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storiesbyrhi · 2 years ago

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Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 16: Fireworks

Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader 4459 words Series Masterlist

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; porn magazines; smut; reference to suicide (specifically Virginia Woolf’s); no beta; grief/mourning; verbal fighting; meat (turkey)… for the vegans; warnings updated each chapter

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: 1986 comes to an end, and Dustin just wants a beer.

Author’s Note: I remind you that this story has no beta, so forgive typos if ye will.

“That’s a very specific question from someone not currently enrolled,” the voice on the other end of the line said. He wasn’t amused, perhaps annoyed at the perceived misuse of his time.

“I know, but my-”

“Yes, you said,” he interrupted, then sighed. “There is a precedent. A student can petition to change the allowances of a scholarship. It happens on a case-by-case basis,”

“Yeah?” To Eddie, it felt like a win. “And, ah, how does that… process… start? What would the student have to do?”

Eddie had his pen and paper ready.

…

“Why is Gareth taking me?” you asked.

“Because he’s secretly your favourite,” Eddie replied nonchalantly.

“You’re my favoruite,”

“Well, yeah. Besides me. And, I got some shit I gotta do.”

He meant deal drugs but he used to be so much less secretive about it. You wanted to ask him more questions. You wanted to tell him that he used to be so much less secretive about it. But those thoughts were totally at odds with your ‘pretend everything is fine’ psyche. Ultimately, you trusted Eddie. If he wasn’t telling you where he was going, you probably didn’t want to know anyway.

Eddie dropped you off at Gareth’s house, where you hugged the red flannel-clad boy on the sidewalk and kissed his cheek. It made him blush and glance at Eddie nervously. Eddie just grinned at his friend and ruffled his fluffy hair.

Eddie pulled you into a hug and tucked a twenty dollar bill into your back pocket. “You two kids have fun, yeah?” he joked, getting back into his van.

You turned to Gareth. “What do you know?”

“What?” he squeaked.

“How come it feels like you’re babysitting me? Why’s Esther busy today too?”

Gareth was unprepared for your interrogation. He shrugged, hesitating. “I don’t know, man… Eddie said you’re throwing a party. I said he better get the good fireworks,”

“Right… But why isn’t he taking me?”

“He has shit he’s gotta do…” Gareth looked at the ground and then back up. “Also the guy that sells them is… weird. Like imagine Dustin if he was fifty and had spent time in jail and also thinks aliens are coming,”

“Dustin does think aliens are coming,”

“Yeah, well. He’s weird. Eddie freaks him out,”

“Why?”

Gareth sighed. “I don’t know! You ask him why when we get there. Maybe you guys can bond over being super paranoid.”

You playfully pushed his shoulder and walked up the driveway. “Whatever. I get to pick the music.”

…

Eddie parked down the street a little and waited. If routine was anything to go by, your father would be at work, but it was the holidays, so he needed to stake it out to make sure. Coming face to face with that man would only lead to carnage.

Eddie caught sight of your mother when she came out the front to check the mail. She stood at the letterbox, flicking through the envelopes. When she had gone back inside, Eddie waited another few minutes, then got out.

Before he made it to the front door, it opened and she stood there with a confused look on her face. “Is she okay?” were the first words out of her mouth.

Eddie wanted to be cruel. He wanted to tell her how you were thriving away from her. You catch more bees with honey than vinegar though.

“She’s fine,” he answered, standing on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets.

They looked at each other. Eddie thought she would ask more questions. How could she not want to know about how? How your birthday and Christmas had been? When he realised she would not speak unprompted, he got straight to business.

“She needs all her paperwork and shit,”

“Paperwork?”

“Yeah. Like her birth certificate and anything else important. She’s an adult. Legally entitled to it all,” Eddie said firmly, delivering the words without any aggression.

“Why didn’t she come?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

“I’m asking real nice,” Eddie replied.

Your mother looked behind Eddie, and up and down the street. He wondered if she was checking to see if the neighbours were watching. Oh, how she’d hate to have a scene.

“Wait here.” And the door was closed.

It was a relief that she didn’t protest. Well, she could have still been inside calling your dad, but she wasn’t. She was in his study collecting the bits and pieces. Between your mum and dad, all the household paperwork was fastidiously filed.

While it was a relief, it also disappointed Eddie that she wasn’t putting up a fight. Your mum seemed as disinterested in your life as most people were in his.

“Will you tell her-” she began to say as she handed Eddie the folder.

“Tell her yourself,” he cut in, turning and leaving as quickly as he’d come. He didn’t look back.

Eddie’s next stop was picking up Esther and Dustin, but he took a longer route and gave himself time to breathe and think.

…

“This is not a shop,” you pointed out the obvious.

Gareth carefully turned onto the driveway of a clearly private property. You wanted to add that it looked like the kind of place one of Eddie’s grainy grindhouse horrors would be filmed, but then you saw there were a couple of cars parked at the house and people milling about.

“Yeah, I don’t know how legal this is,” Gareth replied, and you really shouldn’t have been surprised.

It took a while for Gareth to park; he had only recently been allowed to drive without an adult supervisor. He checked his mirrors a lot. “Good job,” you praised when he cut the engine.

“Fuck off. You’ve been hanging around Eddie too long. Used to be a nice girl,”

“Nice girl?!” you squawked then cackled.

Anyone who knew what was what in Hawkins drove just beyond the city limits to that house. A guy who everyone called Bam sold fireworks all year round. Nobody asked where they came from. Nobody haggled over prices.

While you and Gareth looked over the selection, some laid out on card tables and others in piles on plastic tarps, you kept stealing glances over at Bam.

He was older than Gareth’s guess – mid-60s at the youngest. His hair was snow white and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in years. You wondered if he was named Bam because fireworks go snap, crackle, pop, BAM… or if it came from somewhere else.

Bam was watching you back, and when you and Gareth went up to him with cash in hand, he narrowed his eyes at you.

“I’ve seen you ‘round town,” he said as he chewed on tobacco leaves. “You’re with the Munson kid.” It was definitely an accusation. “Bad breed.”

Before you could say anything, Gareth held out the cash. It was more than necessary. “Here. Thank you.”

You looked at Bam with a frown.

“You got something to say, girly?”

“Nope. She doesn’t! Come on. Let’s go,”

“You don’t know shit about Eddie,” you spat at Bam.

The old man’s face stayed neutral.

Much to Gareth’s relief, you turned and followed him back to the car. “Jesus Christ. You know he probably owns half the guns in Hawkins? You really are as bad as Eddie.”

…

Meanwhile, sitting at the kitchen counter of the trailer were Eddie, Esther, and Dustin.

“How’d you get all this?” Esther asked, looking over the documents Eddie had been collecting.

“She already had a lot of it. Got some from her mum, and, ah, stole copies from the school office,” he replied.

“You talked to her mum?”

“Barely. Asked for this and left.”

Esther nodded. She was impressed.

“So, ah, we can do this, right?” Dustin questioned. “It really seems like something she’s meant to do herself,”

“Yeah, well, she can’t. Alright?”

“Can’t you just tell-”

“No!” Eddie took a breath; he hated when he rose his voice at the freshmen. “No, Dustin. I can’t just tell her about this. Any of it. I fucked up bad. I gotta fix it in a big way,”

“It’s okay. We’ve got this, Eddie,” Esther reassured him. “Between me and you, we know her. We’ve got all this. She’s with her favourite. It’s all good,”

“What? Aren’t I her favourite?” Dustin frowned.

“Nah man… you’re like, fourth maybe,” Eddie said with a wicked grin.

“What?!”

“Yeah… It goes Gareth, then little Mayfield over the road there. Then probably, what’s his name? California? Will? Your friend Wheeler doesn’t shut up about. Then you,”

“WHAT? What the hell am I even doing here then?!”

Eddie chuckled as Dustin threw his hands up in defeat.

“We need you!” Esther said. “Well… We need you… to call Suzie…”

…

“She tried to fight Bam!” were the first words out of Gareth’s mouth as soon as Eddie appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.

You were sitting on the bed reading while Gareth worked on something at his desk. Eddie snorted when his friend immediately sold you out.

“You snitch!” you yelled, then jumped off the bed to greet your boyfriend. Eddie opened his arms for a bear hug. “Hi,”

“Hi, angel.” Eddie held you. He looked over at Gareth. “Go okay?”

“Yeah. He recognised her,”

“Death by association?” Eddie guessed.

Gareth nodded. “Yep… Um, everything’s by the front door. I’ll walk yous out,”

“Nah, man. I’ve got it. Thanks. We’ll see you at the party, alright?”

You said goodbye to the little drummer boy and collected the fireworks on your way out. Eddie loaded them into the van, humming happily as he went.

Halfway home, you pivoted the conversation back to Bam. “Why does he hate you?”

“Why does anybody in this shitty town hate me?” he dismissed.

“Because they don’t know you,” you answered honestly.

Eddie glanced at you. “Yeah. There’s that. But there’s also my dad.” He said the word like it was unclean. “Not exactly Prince Charming, ya know?”

You nodded, understanding. “We got some cool stuff,”

“Yeah? All we need now is like, snacks?”

Snacks and a bunch of newly recorded mix tapes. You and Eddie were throwing a little trailer park New Year's party, and it was going to be awesome.

…

“Guess what I found!” Wayne called as he climbed out of his truck. He had gone looking for his fishing gear that a buddy of his let him keep in his shed. “Forgot about this.”

You and Eddie were on the couch on the trailer porch, wrapped in blankets and enjoying a rare mild December afternoon. Wayne came over and dumped a box, its contents visible and mostly of the hunting/fishing variety.

“Must have put some other shit in here for safekeeping,” Wayne said, holding up a plastic container filled with photos.

“Hol-ly-shit,” Eddie whispered, getting up immediately.

While Wayne packed for his annual New Year’s trip to Patoka Lake, you went through the container photo by photo. Eddie looked more like his mother than his father, with his wild smile and bouncy curls. Wayne looked like a real cowboy when he was younger, dressed with a little more pizazz than you knew him for. And baby Eddie, well that little thing was Bambi-eyed from the beginning.

“Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone, yeah?” Wayne joked but in that way that told both you and Eddie he was deadly serious.

“Don’t let John drown in the lake… or shoot someone…” Eddie joked back.

“Give him some credit… Worst he’ll do is get a fish hook in the cheek when he’s casting.”

You winced at the thought while Eddie laughed.

After hugs and more warnings, Wayne was off and you and Eddie finished looking at all the photographs.

“Soooooo…” Eddie said, throwing himself onto the couch in the lounge room.

You put the kettle on for tea. “So?”

“What do you wanna do tonight?”

Narrowing your eyes at him with suspicion, you shrugged. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

He grinned, lopsided and coy. “Second to last night of the year… Everyone will be over tomorrow, so technically, our last night alone for the year…”

“Yeah?” You leaned against the kitchen bench, well aware of where Eddie was taking the conversation.

“Maaaaybe, if you, you know, wanted to… You could get a little cute… for me,”

“Cute? Define cute,”

“Um, well… fluffy tail… little collar…”

After cheesy pasta bake and The Goonies on VHS, you took a long shower only to be interrupted by Eddie, asking you to wash his hair. He was naked and sitting cross-legged in front of you before you had a chance to finish saying, “Fiiiine. You’re lucky I love you.”

Eddie remained naked after the shower. He figured it offered some vulnerability on his part, although he wasn’t self-conscious. With Van Morrison crooning on vinyl, and the bedroom lighting reduced to only what broke through the curtained windows, you folded your legs beneath you and sat on your knees.

Gently, Eddie put the collar around your neck, fastening it and letting his hands brush down your neck and along your shoulders. When the ears went on, Eddie’s pupils blew. You held out your hands and he dressed you in the cuffs.

When you had thought about that moment, you had predicted it would be a little bit silly. Playful and light-hearted. But that’s not how it felt. The tension was thick, hot, and humid. Eddie’s eyes danced from the heart-shaped tag on the collar to your wrists, across your thighs and how they spread as you sat. The softness of the pudge of your belly. The fluff of the ears and the fuzz of pubic hair. He wanted you so badly and completely that it made him a little bit dizzy, his fists curling around the blanket under him.

