nod. To say that she was able to cook was like saying water was wet.

"Yeah, she can cook," answered Naru. She and her mother traded off Yeses and A-huhs for awhile, then came the standard farewell, "Okay mom, I'll see you tomorrow evening after you get home from work. I love you! Thanks for letting me stay over! Buh-bye!" Naru hung up the phone, turned around, and grinned. Makoto felt like asking a stupid question.

"So can you come over?"

"She said no!" Makoto smacked herself in the face, barely able to hide her laughter. Naru couldn't, and chuckled as she scrambled over and finished off a half-eaten cookie. "Of course you can, of course! Jeez, weren't you listening?"

"Only to you."

"I should hope so! So when can I come over?" Makoto smiled and pointed to the box of cookies.

"Take some of those with you and we can leave right now."

As it turned out, Makoto's house was just as beautiful as Naru's, though way too large for one person to live in. Makoto assured Naru that most of her spare time was not spent sulking, but rather steeped into her loves: cooking, cleaning, physical exercise, and of course, romancing. She was away from home most of the time since she had the freedom to do so, and having guests over was a joy she rarely experienced. She put out all the works for Naru as she led her new friend inside, desperately trying not to sound too proud as she talked about herself and her home. Naru, however, loved learning more about her gentle friend.

Makoto rarely experienced grief, but the loneliness was definitely there. Sometimes it made her physically ache, until she became weary and wept. Other times she resolved to be strong, for her parents, and made the most out of a bad situation. The inheritance and all their property was hers, and so far, she had shown the neighborhood that she was competent in handling the affairs of her parents. Makoto didn't have to worry about money until she came of age, since her folks apparently left her whatever they had stored up. She cooked all her own meals and kept busy cleaning house just in case a special visitor did arrive.

Naru thought the place was beautiful.

"It's beautiful!" she exclaimed, the box of cookies still in her arms. Makoto smiled and showed her guest to the kitchen, which was surprisingly clean despite the amount of time its lone user spent in there. She immediately swung open cabinets and cupboards, asking what her guest wanted. Naru asked what was available. "Just about anything within reason" came her unhelpful answer. Naru responded with a favorite of hers: stuffed tortellini, scalloped potatoes, and key lime pie. Makoto nearly blanched at her delicate choices, but tried to promise the next-best thing. Naru assured her hostess that whatever she made would be great.

About an hour passed. Naru was entertained just from watching Makoto scurry around and make the dishes. She had scalloped potatoes easily, and to Naru's amazement, she handmade the pasta, even stuffing it with cheese. The pie was a problem, though, so they just substituted for the leftover cookies as dessert. Makoto gave Naru a sinister chuckle as she slyly pulled out a half-full bottle of red wine she had been storing and poured two small glasses. Naru vehemently refused, but her hostess insisted.

"A little wine won't hurt you," she said. "We're both underage but it doesn't matter. One glass won't affect you either way. Believe me, I know." Naru kept her lips pursed. Frankly, she didn't want to find out how her generous hostess knew that. She just accepted the wine and the dishes, and dug in slowly. Everything was delicious.

"Oh, wow, this is even better than some of the stuff I've had at the restaurants!" she exclaimed after swallowing. Makoto smiled humbly and thanked her. Naru continued to eat, trying hard not to wolf everything down, as she usually did. She wanted to absorb every bite that came into her mouth; she wanted to please her tongue with every flavor that had been cooked into the dishes. Makoto, gracious to the end, had given most of what she made to Naru while she nibbled at a smaller portion.

"I've never had this dish before, but I suppose I've outdone myself if I can make something this good without ever trying it first."

"You did good," complimented Naru. Makoto smiled, and little more was said as the two new friends continued their dinner.

Naru took control of the dishes, insisting on cleaning them to repay her hostess. Makoto accepted on the condition that each girl clean their own dish. Then, since the hour was late but nowhere near darkened into night, they decided on talking, getting to really know each other, fraternizing into the hours as many girls did. Time passed. Naru quickly became attracted to Makoto, but in the purest, truest sense: the girl was too kind and too sweet, and too giving to be unattractive.

Makoto was drawn into Naru's sweetness, her innocence (blended in with deepened wisdom), her beauty and taste, and her warm heart. Both girls loved the other woman's goodness; it was this goodness that pulled them in towards each other like magnets, as good things are drawn to those that have the senses to appreciate them.

This was no fierce karate maniac. This was no stuck-up rich snob. Anything but. These were girls who ached because of their loneliness, their exclusivity, their forced, hated isolation. They were like flowers in the first chilly days of spring, trapped in their own worlds by the icy weather, yet budded open into bloom by the appearance of the other. When their goodness was noticed, appreciated, even loved and admired, their flowers bloomed and the true beauty-indeed, the true truth came out, and it was a wonderful sight indeed. They didn't need to know each other's names; their souls spoke for them.

Two flowers, with petals of brown and red, yawned as the hour deepened finally, and night came over their eyes. They shared a smile.

"Well, my mother did say that it would be okay if I stayed over here for the night," noted Naru. Makoto nodded. "Do you have any extra beds I could sleep in? It's getting towards that time."

"You're right, but there are only two beds in this whole house. One's mine, and the other I can't bear to touch. I've, uh, kept it enshrined, if you know what I mean." Naru did.

"Oh. Yeah. Well, um, the couch looks good…"

"You don't have to sleep on the couch!" beamed Makoto happily. "Just share my bed! I promise I won't kick or talk in my sleep." Naru smiled shyly and blushed. That wasn't exactly what had concerned her-but the brunette girl was a good friend, no matter how long she had been so. Sharing a bed would be… nice, perhaps.

"Well… I suppose I could," she drawled carefully. "But I can't promise the same!"

"Uh-oh, am I gonna regret that offer?" laughed Makoto softly. Naru smiled and stood up, helping Makoto along the way.

"I hope not," she murmured under her breath. The house was so quiet that Makoto heard it anyway, and smiled. Naru made a beeline to the bathroom to change into the single nightgown she had brought, while Makoto made the switch in her own room. She had already burrowed herself into her big, soft green sheets as her friend came in, flicking off the light and feeling her way around. Makoto could feel her bed shifting as her friend dug in, and smiled as she felt her scoot in close.

"It's so nice and soft!" she exclaimed. "But it's a bit big for just one person. Did you have a double bed just for occasions like this?" Makoto laughed and denied it firmly. Naru shrugged, and allowed her body to slump as she entered into weary sleep. Makoto watched her, and the faces and eyes of the girls stayed locked onto each other, just as their souls and hearts would always be locked, even if circumstance, good or bad, saw them apart. Thirty minutes passed and the drowsy caress of slumber came over them both.

"Sleepy," whispered Makoto. Naru smiled, barely able to nudge her own head. Makoto's green eyes were so stunning… so beautiful, and soft, not like the fierce fiery eyes of a bullish thug. Naru smiled, and just before she drifted off totally, she reached over and caressed the pretty face of her friend, brushing over like a ghost-neither lingering nor fleeting, just long enough to feel it and know it had happened. For all either girl knew, though, it had been just another part of the dream that came over their rest.

The next day came with the speed of Mercury. It was a bright, warm spring day, but contained within the happiness was a cruelty that all people face in their lives. The day began wonderfully for Makoto and Naru, one of them making breakfast and the other doing a small load of laundry. They rarely spoke during that first morning together but there really was no need for speech, as by some powerful link hidden in their hearts, they had connected to each other through a bond more powerful than words, and were understood simply by expressions and movements. They predicted it was going to be a lovely day.

Makoto walked Naru (and herself) to school-not because her friend was still paranoid of being attacked, but because they loved each other's company. Besides, the day was warm and completely liberated from winter's chill, so who could take transportation anyway? The girls walked very close together, sharing little things from time to time along the way. When they arrived at school, the mere sight of the "dreaded karate freak" drove most of the other students away. Naru just giggled.

"I think I'll like having a bodyguard around."

"I'll take payment in discount jewelry," countered Makoto playfully.

School was slightly different with a new friend in tow. Besides the strange absence of bullies, something else bothered Makoto and Naru that day. During lunch, the few friends of Naru called the girl out and asked her how she could cavort with the "dangerous" Makoto Kino. Naru's pure anger was only matched by her kindness, and she firmly set her friends straight. One of Makoto's few friends also came up to her and wondered why the gentle girl associated with a snooty snob like Naru. The person was ceremoniously chewed out. Later, the girls revealed their similar incidents and nearly laughed at how much they really had in common.