Eddie was trying to pull himself together. He was meant to be leading you through this, not making you guess what to do or say next. In his head, he was saying, ‘let’s start there’ but it was like his tongue had disappeared, disallowing speech entirely.

All he could do was kneel opposite you, locking you in place with a folded leg on each side of you. He held your face in his hands and ran his thumbs along your mouth rougher than usual. You were taking slow, measured breaths but his breathing was shallow and you knew that look in his eyes.

Yes, he could have been leading you better, but you weren’t lost. You weren’t scared or nervous or alone. He kissed you hard, not letting your head move. He would have eaten his way down your throat if you’d let him.

Eddie kissed you and kissed you until you squeaked a warning that you needed oxygen. While you gasped it in, he decided he’d be fine without it. He moved his lips to your neck, holding the back of your head, fingers tangled in hair. Melting, you put your hands on his shoulders to stay upright, then shook when you felt his other hand disappear down between your legs.

Something was shaking inside you. Fizzing to life. Without thought, you asked in a tone Eddie had never heard, “Am I a good kitten?”

He froze, your skin between his teeth, and his fingers dipped inside you. Eddie’s jaw went slack and he pushed against you with his forehead, unable to silence the banshee screams of euphoria in his head. All he could do was nod and push deeper and harder. You knew it was an undignified and wholly enthusiastic ‘yes.’

The night was just getting started.

…

“Absolutely not.”

The group of freshmen erupted into a chorus of groans and whines.

“I bet you were drinking at our age!” from Dustin.

“Who made you king of the beers?!” from Lucas.

You sat on the couch next to Esther and watched the exchange. Eddie was sitting on top of the cooler he’d filled with ice early in the afternoon. Jeff and Esther’s BYO drinks had been chucked in there, along with the beers Eddie’s picked up for Gareth and Gene.

“You’re letting them drink!” Mike screeched, pointing at the bassist and guitarist through the window. They were out on the porch with Jeff, working out how to best set up the fireworks without getting anyone maimed or arrested.

“Fuck, Wheeler, you’ve got the body of a hummingbird. All small and jittery,” Eddie teased, motioning at Mike. “Half a bottle and you’d be on the floor. Out before your girlfriend even gets here.”

At the mention of El, the mysterious girlfriend, Mike shut up.

“Oh,” Eddie said, picking up on it. “Is that what all this outrage is about?” He laughed. “You wanna impress your girlfriend with your big man drinks?”

“Shut up,”

“She lives with Byers, man… That drowned cat could keep up with Cheech and Chong. I don’t think she’s gonna be amazed that you can drink beer.”

Mike threw his arms up and sulked off down the hallway to go sit with the others. As he exited the trailer, Max walked in.

“Max!” Dustin and Lucas called in unison.

She looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Max, tell Eddie to give us a drink,” Dustin said.

She made a face that was just so Max. Before she could do much more, Lucas had taken her hand and dragged her off into Eddie’s bedroom.

“Leave the door open!” Eddie called after them.

“Gross, dude,” Dustin mumbled.

“Gross? No, no this – RUBBERS ARE IN THE TOP DRAWER – is gross,”

“Eddie,” from you, along with a flicked bottlecap.

He pulled a sad face at you, then turned his attention back to Dustin. “Seems you’ve lost the battle, brave knight,”

“No. No, I haven’t. What if… What if we do a deal,”

“I’m listenin’,”

“A wager,” Dustin announced, just as dramatic as Eddie.

“Go on,”

“When El and Will get here, they will be escorted by Jonathan,”

“Yeah, I know,”

“Ah! But, do you know who else will be in their party?”

You and Esther watched this back and forth, glancing at each other. “Does he even care if they drink?” she whispered to you.

“Eddie? No. I think he even brought extra. He’s a softy.”

She snorted. “Wouldn’t let him hear you saying that in public,”

“Oh, his cover story is that they’re gonna try shit, so may as well be around him so he can keep an eye on them or whatever,”

“Wow… That makes this-” She pointed to Eddie and Dustin. “-even funnier.”

Eddie tilted his head. “No, Dustin, I do not know who else is in their party,”

“A fourth. A partaker in the… whacky tobaccy,”

“Oh my god,” Eddie laughed, covering his face with his hands.

“And I would bet clear and safe passage to the treasure, that you will be caught in Sir Argyle’s friendship spell,” Dustin finished.

Eddie sat up straight and looked at him. “Let me get this right. You get a beer if I make friends with Byers’ friend?” Dustin nods. “That’s dumb. I make friends with everyone. I’m a friendly guy.” Dustin and Esther both giggled. Eddie looked at you. “I’m friendly?!"

“You’re not… not friendly?” you offered.

“Whatever! Fine. If Byers’ friend’s not a weird little dude slinking around with his camera, then fine, you get a beer.”

Dustin cheered and ran outside to tell Mike the good news. Eddie grinned at you and Esther on the couch, pleased with himself.

A little later, erratic car honking could be heard, followed by the squeaking of breaks. Will jumped from the car first, his childhood friends bundling him up in a group hug. Max ripped out the trailer to pull El, a girl that appeared perpetually lost, from the car and into an embrace.

Jonathan Byers looked the same as he did when he walked the halls of Hawkins High. You’d never spoken to him, despite him taking photos of the cheer squad for the yearbook. He looked awkward as he got out of the car, glancing around the trailer park like he’d just woken up.

“My dudes, my dudes! Where’s the party?!” yelled a long-haired guy with a smile as wide as his face. “We brought the goods!”

Argyle.

Maybe the only person who could make a first impression as impactful as Eddie.

He jumped onto the small porch where you’d all set up the small shindig. He came bearing pizza and a plastic bag filled with cans of soda and chocolate bars.

Eddie almost flinched in surprise when Argyle turned to him and yanked him into a tight hug.

“Oh, man, it’s good to finally meet you! King of the castle! The little ones are always talking about you!”

Argyle spent enough time at the Byers’ house to hear Will talk about the things Mike and Dustin told him over the phone. He knew all about the metalhead named Eddie, who walked on school tables and wrote the best D&D campaigns.

“Yeah, hi, man.”

Argyle let Eddie go but maintained a hold of his shoulders. He looked at Eddie seriously and said, “Now I don’t know your pie order, but I said to myself, he’s a man of taste, he’s gotta know about pineapple on pizza. He’s gotta know it’s schmakin',”

“Pineapple?” If you knew any better, you would have said Eddie was struggling to keep up.

“Pineapple! Oh, fruit on your pizza is gnarly, you say? Well, I say try before you deny.”

Eddie was wide-eyed and everyone else had stopped their own conversations to see how the meeting of an unstoppable force and immovable object would play out.

Argyle waited for a reply.

You saw the smile twitch on Eddie’s lips before anyone else. He was grinning wide within seconds. “You had me at pie, man!”

They hugged again and Dustin could already taste the cheap beer.

…

Despite the cold, Forest Hills came alive on New Year's. It was maybe the residents’ favourite holiday, or at least drawing for first with July 4th.

The fireworks you and Gareth had bought ultimately were pooled together with everyone else’s. Some guy supposedly named ‘Skunk’, who had a face tattoo of a dolphin (Eddie said it was meant to be a shark) worked harmoniously with the little old man who kept everyone’s grass neat with the help of his beloved and fancy whipper snipper. Together, they set small ones off on the hour, then fussed around with the bigger ones in the leadup to midnight. “Good job, Mr Skunk,” could be heard periodically.

Hellfire Club’s freshmen did drink their beer, but only Dustin liked the taste. Max could stomach it, at least. The rest kept sneaking little pours out onto the grass in an attempt to empty their bottles quicker.

Eddie didn’t notice because he was in a deep conversation with Jonathan and Argyle. They smoked Californian weed. When Eddie and Jonathan got to the stage where all they could talk about was you and Nancy Wheeler, Argyle literally somersaulted away from them, finding Corroded Coffin a far more interesting group.

The closer it got to midnight, the more the lovers of Forest Hills disappeared away from the barbeques and parties. Mike and El disappeared into the wooded area, and Max and Lucas went back to her trailer, tiptoeing by her passed out mother and locking themselves in her room. Jeff and Esther stayed by the bonfire Hacksaw Henry started, cuddled up together and in their own world. Even Jonathan took the Byers’ rental car to go surprise Nancy at a party being thrown by Steve Harrington.

Dustin, Will, Gareth, Argyle, and Gene were on the Munson’s trailer porch, sitting in a circle eating snacks and playing some sort of weird hybrid of poker and cheat. You stood in the door, leaning against the doorframe. Everybody was happy and in the moment.

“Angel,” Eddie called, his arms snaking around your waist as he came to stand behind you. Dipping his head, he pressed it against the base of your neck.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he mumbled back. “You good?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Just thinking. It’s been nice to have everyone together.”

It wasn’t a casual design to host New Year's. Eddie had pulled all the kids and young adults together, had them surround you for a colourful send-off for the year that was.

“Mmmmm,” Eddie hummed. “Do you wanna come up to the roof? Best seat in the house,”

“The roof? Is that where you disappeared to just before?”

Eddie led you around to the back of the trailer. He had borrowed someone’s ladder, and once you climbed up it after him, you saw he’d set out a blanket and some pillows.

“You warm enough? I can get you-”

“I’m good, Eddie,” you said, sitting down.

Eddie laid on his back, you cuddled into his side. His guitar pick necklace was as safe around your neck as you were in his arms.

“Got any New Years' resolutions?” you asked, unsure if you were making a joke or genuinely curious.

“Ahhh, not really. Cut back on the smokes. Get a job. All the usual shit… You?”

Truthfully, you were terrified of 1987. You hadn’t properly processed the end of your schooling life, and though you weren’t consciously aware of it, you regretted burning all the college correspondence. You didn’t know who you were or what you were to become. The only thing anchoring you to calmness and happiness was the life you shared with Eddie, and by extension Wayne.

“Probably should get a job too,” you replied meekly.

Alternatively, you could have seen it as the first time you were free to just exist. That’s what you told yourself daily.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere indicated the arrival of 11:59 pm.

Skunk yelled, “TEN!" The proceeding numbers could be heard across the trailer park. Different groups held different times, some off by milliseconds, some by whole seconds.

NINE.

EIGHT.

SEVEN.

“I love you, angel.”

FIVE.

“I love you too.”

THREE.

TWO.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You kissed under the fireworks, the hues changing Eddie’s skin from milky to pink then blue then yellow. You held each other tight, foreheads pressed together and eyes squeezed shut. The night sky was clear, and quickly the constellations were clouded by exploding stars and shapes.

Below you, Gareth tried to identify which fireworks he’d picked out while the rest of the guys watched in silence. All the lovers held hands and all the people who lived in Forest Hills Trailer Park wished for better things ahead.

You buried your face in the softness between Eddie’s neck and chest, breathed deeply, and tried to work out why it felt like you were saying goodbye to something you never had.

Next Chapter: Glory

End Note: My friends, we are mere weeks away from the resolution of this story... Start to prepare for the end.

Fic Taglist: @ajeff855 @b-barnes04 @nerd-squad-headquarters @word-wytch @harrys-tittie @munsonsmel0dy @sidthedollface2 @eddiethesexy @bardicfrustration @orpheusredux @munsonsgirl71 @a-time-for-wolvess @eddieswifu @rosaline-black @thegirlwhohides @emotionaldreamer @e0509 @briasnow-blog @kiyastrf94 @erinsingalong @rainylana @mrsdollardog @tayhar811 @chickennug90 @b-irock @nana90azevedo @eddiemunson95 @akiratoro420 @thescarletangelsstuff - did you change your url??

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

#Mine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader #Chubby!Reader

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another-day · 2 years ago

Note

(is that ok for you to write my favorite headcanon one of mine?) can you write about Oj come-out as trans guy and having bad dysphoria, and when Paper found out and accepted, also add Payjay moment too?

sure thing pal!!

tw for dysphoria, self doubt and internalised transphobia

“hmm.”

oj picked himself apart in the mirror.

there were his eyes, his shoulders that were always too skinny, his hips that were always too wide. he chose to ignore the elephant in the room, covered up with a decently fitted black binder.

there was always something there, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. no matter what angle or what brand of binder, it never seemed to work.

people may consider him a male in the hotel, but in this room, things were… different.

it was as if he’d enter and everything would become more- more obvious. he’d look more feminine than not in his own mirror, and he hated it with every part of himself.

he’d been in here for the whole day. oj was sure to sort out all his paperwork early in the morning so he had a day to think.

unfortunately, some people in the hotel were unaware of his… behaviours.

“oj, are- are you alright in there?”

he could only sigh at the sound of paper’s gentle voice, crinkling with worry. oj approached the door, slumping against it slightly.

“yeah, i’m alright. anything you need or?”

“no… no, i was just worried is all. tell me if you need anything alright?”

oj could hear the smile in paper’s voice, and he couldn’t help but smile too.

“of course.” he couldn’t hide the fondness in his tone.

footsteps echoed away from the room, and oj let out a long held breath.

“that was close…” he muttered to no one in particular.

it had been seven hours since oj locked himself in his room.

not once did he come out. not for food, water, interaction, nothing. so could you really blame paper for getting worried?

the assistant had already finished all his duties, and finished cleaning the dishes, so he thought now was a better time then ever to check on oj. he brought up a small plate of food, just in case, to oj and his room, knocking on the door.

… no response.

paper gulped down his worries, assuring himself that oj might not’ve heard him. so he knocked again, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little.

… still no response.

maybe oj was asleep! yeah, maybe that was it. paper still wanted to be polite however, so he knocked one last time.

… nope, nothing.

he nodded to himself and tugged his key from his pocket, slotting it into the lock and turning it till he heard a click. he turned the handle and entered the room, strategically balancing the plate of food on one hand.

one thing was apparently clear when he entered, and that was that the bed was empty. his eyes then darted to the desk, a common place to find oj snoozing, but no one was there.

“oj?”

a shriek. paper ran over to the bathroom, where the noise seemed to originate from.

“are- are you alright?”

“p-paper?”

“yes, yeah, it’s me. are you okay?”

a deep breath of relief.

“yes, yes, i’m alright. did you need anything?”

“well, i was going to head to bed, and check on you too of course.”

silence. paper couldn’t help but inch closer to the door.

“oj?”

“sorry, sorry, i was just lost in thought… c-can i tell you something?”

the timidness in his voice was foreign to paper.

“of course, you can tell me anything oj.”

silence once more, but before paper could think to question it, oj opened the door.

he was shirtless, save for what paper fist assumed to be a cropped shirt, but soon realised was a binder.

“i’m uh, trans, paper.”

paper’s mouth was agape, but it soon morphed into a smile as he pulled oj in for a hug.

“thank you for telling me.” he whispered. “i know that must’ve been hard.”

oj chose to say nothing more, only sighing and hugging paper back. the two swayed gently in each other’s arms as the moon glimmered over the roof of Hotel OJ.

i really hope that was alright since i kinda whipped this up so i wouldn’t keep you waiting hahah

anyway, thanks for requesting and all!

#inanimate insanity #ii payjay #payjay #writing #my requests are open for just about anything most of the time :]#also excuse any errors haha

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antipodeanpineapplelump · 3 years ago

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WIP... Tuesday?

Just in case anyone was wondering what useless novelty project I’m spending my time on now, may I introduce:

Or more accurately: “Shisui Uchiha and the Saga of the Overly Complex Movie Poster that’s Taking Up all of the Author’s Writing Time.”

Or: “Shisui Uchiha and the One-off Story that Accidentally Turned Into a Trilogy, much to the Author’s Total Lack of Surprise.”

So anyway, I have 30,000 words (3/9 chapters of the first part) so far and as usual, no timeline for completing this story. But I’m definitely in too deep to back out now! My new approach to stories is to write the whole thing, then post week by week. So this one is still probably several months away at least...

But here’s a quick preview:

The list of things Shisui Uchiha regrets in his life is pretty small.

A handful of ill-considered one night stands, several embarrassing bets with members of his family, the summer he decided to turn emo, oh—and one particularly notable fuck-up early in his career that very nearly ended it prematurely. But, for the most part, it’s been smooth-sailing.

Sure, maybe the odd rival takes a pot shot at him here or there. Ancient booby traps try to kill him, or the local wildlife steps in where they’ve left off. He and spiders are categorically never going to get along. But he’s never had cause to regret his career itself. He loves everything about treasure hunting—the adventure, the danger, the intellectual challenge of it all. The way his heart races when he finds some ancient artifact supposedly lost for good.

So, all in all, his current position—perched twenty feet up a silk cotton tree in India, surrounded by about two-dozen armed thugs personally out for his blood—well, that’s just another day at the office.

Two of the men walk below Shisui’s hiding place and he holds his breath, watching. They’re thick-built meat-heads; improbable amalgams of every jackbooted thug to ever grace a movie screen, with jawlines Chuck Norris could break a fist on, and brows that would make a Neanderthal proud. Supressing the snicker that threatens to escape him at the thought, Shisui wonders where Gato keeps finding these idiots. Some sort of steroid-fuelled body building conference maybe…

Comfortable they’re far too stupid to realise he’s here, he swings his legs back and forward, checking his bag to make sure his prize is still undamaged. Thankfully, despite having beaten a hasty retreat through the crowded city streets, the jewel-encrusted golden elephant winks up at him like a winning lottery ticket. One that’s going to pay for fancy canapes, champagne and extra leg room on Shisui’s flight home. Then a lot more afterwards.

But karma, as they say, is a bitch.

And karma, for Shisui, makes itself known in the form of a fluffy grey creature that plops down onto the branch beside him, joined in short order by half a dozen other partners in crime. At first, the macaque just fixes its intelligent gaze on Shisui, as though assessing what to do with him. Then, one very pregnant pause later, after the apparent realisation that no food is immediately forthcoming, the ringleader opens its mouth and screams. Loudly.

Shit.

“No, shhh…” Shisui orders in a loud whisper. “Oh come on, don’t be an asshole.”

The screaming continues, soon swelling to a cacophony as the others join in.

“Shoo!” he pleads, waving his arms around to try and scare them off. “I’ll buy you bag of bananas or something when I get down from here, just please shut up…”

But the little bastards don’t stop and, if anything, Shisui’s heated objection only seems to be pissing them off more. Which is fantastic, because truly the last thing he needs today is to catch rabies or—

From the bottom of the tree, someone clears their throat. “Ahem.”

Or that.

It’s smug, officious, and quite frankly, about the last voice Shisui wants to hear right now. Every part of him sinks. On reflection, maybe it was a bit arrogant to think he wouldn’t have been followed to the temple. To think he was just going to walk in, pilfer a several-centuries old treasure, and walk out again, a comfortable five-figure sum the richer for it.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Sighing, he looks down to see his least-favourite human approximation of a turd. “Gato.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite globe-trotting Uchiha. Fancy seeing you here,” Gato says, appearing inordinately pleased. His trademark sunglasses sit awkwardly atop his bulbous nose, straddling a pencil moustache that looks like a worm met its unfortunate end on his face some years ago, and he never bothered to wipe it off.

For reasons he can’t currently articulate, it annoys the shit out of Shisui. Possibly because if there’s anything he hates more than someone getting the better of him, it’s someone who’s as much of a fucking waste of space as Gato getting the better of him.

“Yeah well, you know how it is,” he says, glancing around for a quick exit. “Ancient treasures to find, damsels in distress to rescue…”

But unfortunately, the crowd of highly armed men around Gato is growing by the second, and Shisui’s options are looking somewhat thin on the ground. At least, all the ones that don't end with him riddled in bullet holes. Damn macaques…

Gato grins. In the pre-monsoon heat, sweat rolls down his neck and spreads like an oily stain across his collar. “Oh, I’m well aware of how you operate... You’re a businessman, just like me. Always taking jobs for the highest bidder.” Before Shisui can open his mouth to disagree, Gato holds up a hand, adding, “I know, I know… you don’t see yourself that way. Moral code or whatever it is you like to call it. But in reality, the only difference between us is that you have the air of legitimacy that comes with an academic backing, whereas I’m willing to admit what I really want.”

“And what do you want, Gato?” Shisui asks flatly, already knowing the answer. The tired old game they’re playing here.

“That trinket you have in your bag.” Gato licks his lips, as though he can taste the champagne he’s going to be drinking once he returns the statue to whoever hired him, to disappear into some private collection, never to see the light of day again.

“What do I get in return?” Shisui asks, even though it’s obvious from Gato’s expression that he’s not going to like it, whatever it is.

A mirthless laugh assaults his ears. “I’ll let you live to cross paths with me another day.”

As offers go, it’s not very believable. But as much as Shisui hates to admit when his luck’s run out, even he can see the writing on the wall. Today really isn’t his day. Sure, he might trust Gato about as far as he could throw him, but even Gato isn’t stupid enough to shoot him on a main street, in broad daylight. Probably…

Retrieving the golden elephant from his bag, Shisui tosses it carefully down.

Turning the trinket over in his hands, Gato lets out a hum of appreciation. “Very nice. My client will be pleased.” He hands it off to one of his many thugs to box up, then peers back through the branches, looking more like a slug than Shisui would ever have thought possible. Reinforcing the impression, his lips twist with a slimy smile. “Well, as always, it’s been nice doing business with you Shisui. But I think, unfortunately, you’ve caused me trouble for the last time.”

Far too pleased for Shisui’s taste, Gato steps back, raising his hand in a gesture that looks awfully like it’s intended as a final farewell. Or a smug ‘fuck you.’ Either way, the message is perfectly clear.

Shisui rolls his eyes, mentally scratching off another predictable villainous turn on his treasure hunting bingo card. “All right,” he calls after Gato’s retreating back. “Nice doing business with you too! See you next time...” Under his breath he mutters, “Asshole…”

Truly, Gato doesn't have an original bone in his body. It's like he once read The Idiots Guide to Being a B-Grade Movie Villain, then internalised it on the spot to make up for a lack of anything remotely resembling a personality. But, pathetic imitation of a villain or not, his bullets are still effective.

The leaves around him shred beneath the pop, pop of gunfire as Shisui sucks in a rushed breath, bracing himself for what he’s about to do. The branch wobbles precariously beneath his feet as he races along it, pushing off into air that rushes past, disconcerting and empty. The slender gap to the building seems to widen to the span of a gaping abyss—

He hits the rail of the apartment with thud, clambering quickly over it to fall on his back on the balcony, winded, but mercifully unharmed. A macaque peers over the guttering at him, with a leering grin that clearly threatens more screaming.

“Don’t you start,” he warns, waggling a finger at it.

But there’s barely a moment to catch his breath before the sound of splintering wood below indicates another problem. Or an extension of the same one. Bounding to his feet, Shisui scoops up his hat, settles it back on his head, and checks over the railing. A bullet clips the plaster nearby—a pretty good indication that Gato’s men have every idea where he’s gone. That, combined with the way they’re currently pushing through the lower doors to the complex probably doesn’t mean anything good for him.

“Shit,” he announces to no one in particular. It’s times like these he really wishes he carried a gun…

Forcing his way into the mercifully empty apartment off the balcony, Shisui slips quickly through it. Cracking open the door on the far side, he checks the coast is clear. It is.

Of course, it doesn’t stay that way for long. Halfway along the open air corridor, there’s a cry of discovery from his pursuers, followed by more shooting. Seriously, why are the bad guys always bringing guns to Shisui’s knife fights?

Ducking, he runs faster, bursting into another apartment filled with hazy cigarette smoke and shocked faces before finally making it to an exterior stairwell on the far side. Looking at the next building over, it’s immediately apparent the gap is way too far for him to use the same trick he did before. But with Gato’s men advancing on him from below, maybe he can just make it to street level and bypass them altogether…

A thicket of power cables criss-crosses the span between the buildings, with one nearby running almost to the level of the shop awnings below. Sending a rash of silent prayers to whatever gods take care of Indian power line maintenance, Shisui detaches a length of rope from his belt and flings it over the wire, gripping each side like a makeshift zipline. Holding his breath, he pushes off into empty space. To his surprise and considerable delight, the line holds.

It sweeps him across the street, picking up more and more speed, until the side of the other building is rushing at him like—

Shit.