"I suppose even birds of a different feather can still sing together," shrugged Naru. She was off on her proverb (on purpose), but Makoto liked the revision. It fit them both. Somehow, she didn't see herself as being very different from Naru.

The rest of the school day went without incident.

While they were walking back home from school, Naru reminded her friend that her mother was expecting her that evening, so they would need to drop by the Osaka house first. Makoto liked the place. It was smaller and cozier than her own home, and it felt like one could really get to "know" the place, even if they lived all alone. She also wanted to meet Naru's mother, to see where her friend got most of her influences from. As it turned out, the elder Osaka lady was already home before either of them, and she had a message for her daughter.

Makoto instantly liked Mrs. Osaka, but not the message she had.

"Thank you for letting Naru stay over at your home," said Mrs. Osaka politely. "I didn't want her home alone, at least not without a meal. Sorry I had to leave you like that, sweetheart, but I had to go to a party."

"Oh, no problem!" assured her daughter. "So what kind of party did you go to?"

"A going-away party."

"Oh. Somebody from work?"

"Yes, my dear," said her mother shyly. Mrs. Osaka cleared her throat and placed her hands on Naru's shoulders gently, already sensing that her news would spoil the pure heart of her daughter. "…It was for me, Naru. I'm the one who's going away from work. I got a promotion, and I'm moving to another part of town. I've already filled in the relocation papers for your school, and we should begin packing tomorrow."

A cold pause.

"…What?"

"I'm sorry dear," she sighed. "I know it's cruel of me to tear you away from this place, especially since you found a new friend, but…"

"Mother…"

"You must understand that when an opportunity like this comes up, we can't just pass it down. Sweetie, I love you, and I want the very best for you, and ever since your father…" Mrs. Osaka trailed off. Naru swallowed darkly. Makoto looked crestfallen.

"When do you go in for your first day?"

"In a week. We have to be packed and ready to leave in three days. Honey, I'm sorry…" Naru sighed wearily, but was able to look up into her mother's face, and even smile.

"Mom, it's… all right. I… I'm fine with it, really. I mean, these things happen, right?" Her mother nodded. Naru turned around sadly to Makoto, giving the taller girl a heartbreaking look. Makoto desperately wanted to embrace her friend, to erase the sadness and have a bright, sunny smile in its place, but Naru did the job for her. She froze awkwardly as the smaller girl hugged her, right in front of her mother.

"…Sorry. This just came as a surprise. I didn't know."

"…We'll be okay," replied the brunette, slowly returning the hug. Mrs. Osaka smiled wistfully and wisely decided to leave the two friends alone. Now, Naru really turned on the sad face, nearly causing Makoto to do the same. Makoto tried to smile, but it was hard. It felt like a small piece of her own soul, one that had been grafted on so flawlessly, was now being ripped apart at the worst possible time. She had gained and lost a wonderful friend in such a short time that she could barely believe it had happened at all.

"This is wrong," sighed Naru, still holding onto her nameless friend. "We've become so close in such a short period of time, and now we'll have to say goodbye. I feel like I know you better than anyone I've ever met, and yet I don't even know your name. Ever since you saved me… I've felt… happy, like there was a hole in me that had been filled up. Now it feels like that hole's being torn by a knife."

Makoto couldn't help but smile at her friend's bittersweet eloquence. She couldn't even speak for awhile. She just leaned in, and kissed her forehead.

"It'll be okay. We'll be okay, just like I said. I mean, we'll still probably be in the same town, just not so close together. Y… yeah, but you're right, we were close, and now we're going to be far apart. Oh, my dear friend, the angelic girl whose name I don't know, you've saved me more than I could ever save you. You're my little guardian angel, you know? I was just so sad… so sad and lonely, and bitter at so many things, before this sweet redhead stumbled into my life. I might have saved you from a beating, but you saved me from so many other storms. You were-are-a ray of sunshine in my life, a sign that… all the storms are now over, and spring has come out again."

Now it was Naru's turn to smile at Makoto's eloquence. She giggled sadly.