He impacts it with his shoulder, coming to an uncomfortable and jarring stop. Pain shoots down his arm and he lets go of the rope, crashing through a fabric awning and landing ungracefully in a huge stack of bagged flour. Dust floats down around him and Shisui groans, moving each of his limbs in turn. By some miracle, nothing seems broken. Not even his tantō in its leather holster at his back.

Oh well. Fall down seven times, stand up eight…

Apparently his exit was none too subtle though, because Gato’s men are leaning over the stairwell railing, yelling and pointing at the mess he’s made. Dragging himself to his feet, Shisui evades an angry store owner, brushes flour off of his clothes and resumes running for his life.

Never let anyone say archaeology is boring.

As he emerges back onto the main street, searching for quick and easy exit, the sound of screeching brakes and angry honking carries from the road. Cutting a wild path through traffic is an old open-top olive-drab Jeep with several gold charms dangling from its rear-view mirror. It jerks to a stop just before hitting Shisui, both side wheels riding up on the curb.

“Need a ride?” the female driver asks, grinning.

Her windswept hair hangs past the fashionable silk scarf tied at her neck. Unmanicured nails wrap around the slender metal of the steering wheel, like they couldn’t be more at home there. They’re a stark contrast with the cream suit linen she’s wearing, rolled up neatly to her elbows. Speckled with dirt, it looks like she’s probably travelled halfway across the country to be here, and been up to her elbows in the grease of the Jeep’s engine at some point to do it. She’s a walking contradiction—albeit one Shisui is delighted to see.

“Izumi!” he exclaims happily.

Eyes sparkling, she waves. “Hey.”

“I thought you were practicing on the course in Reno this weekend… What’re you doing here?”

A shot rings out, kicking up dust near one of the tyres. Glancing behind him, Izumi rolls her eyes, reaching across to throw open the door. “What am I always doing? Saving your ass, you idiot... Now get in before one of us gets shot, or I have to find out whether my rental insurance covers illegal firefight damage.”

#uchiha shisui #uchiha izumi #future shisuita #new story #my art #really having fun writing this one #I'm such a sucker for adventure movies #and snarky team banter #and this combines both #aaaaand we've just been thrown into another covid lockdown #so more writing time here I come!#Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura

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commander-diomika · 3 years ago

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(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 6 - Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Word Count: 4700 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Trans Male Character, Forced Outing, Pining, Additional Warnings In Author's Note

Summary: New intel from Curie brings new rules about the quarantine process. This puts Zolf and Wilde in an awkward position. A/N - The forced outing depicted in this chapter isn’t through any malicious intent, but rather circumstances outside character control. There are no transphobic sentiments portrayed in this series, internalised or direct, but some of Wilde’s caution around disclosing indicates that this is a world where transphobia exists. These things could make for an uncomfortable experience for some readers.

The few times that Zolf went out on missions alone, usually on fruitless attempts to scout the Shoin Institute, it had been Barnes that welcomed him back and locked him in. Zolf didn’t mind isolation stretches, but he didn’t love that Wilde kept himself absent for the entire duration. He understood why, but there was something unsettling about coming home, and yet having to wait for what he felt like was the proper homecoming of being reunited with Wilde. But he coped with it just fine.

When the invitation from Curie came for a meeting, and specified that only one person was welcome, Zolf fought hard for it to be him.

“You’ve never even met Curie.” Wilde pointed out, voice level despite the heat in Zolf’s tone. “It makes far more sense for me to go, and someone needs to stay here.”

“At least take Barnes with you,” Zolf countered, knowing he was being ridiculous but unable to help it. He’d known that this time was coming but that didn’t make it come any easier. “He don’t have to come with you to meet her, but he can keep you safe.”

Wilde’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Zolf crossed his arms, stymied. It wasn’t that he was overprotective. But he couldn’t squash the memory of Wilde’s face, slippery with blood beneath frantic fingers, or the haunted look in Wilde’s eyes when he emerged from isolation.

“I won’t even be gone long, Zolf. Curie is going to meet me in Hiroshima.”

Zolf opened his mouth to argue further, and was stopped by Wilde closing his eyes, looking genuinely tired for a moment. Normally Wilde relished a bit of verbal sparring and the two of them fought as easily as they breathed. But something about the way he sighed gave Zolf pause.

When Wilde next spoke, his voice was soft, a rare pleading in his tone. “I know, Zolf. I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it, but I have been looking at these same four walls for months. I am sick of not being a productive member of this team.”

“WHAT!” Zolf exploded. “You are the most productive member! Me n’ Barnes n’ Carter would be nothin’ without-”

“You know what I mean!” Wilde said, frustrated. Zolf hardly ever saw him like this. Anger was an emotion that Wilde kept locked away, just like his fear. “I’m sick of people treating me like I’m some sort of china doll, just because I can’t cast anymore!”

Zolf spluttered. “You’re not- we don’- nobody said-”

Wilde raised his hand. “I appreciate your concern, Zolf, I really do. But I’m going on this mission. And I am asking you-” Wilde drew a deep breath in through his nose “-to trust me.”

Well. That had been played like a trump card. Zolf felt something in him release, the angry churn of his stomach dissipating. If there was any truth left in the world at this point, it was that Zolf trusted Wilde.

He nodded.

---

As was protocol, on the evening he returned, Zolf, Barnes and Carter made themselves scarce until Wilde was safely in the anti-magic chamber, not detouring to any other rooms of the inn. They had arrangements for how to handle if a returning party member didn’t head straight for what they’d all started calling “the box,” but thankfully it was yet to come up. Zolf headed in after, with the keys to the cell, fresh clothes, and a bowl of prawn gyoza in hand.

“How’s Hiroshima?” Zolf asked, locking up and passing through the food.

Wilde didn’t respond, just levelled Zolf with a flat glare.

Zolf shrugged. “You can talk to me, an’ if at the end of the week you’re compromised, I’ll just assume that anythin’ you said was false intel, yeah? Until then,” Zolf pulled up the chair that sat outside and cell and settled it. “There’s no harm in it going this way,” he swept his hand from Wilde’s direction toward himself. “I just won’t tell you anything you don’t already know.” He, quite simply, was not going to take no for an answer. He wasn’t leaving Wilde alone with his thoughts for a week.

Wilde managed to look disapproving for a moment more, then a little smirk slipped through the veneer. “I find it difficult to believe you know anything I don’t, Smith.”

“Oh, sod off.”

“I can’t help it if I just happen to be the brains of the operation.” Wilde gave a small, defeated chuckle, and sat on the cot. He started undoing the anti-magic cuffs and massaging his ankles. Sometimes when there was no one using the box, Wilde would come sleep down here just for a chance to take them off for a little while.

“Hiroshima is well enough, but Curie says Cairo is a mess. The sandstorms have been giving it absolute hell. Anyone who doesn’t still need to be there isn’t, though it’s still seeing a lot of refugee traffic.” He picked up the food Zolf had passed through.

“From Europe?”

Wilde nodded between popping gyoza into his mouth. “These are very good, you know.”

Zolf waved a hand. “Hiromi’s been giving me lessons. She’s much nicer about it than her husband.”

Wilde updated Zolf on Curie’s operation. When he mentioned that she had been gifted the old Tahan estate, Zolf’s gut squeezed. It had been… almost over a year since he’d seen Hamid, and months since they’d last heard from him and the others. It was almost impossible to think that they were still alive, but without bodies or news, there was no way forward. Both men were left lingering in ambivalence, hope laid thick and heavy over a grief that couldn’t surface.

Wilde finished his food and frowned. He spoke more hesitantly than before. “There is one more thing I should tell you. We need to update some of the protocols.”

“Yeh? Howso?”

“The blue vein rumours? About the infected? Confirmed. More importantly, Curie says in every instance of a double agent, the blue veins have appeared on the body first, not the face or hands.” Wilde was overexplaining in a way that was unlike him. “In addition to the quarantine, being on the lookout for behavioural changes, Curie also recommended we do,” Wilde hesitated, again in a most un-Wilde-like fashion, “…visual inspections of those in quarantine. Thorough ones.” He fluttered nervous hands up and down his torso to illustrate.

As Zolf slowly turned over the implications, Wilde turned to rummage through his bag and withdraw papers. He gestured for Zolf to come take them through the slot.

“Reports, signed and sealed, detailing it all.”

Zolf took them, still absorbing what Wilde had said. He didn’t look through the bars. If he had, he would have seen something cautious and watchful in Wilde’s eyes.

The silence stretched on too long between them.

“Anyway, if you don’t mind, I am going to get some sleep. The boat from here to the mainland isn’t exactly a luxury cruiser, and I am exhausted.” Wilde flumped down onto the cot to punctuate the point.

“I… yeh. I’ll go have a look through these reports.” As Zolf walked away from the box, he paused in the door. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. I’m glad you’re safe, he didn’t add.

“Of course you are,” Wilde replied without missing a beat. “This place must be dreadfully dull without me to liven it up for you.”

Zolf rolled his eyes and headed upstairs.

Having read through Curie’s reports, the next day Zolf went back to Wilde’s cell with his heart in his mouth.

Naked inspections. It’s just one thing after another in this brave new fucking world, isn’t it, he thought, agitated.

The whole situation was ridiculous. What was he so worried about? After everything they’d been through there was a certain trust, an ease between them now. What was a bit of nudity in the face of all that?

He was only feeling nervy about it because he was sure that Wilde was going to be a dick about it, in his usual style. Getting under Zolf’s skin hadn’t stopped being a hobby of Wilde’s, and this whole situation set the stage for his insufferable needling.

Wilde stood quickly as Zolf entered. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d travelled to Hiroshima in, and was now wearing long dark pants and his favourite yukata, the one with green and pink floral pattern.

“I read through all the reports,” Zolf began.

“We might as well get this over with,” Wilde said at the same time, and then laughed a little manically.

Zolf took his seat, waited for Wilde to quiet, then continued. “Curie also recommended we start askin’ people to tell us stories of things that only the other would know. Code words aren’t enough because it’s more about how you do the retellin’ than it is about the information.” Wilde’s face relaxed at the notion of delaying what came next.

“I’ll get you to tell me about… tell me how you remember our first meetin’, then.” Zolf said. Since all the other people who were there are either dead or presumed dead, he didn’t want to add.

Wilde launched into an explanation of flaming notepads, blood noses, slipping into his storyteller shoes with relief. It was nice to listen to him perform, even if thinking about Hamid and Sasha was depressing.

“And,” Wilde wound up, “I just happened to linger by the door and overhear you mention something about my bum, of all things. Now, if you’ll do me the favour of telling what that was, and we can all move forward assured of each other’s memory, though probably not their integrity.”

Oh, curses. He hadn’t thought Wilde had still been around for those comments. He crossed his arms and frowned loudly.

“Come now Zolf, you’ve already said it, you can’t take it back now.” Exactly as Zolf had suspected, Wilde seemed to be delighting in causing Zolf discomfort once again, whilst he slipped back into his old, familiar smarm. Wilde wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell and bounced slightly on his toes.

“I said,” Zolf pinched the bridge of his nose. “I said it was very nice.” And he stood by it, but Wilde didn’t need to know that.

Wilde laughed, free and throaty, running his hand through his hair in a way that Zolf knew, if he had access to his magic, would be accompanied by a bawdy shimmer of sparkles. For a moment, things felt bright.

The energy snapped back. Wilde wasn’t performing for a party, he wasn’t needling Zolf for a laugh, he was locked up in a cell waiting to find out if he had an infection that would turn him into something unrecognizable and dangerous… Wilde dropped his hands from the adamantine, and the two of them fell silent.

“I can go get Barnes, if you’d prefer,” Zolf said with a useless gesture. Wilde was already shaking his head.

“What’s a bit of nudity between… friends.” Wilde asked, with a quizzical tilt of his head. His eyes were asking does friends really cover it anymore? Zolf didn’t have an answer.

Zolf didn’t know how to get this whole awkward scenario started, so he just waited, his mouth dry. There was something so grim in Wilde’s face, and Zolf didn’t understand. His obvious discomfort with the notion of watching Wilde undress should’ve delighted the man. It should have been ammunition.

As Wilde started on the ties of his yukata, for the briefest of moments, Zolf’s discomfort was replaced by a blistering anger at the absurdity of it all. All those moments he had wanted to be closer to Wilde, to touch his bare skin or to hold him… but he hadn’t asked for this. Between the two of them hung a nascent possibility. A possibility that Zolf was only just starting to acknowledge, and that deserved a chance to blossom.