"I… I guess we still have three days to spend with each other," she managed. "I don't want to sound morbid, but maybe you can help us move. I know it will sound weird if you think about it, but at least we'll have some time with each other. And then…" Naru trailed off, shaking her head slowly since she didn't have an answer. Makoto smiled and gave her friend a tight hug. When Naru embraced even tighter, Makoto was amazed at how desperate and powerful the girl was. She really was her emotional savior.

"I'll help you pack," she said quietly. "And then I'll make you a lunch when it's time for you to go. We'll see each other again. Just like the song goes, it's a small world after all."

"Please," groaned Naru, her voice jittery from a mixture of laughter and sadness, "anything but that."

Three days passed.

When Naru Osaka and her mother were ready to leave, Makoto Kino was there, bearing three gifts for her friend. One was the promised lunch: Naru's favorite, even an entire key lime pie, bought fresh from the store (Makoto promised to master the recipe for the treat). Another was a simple post-it note, with ten digits scrawled on it in permanent ink. Naru smiled as she recognized it to be her friend's phone number.

"Call me once you get there so I can have yours," said Makoto with a wink. Naru promised with a nod. Finally, Makoto gave Naru one last present, unfastening one of her rose earrings from her ear and giving it to her friend. Naru gasped as it came into her possession.

"I can't take this! It's yours! Besides, don't you need both?"

"It's ours now," said Makoto with another wink. "If you wear it, you can think of me. Maybe it will give you special powers or let you see me in your dreams." Naru chuckled with disbelief and stared at the rose jewel for a long time, appraising its priceless value. The daughter of a jewelry store owner, she had gotten her ears pierced ages ago, and replaced one of her humble emerald pins with the larger rose.

"I guess you can have this in exchange," said Naru bashfully as she handed the girl the small green pin. Makoto took it carefully and applied it with great love. Both girls looked a little weird with earrings that didn't match, but they didn't care. The deep significance of sharing such treasures was greater than appearance.

"Oh, one more thing," said Naru hastily, digging inside her pocket. She produced a pink band with green baubles, and gave it to Makoto. "Maybe you can put it in your hair. I think you'd look cute with a ponytail!" Makoto smiled warmly, and tied her loose, free flowing chocolate hair into the bow. As she got a glimpse of herself in Mrs. Osaka's car mirror, she admitted that Naru was right.

"Naa-ruu!" shouted Mrs. Osaka from the now-empty house. She carried two suitcases in her hands yet still managed to wave at her daughter. "It's time to leave, honey. Oh, um, are you almost ready?" Naru turned around, smiling at her mother in the most innocent, carefree way. She was still pretty sad to leave a good friend, but she knew the parting would not be forever. Somehow, those two were destined to see each other again, even if it was under strange terms; their very souls ordained it.

"Yeah, just about," she replied. Mother nodded and threw the bags in the trunk, and started the car. Naru looked back, up into Makoto's stunning green eyes, remembering their first and best night together, and how alive it had been. Here, she was about to start something new, with the chance to make a new life for herself and find new friends, friends who didn't bully or intimidate her simply because of where her mother worked. She had to admit that in spite of briefly losing Makoto, it sounded pretty exciting.

"Well…" began the brunette, her hair in a cute tail thanks to her friend. Naru smiled and put her finger to the girl's mouth.

"Long farewells were never necessary. Let's just promise to keep in touch, kay? We don't know each other's names, but we'll know each other again when we meet. How could we mistake it?" Naru fell into the embrace of her friend, rubbed her back, then let her go. The girls bowed simultaneously, and parted down two paths. Before Naru vanished inside the car that would take her away into a new life, she blew Makoto a kiss. Makoto blew one at the exact same time.

One year later, the defender of the weak, unfortunate, and helpless was expelled from her school for fighting. Embittered by the extreme injustice wrought upon her, she wandered until she found a school that would accept her. It was by scholastic merit alone that she was able to continue her education at all. By that time, though, Makoto L. Kino had reverted to her isolated, cold, lonely self again, having spent too long a time away from any semblance of love. But unbeknownst to her, fate had a kinder hand in store for her.

And when Makoto gave it some thought, she was glad she had kept true to her Self and "started" those fights. Aside from Shinozaki and that one beautiful stranger she had met so many ages ago, the transfer was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

And true to her friend's word, when she saw the beautiful girl who had saved her from her own emotional storms, talking and sitting quietly with new friends, she was able to recognize her instantly. Makoto was able to find a private time to make her presence known, and squealed as she greeted her dear, great friend. The meeting was marked by an embrace that had been too long in coming, and little more save wordless expressions given by sparkling eyes of blue and green. Makoto giggled and shyly held out her hand.

"By the way," she managed, "before I totally forget, my name's Makoto Kino." Naru grinned and shook her hand.

"And my name's Naru Osaka. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Makoto."

"It's good to meet you as well, Naru."

Their names rolled off their tongues like honey.

The End

#sailor moon #makoto kino #naru #yuri #yuri fanfiction

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elevenseggbros · 8 years ago

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stranger things angst

Okay, so we know that the AV Club boys get bullied a lot by Troy and James. That’s pretty obvious. But, I feel like we don’t really talk about the long term emotional toll that it may take on them, especially considering the time that they live in and the trauma they’ve already been through (at least, I haven’t seen many posts about it)

(also, I wrote this with the idea that Eleven either doesn’t come back for a very long time or just doesn’t come back at all. adds to the angst of it all, ya feel?)

tw: racism, homophobia, death, bullying

Lucas, heavily bullied for the color of his skin. Troy using words like “midnight” to set him on edge, but soon moving on to harsher language when he learns it from his parents. Lucas being one of the only black kids in Hawkins, but to him it feels like he’s one of the only black kids in all of Indiana. And then, suddenly, the Cosby Show sweeps over the small town. Everyone is entranced by characters that look and act like him. And yet, the bullying becomes worse and worse. Troy despises the fact that non-white people are becoming popular in a culture that has always been white, and he despises that fact that people love it. So, when teachers and other students aren’t listening, he spits angry words in Lucas’s face. And Lucas, who sees a beloved family that looks just like this own - a happy, upper middle class, african american family - can’t understand what he is doing wrong. Sure, he wasn’t as athletic as Theo Huxtable, but not everyone could be a jock. What made him so broken?

Dustin, constantly remembering how Mike almost died just to save his teeth. Every day, he wonders what would have happened if Eleven hadn’t been there to save him. He would’ve lost his best friend and for what? Dustin knows he’d rather have no teeth at all than lose Mike. Sometimes, nightmares creep in, and the scene replays in a different way. The boys run over to the edge to see… nothing. Wait, is that… blood? The dream always ends with Dustin being filled with a rage he’s never experienced before. When he wakes up, he swears he can feel Troy’s shirt bunched in between his fingers, and can hear his screams before he’s thrown off the very same cliff Mike just willingly jumped off of. Dustin always wakes up before he can let go of Troy’s shirt. When he’s older, he figures that if his teeth had come in, Troy would’ve punched them out already. Eventually, Mike and Lucas become experts at shoving and running, but Dustin could never bring himself to fight back, even if it was just in defense. Maybe it’s because of the nightmares that never really went away, or maybe it’s because he knows what it’s like to be pushed around. After a while, Dustin stops smiling in pictures. What’s the point, anyway?

Mike, leaving his house in white suburbia to face Troy and James at school. After the incidents with Eleven, they left him alone for a time. But, when they realized she wasn’t coming back, the taunting was relentless. “Mike Wheeler with a girl, huh? I always thought he had the hots for Byers,” “Wow, Wheeler can’t even keep a girlfriend for a whole week? What happened to her, freak? Did she get too crazy for you, or did your ugly face scare her off?” The first time Mike threw a punch was in his sophomore year of high school. Troy said Eleven must’ve been “a freakish, psychotic accident created by the Russians”. He was suspended for a week and broke two of his knuckles. As this is happening, he has to watch as his friends get torn to shreds for things they can’t possibly change. He watches as Lucas’s obsession with the Cosby Show dramatically shifts to loathing. He watches as Dustin trains himself to stop smiling. He watches as Will is slowly chipped away into a shell of his old self. Mike can’t stop blaming himself for not only being unable to save El, but being unable to save his best friends, too.