That instead it should be forced to happen like this, through cell bars, was perversely unfair. To him. To Wilde. To the pair of them and all the ways that this could have been different.

Wilde paused, as if seeing the flash of anger in Zolf’s eyes. He spoke quietly, almost to himself. “Thinking about… hmph. The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” With that non sequitur, he disrobed, turning his body to drape the cloth over the cot.

As he turned back, Zolf was struck by a sudden realisation; he’d never seen Wilde with his shirt off. Never swum together, never seen him coming back from bathing with a towel around his waist. Even in the heat, Wilde always wore his shirt buttoned, his yukata firmly tied. Zolf swore he could see Wilde’s chest in his mind’s eye. It just made sense. Wilde had certainly seen Zolf’s chest; they’d been living in each other’s pockets for almost a year now and Zolf didn’t think much of it.

But no, because if he’d seen Wilde without the shirt, he would know that Wilde had a smattering of dark chest hair. And more scars on his torso than seemed right. The wounds from Douglas had torn two messy gashes near the ribs, and those scars were present as expected. But there were two more - slightly crescent shaped, uniform and well-healed - swooping across his chest just beneath flat nipples.

Surgical scars.

The air was knocked out of Zolf’s lungs. His body had grasped answers before his mind did. His thoughts felt sluggish, crawling, gasping to catch up, and when they did it was with the lurching realisation of just how unfair it was that they had been brought here, to this cell, to this grotesque scenario, against their will.

Wilde undid the drawstring of his pants and stepped out of them. Dark hair ran in a soft line from his navel down, fanning out to the triangle that dipped between his legs. His face was carefully blank, as he lifted his hands, palms up, in a sardonic “ta-dah” gesture.

Zolf was frozen inside his mind, as Wilde turned slowly on the spot.

He did have a fantastic arse, the perfect balance of muscular and plush, and once again Zolf was furious that any hint of eros in this had been utterly perverted.

Wilde turned back to face Zolf and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Zolf nodded again, his mouth dry. Wilde dressed, not rushed but efficient.

They sat in silence for a time.

“You never told me,” was all Zolf could think of to say.

“Fantastically witty and incisive commentary from one Zolf Smith, yet again,” Wilde said, voice like acrid smoke. Nothing made Wilde bite like losing the upper hand.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I jus’, I’ll go-” Zolf tried to walk and turn at the same time and knocked into the stool, clanging it down to the floor. He righted it with hands that shook and headed for the stairs.

“Zolf!” Wilde called after him. “You don’t have to leave.”

Well. That was as close to begging as Wilde ever got.

Zolf returned to his stool, and re-joined the silence. Wilde sat on the cot, watching the close wall of the cell with a face that Zolf recognised; it was one of Wilde’s favourite expressions, deliberately mild, open, waiting. It gave away nothing and invited everything. For Wilde, it was safety.

Other people, people who didn’t know Wilde as well, might take that as an invitation to speak. Zolf wasn’t other people. He thought about all the times he’d stumbled through something awkward, with good intentions but clumsy words. He had no idea how to proceed, other than it was probably wise to wait, and let Wilde find words first.

“Don’t feel bad about me not telling you.” Wilde said eventually. “It usually doesn’t come up, unless I’m sleeping with someone. Even then you’d be impressed at what can be achieved with creative use of props, dim lighting and a bit of magic.” He trailed his hand wistfully through the air, an impotent somatic component.

Zolf continued to wait, to leave the man space. Zolf wasn’t the one who’d been stripped, forced into a deeply personal disclosure without plan or intent.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed, you see. It's more… it feels like handing over a weapon, and I try to avoid that if I can. And well, I’m usually not in someone’s acquaintance long enough to feel bad about keeping it a secret.” There was an apology tucked between the words, and Zolf nodded even though Wilde wasn’t watching

He paused to run his thumb over the facial scarring, once, twice. “Bosie knew.”

Wilde let the silence stretch on long enough that Zolf felt like he had to speak or he would never stop thinking about skidding through Wilde’s blood on a cold stone floor. “You… you used to use your magic for it, righ’?”

Wilde barked out a harsh laugh. “Oh yes, for practically all of it! It was the reason I got so good at glamours! Back in Cairo I… I suspected that an anti-magic chamber or cuffs might halt the hexing, but I couldn’t, you see? I’d been doing it for so long. Everyone knew me as a man.” He shrugged, saying obviously with his shoulders. “I couldn’t go back.”

Zolf examined Wilde’s face. He was still carefully keeping his gaze on the cell wall. He still had that mild expression on his face, as though they discussed what to have for lunch, not one of the lowest points of his life. But he didn’t seem upset, so Zolf pressed on. “What happened?”

“Oh I…” he huffed a small laugh. “I got lucky. Turns out Grizzop already knew. I don’t think I reacted quite right when he punched me in the crotch.” Now something like genuine fondness crept into Wilde’s voice. “He suspected what might happen if I had to stop casting; he helped smooth things over. I was in no position to be fending for myself at that juncture, I had let the curse go on too long.” Wilde looked at his hands. “I will always be grateful to him.”

Wilde sounded like a man who knew, without a doubt, that the object of his gratitude was dead.

“Once it became clear the cuffs were going to become a permanent accessory, he set things up with the Cult of Aphrodite for me to have surgery and for them to supply the right potions. They have all the gear and know-how, of course. Not everyone in my position is a caster.”

Something else clicked in place for Zolf as he pondered the technicalities of non-magical surgery.

“Wait a minute. You were still recovering from that when we joined back up, weren’t you?”

Wilde’s brow crinkled as he considered timelines. “That’s right. Scarring needs to heal with almost no magical intervention, otherwise it’s back to square one. So it was… quite painful, to be quite honest. And compared to magical healing, the process drags on and on.”

Wilde smoothed a hand over his robe-clad chest. “I like it better this way now. No more binding my chest just in case, though I try to be careful about who sees the scars.” His voice was light, that faux-levelness starting to fade and he just, talked. Wilde was relieved, Zolf realised with a start. He wanted to tell Zolf about these things.

“It’s nice to just … be myself. Even at the end of day when I’m tired and can’t cast anymore.” And he finally looked at Zolf and smiled. Not a smirk or grin, just a completely open smile that welcomed Zolf into his joy instead of belittling or declaring victory with it. Even with the scar, sitting in a dim cell, he looked radiant.

As Zolf went to smile back, he felt his face wobble. This - Wilde smiling, confiding, being easy and honest with him - it was a better outcome than he could have hoped for. He felt the sudden bloom of Wilde’s smile in his chest, the warmth of the man’s trust.

But this was merely day one of seven, and it was still terrifyingly possible that the man who sat across from him was not Wilde at all. So Zolf’s smile twisted as it appeared on his face, and he didn’t reply, allowing them to lapse back into silence.

Day 2

“Wouldn’ it be- well not easier but less, I dunno- to just wait and do one inspection on the last day?” Zolf asked. He’d brought down breakfast and the paper, and they’d sat quietly as they ate; Wilde had finished eating and was starting on the motions of undressing.

“Zolf. My dear.” Wilde cocked his head in that patronising way that he did when he thought Zolf had said something legitimately dumb. ��If I am reading your intentions correctly, your plan for the week is to eschew all your other jobs to waste away at my door-” Zolf opened his mouth to argue and Wilde simply raised his voice and pressed on “-not that I am complaining, but if you truly are going to while away the days with me, and then on the final day, you find out I have been infected the whole time and have to kill me, how, pray tell, is that going to make you feel?”

Zolf snapped his mouth shut.

“Wouldn’t you rather know as soon as it comes up?” Wilde pointed out, frustratingly reasonable.

Zolf simply wanted to throw the cell doors open because there didn’t seem any possibility that the man behind the bars was anything other than 100% pure, vexatious Oscar Wilde, but he stilled his twitching hand. Wilde’s question was to remain unanswered as Zolf simply gestured go on then and Wilde, with a grim, self-satisfied nod, started to strip.

Day 3

“No, don’tcha see, if Jennifer had gone to Antony in the garden, her mother would have known from the get-go-”

“But I simply don’t see how Alianne knowing would have improved things for Jennifer-”

“She was supportive, she could’ve helped smooth things over when Antony’s sister started her meddlin’, and they could have wrapped the whole thing up before supper!”

“Yes, but where is the fun in that, Zolf?”

Day 4

As Wilde dispassionately disrobed for a fourth time, Zolf realised there was now a familiarity to Wilde’s naked body, and that was jarring.

He wasn’t lanky, not really, but Zolf couldn’t help but think of most humans that way. The truth was he was solid enough in build, surprisingly muscular for a man who mostly rode a desk. His legs and arse especially were firm with it. He does a lot of walking about the village, I s’pose.

Zolf watched Wilde turn on the spot and he longed to trace the shape of Wilde’s shoulders, cup his ass, rub my damn nose in that soft lookin’ chest hair and…

Zolf ground his teeth against the wrongness of it all.

He thought of slipping his hands between Wilde’s legs, and though the shape of the fantasy had changed, the intensity had not.

It had been a long time since Zolf had felt a physical or sexual attraction like this, and the fact that it was at the most inconvenient time, and the most unlikely person, was enough to make him think he’d made a mistake breaking ties with Poseidon. Maybe if he hadn’t eschewed divine favour, he would have been protected from whatever trickster god had decided to throw this at him.

He kept his hands in his pockets so that Wilde wouldn’t see him clench his fists.

Maybe I should offer to strip too. At least that would put us on an equally horrible footing, Zolf mused.

Wilde dressed and turned back to look at Zolf with careful, watchful eyes. Wilde was in the business of reading even the most inscrutable enemies like a book, and at this point he had a thorough translation guide for Zolf. He knew it bothered the dwarf. The fact that Wilde hadn’t made a bunch of lewd comments was probably his idea of a kindness, but the absence of Wilde’s typical peacocking it somehow made it worse.

When he looked at him like that, it made Zolf feel like he was the one in the cell.

Zolf cleared his throat. “Got a new crossword book if you like?”

Day 5

“Pawn to E4.”

A chess board sat on a small table just outside the cell. Zolf moved the white pawn for Wilde then took his own move.

“Knight to G3.” Wilde said in a bored tone. He’d voted for bridge, but Zolf had talked him out of it. Too difficult to wrangle cards between the cell’s bars and mesh, he’d pointed out. Which was true, but what was also true was that Wilde was surprisingly bad at chess (it was much easier to cheat in cards).

Whilst Zolf did feel sympathy for Wilde, things weren’t so bad that Zolf wasn’t going to relish the opportunity to beat him at something for a change.

Day 6

Each day Wilde got closer to being comfortable with the inspections. Closer but not there. Half a lifetime of needing to be guarded about who saw your body created some strong foundational habits. That foundation wasn’t going to be eroded in seven days, regardless of how much you trusted the person who saw you.

But still, it could have been worse. Zolf shuddered to think what would have happened if this situation had been thrust on them a year ago. Their friendship, tenuous as it was, might not have been able to survive.

Dressing again, Wilde stretched the kinks out of neck. “I cannot wait to get out of here and have a proper bath and a nice long walk.”

“Nearly there.” Zolf said absently. He’d stopped needing to worry every second moment that Wilde was infected. Even though they’d been dealing with it all with distractions, with laughter, with pretending like it wasn’t happening, Zolf felt the sudden urge to be honest.

“I’m sorry that… that it happened like this. That you didn’t get a choice in tellin’ me about...” Your past? Your journey? Your truth? “…Everythin’.”

Wilde made a face of surprise, but instead of deflecting the offer of an honest conversation, he accepted. “Me too. I intended to, but as I said. I’m rarely… close enough with someone that I feel they deserve it. I wish-” Wilde paused, considering his next words, and what other weapons he might be handing over, deeply. “I wish that the circumstances had been different.”

Zolf could just ask what he meant. He could. It was practically an invitation for him to press, to force Wilde to clarify exactly under what circumstance he’d envisioned sharing secrets about his body with Zolf… but he didn’t.