Will, hearing about the AIDS epidemic on the news for the first time in 1981. He forgets about the disease until he hears his parents screaming about it. About him. The first time he heard the term queer wasn’t from schoolyard bullies, it was from his father. It wasn’t until 1983 when he finally learned what it “being gay” meant. He wasn’t disgusted, simply because Mike was the one to explain it to him. Instead, it just seemed like Mike had re-explained something he’d heard a long time ago. Boys kissing boys? That felt familiar. That felt right. When his father says the words “gay” and “AIDS” in the same breath, Will is filled with fear. When he goes to school, Troy tells him that being queer makes you sick. He tells him that being queer means you’re going to die alone. Will is suddenly very, very afraid that his friends are secretly disgusted by him. Every time Mike sits across from him instead of next to him during a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, he feels angry at himself. Every time Dustin says “no, thank you” when Will offers a sip of his drink or a bite of his sandwich, he despises living in his own skin. Every time Lucas wipes his hands on his pants after a spit swear, he begs his brain to stop being so filthy. Troy stops physically attacking him and claims he’s afraid of getting the “gay disease”. Will starts imagining himself dead at 25; a full casket at an empty funeral.

#stranger things #Lucas Sinclair #Dustin Henderson #Mike Wheeler #Will Byers #ya this kind of just gets more angst as it goes i guess #srry #stranger things fic #stranger things headcanon

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old-soulless · 8 years ago

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Thank You For Calling Me Fatso

A brief note from Dai: When Melissa first shared her incredible transformation story with me, I was blown away. She's an incredibly brave person who has dealt with a lot of personal adversities throughout her life. She first shared a piece of her transformation story in an earlier article, “How Going to the Gym Scared the DEATH Out of Me“. What I didn't know at the time was how far back in her past her transformation journey began… when she wrote me to ask if I'd be willing to share her back story and some of the obstacles she's faced on her journey, I was honored, and after reading this article you'll see why. I'm confident that after reading her story, you'll be inspired to realize that, “we (all) have worth beyond insults. We are beautiful and strong no matter our shape. We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.”

You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left… Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I was in fourth grade. You remember, the year we were all awkward 9-year-olds with mock swagger. You were the girl with the long, blonde hair, new shoes and designer jeans. You were the kid who played club sports, went on family vacations to Disneyland and ate hot lunch. I was the other kid. I was the round, pudgy kid, the one with glasses held together with duct tape. Yeah. That kid. The kid picked last for dodge ball in that musty gymnasium, sweating it out extra hard as I waited for someone, anyone, to call my name. I was the monkey in the middle, every single time. I was the kid who never dodged the ball, taking it in the gut while you all snickered on the sidelines. I was the kid sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating my solitary lunch with my solitary self, surrounded by a sea of laughing, pranking, squabbling kids who at least had someone to argue with. As you tossed your half-eaten lunches into the garbage bins, you passed me by, and I silently prayed to the Saint of Forgotten Children for mercy. I prayed you would at least pass me without a remark, without an insult, without a jab. The Saint of Forgotten Children must have been busy that year because you tossed insults at me like peanuts to an elephant, nothing more than an afterthought for kids who went home to casseroles and family game nights. You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Fast-forward a few painful years to middle school. You didn’t know it, but I was the girl silently suffering abuse at home. I was beaten until bloody, swollen and breathless. I was sexually assaulted while the other adults in the house looked the other way. Every morning I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and tied my shoes knowing that I would face another day of mocking, bullying and neglect. I put on a brave face on my way to school, and I held it there throughout the day, enduring the scorn and cruelty only one kid can truly heap on another. I left school every afternoon, steadying myself for the inevitable pushes, shoves and name calling that followed me all the way home. It was you again, now a cheerleader. You had even more friends than before. Your legs were longer and leaner. You had the ‘perfect’ body, so why did you have to mess with pudgy ol’ me? But mess you did, the snide lilt of your voice the soundtrack from elementary school, the classic song on repeat in my head. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone.