Inside Zolf, uneasy guilt gnawed at him. The circumstances they had were only these ones. Wilde was vulnerable, caged, and thoroughly without a choice; but Zolf knew there were moments he’d chosen to ignore those elements. He knew, deep in his guilty core, he had been inspecting far more than he had the right. It didn’t feel honourable to press Wilde any further after that.

“Yeah.” Zolf stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wilde. Last day ‘n all.”

Day 7

“It would have been too much to hope that the bloody sun would come out for this, wouldn’t it,” Wilde grumbled.

Freshly released, he was pondering umbrella selection in the entry hall.

“I’m guessing you don’t want me to come with,” Zolf ventured. Wilde had come out of his quarantine cheerful enough, but there was something understandably off about him; something distant and a little contemplative. Zolf had been half-expecting, or even hoping for, one of Wilde’s warm shoulder-touches. But he had kept his hands firmly to himself.

Wilde looked up, mouth twisted wryly. “I think I’ll be fine.” He hesitated, as he always did before saying something sincere. “I do appreciate what you’ve done for me this week, Zolf, but I could use a little space.”

Zolf nodded. He’d expected as much.

Inside him, the guilt twisted a little, the word violator rising in his mind. No. Neither of them had chosen anything about this situation. If anything, their connection felt even stronger for having been through the wringer, yet again. Whatever liberties Zolf accused himself of taking, it wasn’t enough to dent that.

We’re alright. Zolf thought.

We’ll be alright. I think we both could use a little time, is all.

Wilde selected the green umbrella, gave Zolf a tentative smile, and headed out into the rain.

#hank writes #rusty quill gaming #rqg #zoscar #zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #rusty quill fan fic #Additional notes; zolf IS looking disrespectfully #zolfwilde

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smcc212 · 4 years ago

Text

Normal

Pairings- Arthur Shelby x male reader(platonic), Polly Grey x male reader(platonic), a little bit of Isiah Jesus x male reader

Word count- 1,969

Warnings- Period-typical homophobia, internalised homophobia, underage drinking(is that a warning??), swearing. I think that’s it, let me know if I’m wrong.

A/N- Soooo Instead of writing things people have requested I’ve written this, I might write a part two(if people want one). Anyway! Enjoy some accepting Arthur Shelby, lads!!

I started working for the peaky blinders a few months ago, they never made me do anything dangerous, they always said I was too young. I went to them after getting kicked out by my parents. My father had caught you kissing another boy, dragged me home and told my mother. They disowned me immediately. With tears streaming down my face, I went to the peaky blinders in hopes of finding a job. Taking pity on me, they let me work in the betting shop. I’d be forever grateful.

I never told them that I was homeless. They didn’t need to worry about me, they’d helped me enough, in my books. They knew my parents disowned me, but that was all they knew. They thought I was staying with an uncle. Until...

After a long day of work, the Shelby’s invited me to the Garrison with them. They allowed me to have a few glasses of whiskey. However, while no one was looking I stole a bottle of whiskey, placing it in a hiding spot. After I’d finished the whiskey they said I was allowed, i was stuck drinking water, but I really didn’t mind.

I left about fifteen minutes before shutting time. I went into the alleyway next to the Garrison and started to drink the stolen whiskey. At some point tears started cascading down my cheeks. I couldn’t help the thoughts that plagued my mind. How much easier life would be if I liked women. How I wished my family never found out that I don’t. Thoughts of ending it all, however, were the loudest.

I was so caught up in my head and thoughts that I never noticed Arthur Shelby sitting next to me. I was close with Arthur. He’d taught me how to fight, he’d talk and joke around with me, and he was always there if I needed to talk to him. I knew that I couldn’t go to him with the thoughts I were having though, or...at least sober me did.

“Why’re you crying, lad?” He asked, voice surprising soft. He was also surprisingly sober. “Eh? Come on, you talk to me.”

“I’m not normal, Art,” I mumbled, loud sobs escaping me, shaking my body. Arthur rubbed my back soothingly.

“Whatcha mean by ‘at, eh?”

“I don’t like women,” I cried, too drunk, too overwhelmed to remember to lie. “I like men.”

“And? I asked how you’re not normal.” I looked up at Arthur, shocked by the fact he didn’t start beating me.

“That’s what wrong...” I trailed off, staring at him in disbelief.

“Why’s that’s wrong? You like a bit of cock? So what? Doesn’t matter to me, does it?” I couldn’t respond, too taken aback by his words. A couple minutes passed before Arthur realised I wasn’t going to say anything. “Where’d you stay? I’ll walk you home.”

“No, it’s fine,” I quickly said.

“You’re far too drunk to walk home, let me help you, kid.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Where’d you stay?”

“Leave it.”

“No. Where?”

“Wherever I fall asleep,” I murmured sadly.

“What does that mean?” Arthur’s voice was thick with concern.

“I don’t have a home...” My tears, that had started to slow down, sped up again.

“Right then.” Arthur stood up, dragging me up with him.

“What’re you doing, Art?”

“If you don’t have a home, then you’ll stay with me until you do,” He said like it wasn’t it a big deal. How could he not see how big this was?!

“Th-thank you, Arthur.”

“It’s fine.”

The next day, I woke up to the smell of coffee.

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine,” Arthur said from his seat at the table. I smiled at him before I remembered what I’d told him last night. I jolted up, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Arthur, please, please don’t tell Tommy,” I begged. “I need that job! Shit, please don’t go to police! Please-“

“(Y/N), calm down, lad. ‘m not gonna tell anyone, alright?” He cut me off, speaking slowly to make sure I understood.

“Thank you, Arthur, thank you. I-I’ll get out of your hair, thank you, Arthur.” I stood up and started to make my towards the door, but Arthur’s hand wrapping around my wrist stopped me. I froze. This was it, he was gonna beat.

“You’re not going anywhere,” He said. I froze, tears burning my eyes as I tried to accept my fate. “For fuck sake, (Y/N), I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t care if you like men, doesn’t effect me, does it? But for the love god, you’re not leaving, you don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Wh-what?” I stammered, turning around to face him. “You’re not... disgusted?”

“Disgusted?” Arthur let out a chuckle. “No, I’m not disgusted that you like something I don’t.”

“O-okay.”

“You’re gonna stay with me, yeah? Just until your old enough to get your own place, okay?”

“Okay,” I breathed out, still not fully believing that he was so excepting.

“Great! Now drink your coffee, have a shower and then we’ll go to the shop.” I nodded. “I’ll get you some new clothes today while you’re working,” He said as I sat down.

“It’s fine, Arthur, you’re already doing so much for me. Thank you.”

“First of all, stop thanking me. And secondly, you need some new clothes, kid. Don’t fight me on this,” He concluded, voice firm.

“Okay, Arthur. Tha-“ I cut myself off.

“Good.”

Work was the same as it always was, except, after Arthur talked to Polly, she was looking over at me the full day. Something in eyes...pity? Either that or something akin to it.

“Tommy! I’m gonna take my break!” I shouted.

“Aright, lad!” He shouted back, I stood up, put my cap on and started to head for the door. I was gonna go to the boxing and see Isiah. I fancied the Jesus boy too much, even though I knew he liked women. He was just amazing. Polly however had other plans and she stopped me, asking if we could talk.

“(Y/N), Arthur told me,” She said once we were alone. My eyes widened, I subconsciously took a step back. “Calm down. He told because he knows I don’t care, everything to do with my family’s illegal.” She laughed at the end of her sentence. I smiled softly at her.

“Okay, why are you talking to me then?” I asked, confused by the turn of events.

“I want you to know that if you need anything, I’m here. Also, if anyone says or does anything to you because of it, tell me, or Arthur, and we’ll sort it out, okay?”

“Okay, thank you, Polly.” I smiled widely at her.

“You’re welcome. Now fuck off,” She joked.

“Yes, mam.” I jokingly saluted before heading off, her laugh following me down the hall.

I stood ring-side watching Isiah box Finn, well... really I was looking at Isiah’s body, his arms-

“(Y/N), you alright there, mate?” Isiah laughed. I’d been so caught up in my own head I hadn’t realised the ‘fight’ had ended.

“Y-yeah, sorry, bit out of it today,” I laughed, hoping he hadn’t realised I was staring at him.

“It’s fine, mate, come on. I need to get changed.” I followed behind him. Once Isiah was dressed, we left, and once we were alone he turned to me. “Like what you see?” His voice sounded smug.

“Wh-what?”

“I saw you staring at me, when I was in the ring, did you like what you saw?” He chuckled, cockiness oozing off him.

“I-I-I.” I didn’t know what to do or say. The honest was yes, obviously I did, he’s gorgeous. The safe answer, however, was no. Fuck, what do I say?! Fuck, I need to say something! Anything!

“I’ve seen you fighting before,” Isiah began, moving ever so slightly closer to me. “I liked what I saw.” My thoughts were racing. Did he actually like what he saw, or was he trying to figure out if I liked men? Did he like men? Did he like me? Or was he going to beat me for liking men? Fuck! Why can’t I just like women! “So, did you like what you saw?” Fuck it, you only live once, right?

“Yes,” I breathed out. He smirked at me, moving closer, backing me up against the wall of the empty alleyway. Fuck! Why did I say yes?! This is it. This is how I die. I closed my eyes, trying to be ready for his first punch... but it never came.

“Good.” I felt his breath against my face. “One day, I’ll let you see all of me. Unfortunately, we can’t do that in an alleyway, love,” He sighed. I slowly opened my eyes, his staring into mine. He placed his hand on my cheek, brushing his thumb across it. “One day, I promise you, pretty boy.” He looked around, making sure no one saw before placing his lips on mine. “See you later, pretty boy.”

“Bye,” I murmured quietly as he walked away. I smiled to myself as I walked back to work.

The rest of the day went by pretty easily after that. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Isiah said. He liked me, right? Or did he only like my body? Who cares?! Isiah Jesus, the preachers son, wanted to, at least, fuck me.

“(Y/N)!” I heard Arthur’s booming voice, tearing me from my thoughts. “Come on, we’re going home!” I nodded, grabbed my cap and followed him to his home.

Once we got in, Arthur made me a coffee and poured himself some whiskey.

“So... What did you get up to today?” Arthur asked, smilingly knowingly.

“Nothing much. Same as usual, why?” I stared intensely at the coffee in my hands. It’s one thing to say that you’re okay with a man liking other men, it’s another to actually be okay with it.

“It’s just... You went to the boxing, yeah?” I nodded. “And Isiah was there?” I nodded again, slower this time. “Right. Then the two of you came back to the office with this...this glow about you.”

“Glow?” At this point I was starting to question Arthur’s sanity.

“Yeah. Not literally glowing, obvious, both of you just seemed the have something on your mind.” That smile. That smile on his face, it was genuine. Almost like he was truly happy for me.

“Well, it was a good day,” Was all I said back, because, well what else could I say?

“I’m sure,” He chuckled. “Anyway, while you were off having your ‘good day’, I sorted out your bedroom.”

“My bedroom?” My eyes widened as I realised he was serious about me living here.

“Yeah, s’only small, but it should do for now. Tommy’s coming into some money so we’ll probably be moving,” He shrugged. A smile spread over my face.

“I know you said to stop, but thank you, Arthur!” I beamed, and, without thinking, leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Arthur. He seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he hugged me back.

“You’re welcome, (Y/N). You’re clothes are in your wardrobe. I’ll be honest, I got Ada to help me with the sizes. I’ll get some dinner on while you wash up, yeah?” He said, pulling back.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you!” I shouted back as I ran upstairs.

After showering and changing into some clean clothes- not a full suit, just an undershirt and some trousers- I went downstairs to eat dinner with Arthur. It may not have been the best food in the world, but I loved it. It was a full meal and I hadn’t had that in a while. Then both Arthur and I went to bed. Tomorrow was the start of the rest of my life, a good life; a normal life.

Tags:

@the-makingsofgreatness

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liibrii · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2: Tattered

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1

wc: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, depression.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to say other than I’m enjoying writing for Aran so much. if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Aran knows people don't always mean what they say. Even he had done it before and it destroyed a few of his relationships. Knowing that doesn't make your words hurt any less.

He tries to convince himself you didn't really mean it, still a part of him wonders if that's how you really feel. How you've always felt. For all those years he was assured of your friendship and now you've pulled the rug from under his feet. None of your words align with the image in his head. Perhaps you've never been the person he remembers. The you in his mind is just that, a memory, a perfect picture he created from bits and pieces he chose. Has he truly always seen only what he wanted to see?

Thoughts of you run through his mind as he stands on the back line. One more serve before he wraps up. Bam.

To always see good in people is what he was thought growing up and what he still tries to do to this day, even if years had thought him people aren't only their good sides. He always thought of you only at your best and failed to even get to know you properly. What kind of friend does that? You're in pain and he can't help because he has no idea where the wounds are. He has no idea where to look for them because he refused to see.

Perhaps he is a terrible friend after all.

Bam. The ball gets caught in the net and falls. Aran watches it roll away before picking up another. He breathes deeply. It's all about focus, he reminds himself, even when his mind wants to slip he has to remain focused.

All of his teammates have left already. Home, to their partners, their families. What will he return home to? An empty apartment with take-out he'll eat on the couch. Alone. Maybe he should get a pet. But when will he have time to care for it?

Bam.

He should call home. Check on his friends. Maybe if he had checked on you more often then-

Bam.

What use is pondering over what could've been? With each serve his palm aches more, his muscles already sore from practice but he doesn't want to stop yet. One more.

“There's a difference between training hard and overdoing it, you know?“

Perhaps life is just memories of days long gone sipping into present.

When he turns to face you uneasiness rises in him. Any other time he'd be elated to see you. Now even words to greet you with escape him. You come closer, shoes softly squeaking on the gym's floor. “Doorman let me in. After a little bit of convincing.“

“Really?“

“No, I slipped past while his back was turned. How long are you planning on staying? I saw all of your teammates leave already.“

Aran turns the ball in his hands. It's becoming slippery from all the sweat. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes. “My serves are gettin' sloppy. I need more practice.“

Bam.

You stay where you are, watching and fiddling with the strap of your bag, until you can't bear the silence anymore and speak up. “Aran, I actually wanted to talk to you. About you know... what I said.“

“T's okay. I know ya didn't mean it.“

“I did.“ Your voice eerily echoes in the otherwise empty gym. “As shitty as it is, it's how I felt.“ You're eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I'm sorry.“

Aran catches the ball he just threw in the air for another jump serve. When he looks over at you you're still intently focused on your shoelaces, gripping the strap of the bag so tight your knuckles turned white. Why are you beating yourself up so much? If you feel something, you feel it. What reason for it do you need to have? Knowing how you felt hurts, that much he can't deny. And yet he can't hold it against you.

He puts the ball on the top of your head, just like boys used to do back in high school to annoy you. “If ya really insist on apologisin' then I guess I have no other choice but to forgive ya.”

As his words sink in you shyly glance at him. “You sure?“

“'Course I am,“ smiles Aran, balancing the ball so it doesn't roll from the top of your head.

“You're not angry? At me?“

He takes the ball and starts throwing it from one hand to another. “Not really. Very surprised. A little hurt.“

“I'm sorry-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,“ he cuts you off. “Set for me and we'll call it even.”

“Aran, my sets are in no way near the level you're used to.“

“So?“ he asks already walking over to fetch the ball cart. “Ya still remember where to stand, right?“ he teases, cackling softly when you roll your eyes and take off your bag and jacket, all while trying to hide a smile creeping on your lips.

It takes a few tries for you to remember how to make an overhand set. Aran's filled with giddy warmth when you manage to send the ball in the right position for him to spike it over the net. Perhaps all those lessons with Atsumu years ago didn't go to waste after all. Your little victory jump makes him burst into laughter and he rewards you with a high five.

It really is an echo of history.

Your skills are rusty, something that makes you apologise profusely every time you mess up, even after he reassures you he doesn't mind, and ruffles your hair.

With each set you relax more, till every smile and laugh seem sincere. Only now Aran realises how he missed this carefree side of you. Time always flies too fast when you're around and soon enough, out of breath and wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead, you call an end of this individual practice.

He hurries with showering and changing into fresh clothes, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, especially since you have morning lessons tomorrow. He buys you a drink from the vending machine. It's not much, but staying hydrated is important, he tells you when you tease him about it.

“You know, that brought back a lot of memories,“ you say while walking to the train station, then poke his shoulder. “Thanks.“ The smile dancing over your lips makes his cheeks warm up. You glance over to the sky hiding behind a golden halo that city lights cast over the rooftops. “Do you ever miss Hyogo?“

“Sometimes.“

“I miss the stars.“ You kick a small stone from your path. “You've become quite a star too you know. With all the fans and attention I really wonder, do you get lonely?”

Your question catches him off guard. “I'm too busy to get lonely,“ he lies.

“I get lonely sometimes,“ your eyes still search for a glimmer of a distant star. “And tired. Some days I just want to sleep all day. Do you ever get the urge to do that? Skip practice and stay in bed?“

“No. If I skipped practice how will I become better?”

You purse your lips and nod. “That's why you're a professional athlete and I'm just trying to figure out why I have to separate blue and red laundry.“

“Those are two very different things.“

“Both are just some pieces of cloth. Why do I have to separate them? If they got problems with each other they should grow up and talk it out.”

That’s not what he meant, but your slight annoyance over technicalities of doing laundry still makes him laugh.

In the coming days Aran checks his phone every chance he gets, just to see if you already wrote back. No matter what you talk about he wants to hear it; be it about your day or the delivery man being late with your order. His teammates notice and tease him about it yet he denies you're anything more than just a friend, and they exchange knowing looks when his back is turned. Even if his entire body heats up at the sole mention of your name Aran isn't ready to admit to himself, let alone others, he wants you to be more.

Not when he isn't sure if his feelings for you are being muddled by his memories.

That Tuesday you grab a dinner together that turns into a late night walk through the streets. It's not a date, Aran keeps reminding himself. It's just two friends hanging out as you've done a thousand times before. So why is his heart threatening to thump it's way out of his chest?

After that night weekly hanging out with you becomes a regular occurrence. Sometimes you go out to eat, sometimes you drag him along when you go shopping, saying he has a good eye for colour combinations. It has nothing to do with the fact he buys you ice cream every time. Some days you come to his place to play video games or watch movies. Seeing his favourite series making you laugh warms his heart.

As you become more comfortable around him your facade slowly, bit by bit, starts to crumble. He's scared to see what lies beneath yet at the same time he wishes it would break already. He can't help you if he doesn't know, can he?

Whatever is troubling you he wishes you'd trust him enough to confide in him. In the back of his mind lingers the question he's too scared too ask.

Does Kita know what's on your mind? Do you still talk to him?

You used to be close to the team. The one they relied on. The one who so lovingly tapped their fingers before each game. Do they know your eyes are puffy? Do they know every sleepless night that goes by makes the dark circles under your eyes harder to hide? Do they know his heart breaks every time he sees the tremble of your lips when you force a smile?

No matter how bad he wants to hold you, tell you it's going to be okay, the mere thought of reaching out paralyses him.

What if you don't want his help?

If you did, you would've asked already, right? Not even practice can stop him from thinking about you. His disappointment grows a little when he sees no new messages. Perhaps you don't want to talk to him after all.

He's just leaving the gym when his phone lights up and seeing it's your name makes his heart flutter. He eagerly picks up. “Hi!“

“H-hey.“ Already in the first word the strain in your voice is apparent. “Um, am I interrupting you?“

“No, of course not. I just finished with practice. What's up?“

“I-“ He hears you take a deep breath. “Um, I don't, I don't feel so good...“ Your next words are almost a whisper. “Could I come over?“

“'Course ya can come over. I'll be home in about an hour.“

By the time he arrives you're already there, standing by the entrance nervously stepping from one leg to another. You give a shy wave when he approaches. He noticed you've been acting weirdly sheepish around him and he's not used to it. You're friends. What's making you so nervous?

You trail behind him, hands tucked deep in your pockets. You don't even pull them out when taking your shoes off.

“Tea?“ he offers when you make your way towards the sofa.

“Sure,“ you nod, sitting and tightly hugging a pillow. “Sorry about that,“ you say when he joins you with two cups of tea, “I just... bad day, you know? Didn't want to be alone.“

With a smile he assures you it's no problem. You're welcome to come by whenever you want.

You tell him about college, about work. “Boss is a shit bag,“ you complain. The working hours make you late for your lessons and even professors are getting fed up with you always being late. Not to mention your classmates aren't keen on lending you notes to copy.

It's all too much, you say, work, college, the pressure of everyone's expectations. Your fellow students give you funny looks sometimes, you tell him. It's only a few years but you're still older than them, at the age where your parents are asking when you are going to settle down. Have children. Get a stable job. Well how could you when you haven't even gotten your degree yet? It all makes you feel like a failure.

And yet something tells Aran that's not why you're here. Maybe it's the nervous fumbling with the hem of your clothes. Maybe it's because you don't look at him at all. A silence falls on you as you sip your tea. Aran considers asking out right but you gather the courage before he does.

“Shin called.“

“Ah.“ That's all he manages to say.

“He's doing good, in case you're wondering. He asked if we have any plans on visiting any time soon.“ Your eyes skim over his face. “That would be nice, don't you think?“

Aran forces a smile. “Sounds great.“ Once again your words threaten to shake the ground he stands on. All he hears is 'seeing Shin would be nice'. His grip on the cup tightens and he puts it away before he'd crack it.

“Do ya miss him?“ he asks, words coming out more choked up than he intended. He clears his throat when he leans back on the couch's backrest.

You think over his question. “I miss my best friend.“

He asks. Even if he doesn't want to know the answer, he asks. “Will you get back with him?“

“No.“ Your answer is quiet, but firm. You readjust yourself to lean on the backrest, facing him, the pillow still tightly squeezed in your grip. “Shin is a great guy just... not the right for me. Wasn't easy to accept but that's how it is.“ You fumble with the thread sticking out from the stitch. “I wasn't good for him, you know?“ you quietly continue. “He protected me since we were kids but at some point it all just... fizzled I guess. I was so used of always being by his side the thought of living without him terrified me. He was that stability I craved. For a long time I believed he would give me a goal in life, or something similar.“ You chuckle. “Try getting through seventeen-year-old-me's head that's not how relationships work. I knew we wouldn't work out. But I stayed because I was selfish and stupid... and scared. I think he knew. And it started to take a toll on him. So I left before he'd break.“ Tears start forming in your eyes. “Shin could never understand why I'm so sad without a reason... Maybe if I left sooner... well, it doesn't matter now.“

“Ya can still go back,“ hearing his own words shatters Aran's heart, “once ya feel better.“

The brief laugh you give almost sounds like a sob. “Can I?“ You forcefully wipe the tears away. “Even if I could it wouldn't be the same as I remember now. It's hard to explain but somehow, what’s in your memories is always better than reality. Know what I mean?“

He knows. Memory is the thief of future.

The lump in his throat grows larger, heavier as he watches you try to hide tears starting to run down your cheeks. He's lost, not knowing what else to do but to pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He hugs you and softly caresses your back. “It's alright,“ he whispers when you apologise through sobs and tears. He keeps repeating, it's alright. What else could he possibly say?

You relax in his arms and your sobs slowly turn to muffled sniffles. Aran only wishes you feel safe in his arms, your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms shyly wrapping around his middle. It's not the most comfortable position but he's to scared to readjust. He hears your hitched breathing sync with his own as he runs his hands up and down your back and, exhausted from your crying, you're soon fast asleep.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Aran's starting to really understand you. It pains him, knowing your struggles. You, who were always so full of light, you who were the pillar, tall and unyielding, one he could always lean onto. How memories managed to muddle his perception of you so much is beyond him. The only thing he can do is promise himself to never let them deceive him again. After all, who needs memories?

He messages you more frequently. Not too frequently, he doesn't want to appear nosy or pushy. Just often enough to let you know he's there for you if you need him.

You've been busier with college lately, so weekly hang outs turn to late night phone calls. Hearing your voice feels like a refreshing cool breeze on these hot summer nights.

He collapses in his bed, only half listening to your rambling on about one of the professors. He didn't catch her name.