Don’t get your hopes up that high school was any better, littered as it was with classes full of beautiful girls with perfectly coiffed hair, handsome football players and me. The problem is, the monkey stuck helplessly in the middle is never allowed to catch the ball. I had become, like the ball itself, something to be dodged. Oh sure, I tried to make friends. But deep in my soul, where the music still blared, I knew I wasn’t worthy, and I suspected I never had been. The torment I suffered from those fourth grade days in the schoolyard carried through, the bullying and insults worsening in middle school, until the ultimate insult was thrown my way: apathy. I became something worse than the object of your scorn. I became invisible. I gave up on friends; why bother? Nobody cared that I ate my can of green beans alone, in the bathroom stall, the only thing I could afford to bring from home. Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

You may have heard, like I had, that college is where the kids who hated high school go to shine. Don’t buy it. College was a joke. I barely focused on classes, zoning out and finally skipping them altogether. Like my childhood, nobody noticed. When I stopped showing up to classes completely, nobody cared. That voice inside me, the one tapping along to the lyrics of my inadequacy, told me I wasn’t worth a college degree. I wasn’t worthy of an education, of walking across a stage, or of achieving my dreams, so why would I be worthy of any other form of self-care? The only thing that kept me company was your comments, which became my closest friend and confidant. We sat together, alone in my bedroom, eating ice cream and bags of Doritos, drunk-dialing Domino’s after our latest cookie binge. Your comments were my trusted sidekick through those years that everyone said would be the best of my life. Instead of acing exams, dating engineering majors or partying with my friends, I hosted a party of two: just your comments and me. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food.

If college was a joke, dating was the ultimate prank. I carried your words with me onto every single date, sitting across the table from a man I dared to like, picking at my salad and barely taking a bite. Eye contact was impossible. I trusted your insults when, one by one, each man failed to call back, the phone familiarly silent. I packed your softly muttered jabs into my gym bag, making feeble attempts at health and fitness, only to find that your contempt and ridicule followed me right onto the treadmill. Every step I took felt like two, the weight of your criticism heavier than anything else. It laughed me off the elliptical, through the changing room (as if I’d ever change there anyway) and all the way back home, to the corner of my bedroom we knew so well. I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food. The memory of your ridicule held me tightly on those long winter nights, the sound of the TV punctuated only by the ringing doorbell. Domino’s again. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Finding a job was the one thing I couldn’t quit, shrink away from or avoid. I had to do it. It coerced me out of my comfort zone, outside of that bedroom and underneath the covers of shame. It forced me to look people in the eye, compelling me to stuff your words into my plus-sized back pocket, where they sat silently until I was back home each night. There again, in the confines of my bedroom, I was free to eat away the pain. Oh sure, I was able to play the part all day at work. I laughed with co-workers, hunkered down to a work schedule and paced myself through office parties and lunches, but the minute I was home, those insults came hurling at me from the depths of my soul. Each muttered insult you flung my way hit me again with the force of those dodge balls, still leaving me winded and clutching my gut. The only thing that made it better? You guessed it. Food. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

That day was the day things changed

As a young adult, I successfully held several jobs, and with each passing year, your bullets left less of a sting. Sure, they were there when I met new people, hiding my feelings of shame and worthlessness between jokes and self-deprecating remarks. Your comments went on dates with me, but they were hidden away, like all the emotions I learned to bury years ago. But even tucked away, traveling right along with me, I began to live a bit outside of that bedroom, one step at a time. I began seeing a therapist who helped me realize your words held power over me only if I allowed them to. All these years, I gave you power over me, power to force me into a dungeon of helplessness and keep me there despite my desperation to climb out. Then, after years of struggle and hard emotional work, something amazing happened: I realized your words were just that. Words. They held no meaning unless I breathed life into them. I could choose to let them inside. I could choose to open the door, inviting your hateful comments to take up residence right beside me. Or I could choose to listen to the knock and walk away. Your words held no meaning unless I answered their call. That day was the day things changed. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Image Credit: Oprah.com

With this realization, I saw that I did have value. I mattered. People could like me if I only gave them a chance. So I did. I gave every person I met the chance to look me in the eye and get to know me. It was hard. Fear of judgment, ridicule and that old friend apathy haunted me. Would everyone feel the way about me that you did? Would everyone see the pudgy kid with duct-taped glasses? It was terrifying to let anyone really look at me. I brought out the record of your well-worn insults, and I sometimes played it, wallowing in that old, scratched soundtrack. But then, over time, I stopped listening so closely, because I knew better. I didn’t let your criticisms keep me down. I broke through the realization that those words, that soundtrack, could damage me and hold me back or become the power that propelled me forward. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love

With this newfound realization and sense of strength, I met the love of my life and married him two years later. My wedding dress was white, a flowing size 16. As I looked in the mirror that morning, staring at every imperfect body part, you visited me again. I saw your face in my mind, taunting me as you had all those years ago, brushing past me in the cafeteria with another cutting comment or icy glare. But rather than shirk back into another corner, another dark bedroom, I quickly dismissed your snubs, quieting that music in my mind. I felt your words begin to dissipate, just like the power they held over me. I raised my chin, looked myself squarely in the face and knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I went on to have four perfect and beautiful children. From the time I saw their tiny, scrunched faces, I vowed to protect them from insults like yours. I vowed to fill their precious hearts so full of love, acceptance and a sense of worth that they’d never have room to consider insulting another perfect and beautiful person. I vowed that my children be taught kindness, mercy and love and that they’d show those qualities in the face of adversity. I never wanted to foster in anyone else the feelings of shame or hopelessness I felt as a kid, and I never wanted to foster the cruelty and disregard for another person so many of you carried in your own hearts. I could have taught my children to be fearful, timid or bitter. That would have given your words even more power. Instead, I taught them to be kind, gentle and courageous. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons.

I finally broke loose entirely of the hold you had on me several years later when I walked into a Jenny Craig center. I had over 100 pounds to lose, and I was ready. It was a hard battle, at times rendering me frustrated, scared and weary. This time, however, was different. I never retreated to the dark corner of my bedroom. I never gave up. This time I had my husband next to me, cheering me on every step of the way, reminding me of my value. He reminded of the incredibly meaningful life I led, of those four precious little faces staring up at me each day and mimicking my example, learning from my ways. Armed with love and support, I tackled the job ahead of me, learning to fuel my body with nourishing, healthy food and show it love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I lost a total of 110 pounds. I became a brand ambassador and spokesperson, featured in TV ads, for a well-known weight loss company. I spoke to a group of several hundred corporate employees about my success and the road that led me there. As I walked up to that stage and looked out at the sea of people, scrutinizing every inch of me, I felt a sense of gratitude toward you. Your words were horrid. They stung far worse than a thousand bee stings. They still sting. But on that day, they no longer held me captive. I was free from the very words that held me hostage for over 30 years. I realized there were many others out there, victims who’d suffered disrespect and scorn like that you’d heaped on me. So many thousands of people are still struggling to realize their own self-worth. I had broken through to the other side, and if I could break through, I knew they could, too. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

With passion, empathy and determination to not only continue helping myself but to also help others, I created an online support community: www.runheiferrun.com. The name was born in jest, from a fun-loving friend who called me heifer when I started running. Unlike you, her words were said in loving banter rather than mocking ridicule, and they cajoled and pushed me into working harder toward my health. It worked. I worked. Four years later, I am still running. The Heifer community has grown to thousands of people, all of us doing the hard work to create healthy life habits and sustainable growth. We do this while fighting to keep the torment we suffered in our past just that: the past. We are helping each other go beyond the cruel words of others, to go beyond Fatso. Each of us has a story. Some stories may even be worse, yet we share one thing in common: hatefully scattered words no longer bind us. We’ve broken free, and we realize we have worth beyond insults. We are beautiful and strong no matter our shape. We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Sincerely, Fatso

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

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Author Bio: Melissa Kahn

Melissa Kahn is a Jenny Craig brand ambassador and the proud founder of Run, Heifer, Run! —a fun-loving community of fitness enthusiasts dedicated to commonsense solutions for weight loss and healthy living. Melissa competes in triathlons now, having lost over 100 pounds, or the equivalent of 45 kilos of fear. She has maintained her healthy weight for more than five years—another proud accomplishment considering she's yet to meet a cookie she doesn't like. Melissa lives in Phoenix with her husband Dave (a pilot), four foul-smelling teenagers and two spazzy dogs who remind her that the glass blender is always half-full even when someone forgets the top.

February 15, 2017 at 01:52AM

#fitness #motivation #gym #fitfam #workout #diet #healthy #fit #exercise #weightloss #health #quote

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jonathantwatson · 8 years ago

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Thank You For Calling Me Fatso

You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left… Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone.

I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food.

That day was the day things changed

Image Credit: Oprah.com

I knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love

Love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons.

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Sincerely, Fatso

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Click to tweet

Author Bio: Melissa Kahn

0 notes