“Aran? You still there?“

“Yeah, I'm still here. T's been a long day, t's all.“

He hears you hum and he can imagine the way you lean your head to the side. “Coach in a bad mood?“

“Not really. I'm just not feelin' my best. Couldn't sync with Aritsura's sets. But ya know, more practice 's all we need. How was your day?“ he asks, forgetting you just told him a few minutes ago.

“It was alright,“ you say instead of repeating what you already told him. “Actually, I wanted to apologise. About last time. I shouldn't have dumped all my problems on you.“

“How many times do I need to repeat it's okay. I'm here for ya.“

“Still. I'm sorry. It was a lot. I... I don't want to be a burden.“

His brows furrow. How many times does he have to repeat it? Why don't you get it? “Yer not.“ Your low chuckle makes him irritated . “I mean it. If ya ever need to talk just say, alright?“

“Yeah, yeah I will... Thank you. It's just that... I don't want to ruin this friendship too. That's all. Tell me when I become too much. Please.“

What are you talking about? “Whatever is on yer mind I promise I can handle it.“

“Can you? So you not being able to play your best has nothing to do with me dumping all my problems on you?“

Something in the way you say those words pushes the wrong button. He's only trying to be here for you, why can't you see that? “I don't care enough to let it impact me.“ Fuck. Even before the final word leaves his mouth he knows it came out wrong. “I'm sorry, fuck, y/n, I didn't mean it like that-“

“It's okay,“ you interrupt. “You're right.“

“I'm-“

“Get some sleep Aran. You have practice tomorrow. G' night.“ You end the call before he gets the chance to say goodbye.

Fuck.

Ch. 3: In the light, your name

Tags: @rosecaffelatte, @aonenthusiast

#ojiro aran x reader #ojiro aran imagine #aran x reader #ojiro aran x y/n #aran x y/n #ojiro aran #aran haikyuu #inarizaki x reader #hq #haikyuu #inarizaki #haikyuu x reader #ojiro aran x you #aran x you #libri scribbles #all that is gold

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samanthadalton · 4 years ago

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Gift and a curse part 1

pairings: Bianca x f! mc (Charlie)

A lot of you actually wanted this fic which makes me so happy because Bianca deserves all the love.

(also just wanted to add that when i played the game i romanced mackenzie but for this fic and for the story to make sense i’m romancing adam)

context: rewrite of chapter 12, where Bianca admits her feelings for mc and I give their relationship a bit more depth

reader discretion is advised as there’s mentions of slight internalised homophobia and abuse

taglist: @cloud9in @jaxsmutsuo @penda-bear @alleycat97 @kawaiibanditmoneytaco @crazzyplays @avalawrencefl @itszdavenport @annamaries-things @rory2107 @gamechoices-player @oxjenayxo @suoirallesalta @boopbapbeepbop @queensayeed @fantasy-of-fiction @baronyvampire @vampiregod325 @waterinathermostat @sanguetripasebolodechocolate (i added people who replied, reblogged and liked my post asking about the fic, some people weren’t showing up on the tag im sorry :((( but if you wanna be added or taken off let me know 😊)

word count: 3.4k

After spending the night making up with Adam, Charlie stands on her front porch, savoring the feel of the sun on her skin, reveling in the wave of content that is washing all over her. She’s broken out of her reverie when a familiar voice calls out to her and a small smile creeps up on her lips.

“Beautiful day right?” Bianca walks down the pathway, her neck craned upwards gazing up at the sky.

Charlie hums in response, “even more now that you’re here.” She catches Bianca freeze for a split second before plastering a bright smile as she walks up the steps to stand next to her. “So what brings you over here?” Charlie takes a small sip from her glass of iced tea before settling it down on the small table next to her, looking over at the model expectedly.

“Just wanted to check up on you after yesterday, it was kinda intense. How did it go with Adam?”

“We had a long talk last night and I finally feel like we’re on the same page again. We managed to put the whole elopement thing behind us.” Charlie waves her hand, dismissing her original predicament, “again thank you for your advice on the roof, it helped me get my head straight.”

When Charlie glances over at Bianca, there seems to be a shift in her energy, her usual peppy self is replaced with an unfamiliar expression on her face, one filled with anguish. “That’s…great. I’m glad to hear it.”

Charlie lets out a small laugh, “yeah that sounded really convincing.” She squints her eyes, assessing the model. Bianca looks like a deer in headlights, as she watches Charlie’s gaze roam up and down her body, before the AME contestant flashes a teasing smile. “Oooohhhhh. I see what’s going on here.” Charlie says tauntingly.

Bianca splutters, “oh- you, you do?” A blush creeps up to her cheeks as she shifts awkwardly, unable to meet Charlie’s gaze.

“I think someone has a little crush.” Charlie jests taking a small step forward. “You were hoping Adam and I don’t make up because you want Adam all to yourself.”

“Charlie..” Bianca trails off as the girl teasingly pokes at her side, all colour drained from her face.

“That ‘honey’” Charlie raises her fingers in air quotes, “of yours that you were being all secretive about, you were talking about him right?”

“You don’t get it. Adam isn’t the one I like.” Bianca blurts out as she snaps her gaze up to the brunette, her eyes staring longingly. Realisation begins to dawn on Charlie as she comprehends Bianca’s revelation and all sense of amusement is wiped from her face.

“I- what?” Charlie begins blinking rapidly, stunned into submission.

“It’s you I have feelings for.” Bianca looks at the girl with sadness in her eyes as the silence looms between the two of them. Worry seems to take over Charlie, as her eyes roam the space in front of them, she knows Bianca would never intentionally sabotage her but being on AME means there are prying eyes everywhere and the last thing she needs is for Vince to have some leverage over her. She grabs Bianca’s hand and pulls her into the house, closing the front door behind them.

“I don’t know what to say.” Simultaneously the girls’ gaze drift down to their intertwined hands and Charlie carefully tears her hand out of Bianca’s before running a distressed hand over her face. “How long have you felt this way, I mean I didn’t even know you liked girls like that.”

Bianca visibly tenses, a grimace appearing on her face, “it’s been on and off season 1 and 2 of AME. I thought I could suppress my feelings but after our kiss in Vegas it’s only been getting stronger.” Bianca sighs heavily, slumping her shoulders tiredly as makes her way to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. Charlie follows close behind and sits next to her, while keeping a safe distance between herself and the model. “And I’ve always been attracted to girls but,” she sinks further into the couch, her entire demeanour crestfallen. “Being a lesbian model in an industry as cutthroat as the model one isn’t easy. A lot of people just assume that it’s easy and that I’m this carefree or this egotistical person and-” she trails off unable to finish her sentence.

“Hey,” Charlie shifts in her seat, edging closer to Biance, wrapping her in a hug, “you don’t have to explain anything I get it.” She soothing rubs her back, as Bianca settles her face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling lulled by the sense of security it brings her. “I just, I-, Bianca I’m getting married in a couple of weeks.”

“I know,” Bianca pulls herself out of Charlie’s arms, wiping away the few tears on her face. “I’m sorry to put you in this position Charlie but I just know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t say anything.” She sits up a little straighter, conviction beginning to settle in her. “Charlie if you don’t feel the same, tell me right now and I’ll walk away and we can pretend that this didn’t happen, and I’ll make peace with the fact that you choose Adam.”

Charlie gawks at Bianca, perplexed, the silence from the AME contestant an indication that the feelings may be returned. The model takes her chances and takes Charlie’s hand in hers, her thumb circling the brunette’s knuckles. “Or.. we can acknowledge that you feel something for me, whether it’s a tiny spark or whatever, you feel something for me and we do something about it.”

Charlie pulls her hand out of Bianca’s and exasperatingly huffs, “what are you talking about?”

“Come on Charlie, it’s just us here,” Bianca gestures to the empty room, “I know you picked up on my indirect flirting,” although her tone is teasing, her eyes tell a different story. Charlie feels herself almost losing herself in the intensity of Bianca’s hazel eyes but her mind drifts to Adam and she tears her gaze away from her.

“Maybe, but Bianca this is crazy, I don’t even know what I feel.”

“Then go on a date with me.”

“What? Oh my god.” Charlie looks at Bianca, shocked while Bianca’s expression is full of determination.

“We’ve never been on a solo date so go on one with me, tomorrow.”

“I-, what about Adam?”

“What about him? Charlie this is about you and your feelings, and I know they exist because you haven’t denied it.” Charlie laughs, shaking her head slightly, the AME contestant is a lot of things but a liar isn’t one of them, at least not when it comes to real life. “Don’t you wanna explore this and see where it goes? Who knows, maybe you’ll be surprised.”

Charlie knows she should say no, her and Adam are finally in a good place but a tiny part of her knows Bianca is right and she can feel the butterflies in her stomach as the model watches her. “Okay.”

……

The next day after the challenge, Bianca drags Charlie away from the rest of the group and takes her to the rooftop of the AME mansion. Awaiting for the pair is a blanket carefully laid out on the floor, surrounded by pillows and a big picnic basket sitting in the middle.

Stunned, Charlie turns to Bianca, admiration in her eyes, “Bianca you did all of this for me?”

Bianca flashes one of her dazzling smiles before settling on the blanket and patting the seat next to her, “of course I did babe. Now come and sit.” Charlie moves to sit opposite the model, she cranes her neck upwards to catch the faint light of the sun shining through the sky behind the clouds.

“How did you even get all of this up here?”

“I told the production team that the bride demanded a mini picnic and that they should oblige with her requests or face her wrath.”

“My wrath? You make me sound like some sort of villain.”

“You? A villain? Never. Now lets see what they have in here.” Bianca scrambles through the picnic basket and pulls out a bottle of champagne and a platter of mini sandwiches.

“Wow, this looks really good.” Charlie picks up a sandwich, and all but moans when she takes a bite, “oh my god this is the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”

“Let me taste,” Bianca leans forward and opens her mouth a little and Charlie places the rest of her sandwich in the model’s mouth, her fingers slightly brushing over her lips as she does. They both feel a jolt of electricity, but Charlie quickly retracts her hand, and anxiously settles it by her side.

“So.”

The girls awkwardly trail off looking off into the distance before the sounds of Bianca pouring the champagne breaks the silence.

“Look babe, I don’t want this to be awkward. I mean we’re best friends, there’s no reason why we can’t use this time to get to know each other better.” She offers Charlie one of the flutes of champagne, which is gratefully accepts.

“You’re right, so where do we start?” The girls clink their glasses together and the conversation begins to flow smoothly.

Bianca talks about her past, how her family grew up poor and how she turned to modelling so she could financially support her parents. Charlie laughs along as Bianca tells her the story of her first gig and how she lied about her age so she could legally be there and how her mother wasn’t happy with Bianca taking up modelling at first, but couldn’t be prouder once she began making it in the big leagues. Bianca also tells Charlie about the issues surrounding her sexuality, how she has to hide who she is because she doesn’t want to be blacklisted or seen as an outcast just because she loves women, because models tend to be very judgmental. Charlie intently listens, part of her gratified that Bianca is sharing this part of her life with her, because it’s definitely not easy for her too.

When Bianca bares her soul in front of Charlie, Charlie only finds it fitting to bare hers too. She goes deep about her life, things that she hasn’t even told Adam about because she’s worried about what he might think or say. But there’s something enticing about Bianca that simply makes it easy for her to tell her anything. And so Charlie tells Bianca about her abusive father, how he made her and her mother’s life hell for years until her mother had the courage to leave him and since then they haven’t looked back. She talks about how she went to school for a degree in economics but couldn't really find a secure job once she left college so she had to work in a small bookstore so she could make a living.

The conversation wasn’t all doom and gloom, the two reminisced about past relationships and embarrassing moments, their hopes and dreams, practically every topic under the sun. However, there was one subject that didn’t come up and that was AME. No words were spoken about production, Adam, the show itself, it’s like the girls completely forgot that world existed. After talking for hours, Charlie sighs and moves to stand, stretching her arms as she does.

“Hey where are you going?” Bianca playfully asks, throwing a grape at the girl’s leg.

“I just need to stretch my legs a little, god knows how long we’ve been sitting like this.”

Charlie moves towards the edge of the rooftop looking over the building, her gaze wistful as her mind wonders. Bianca joins her, her arms resting on the wall.

“What’s on your mind?”

Charlie doesn’t tear her gaze from her sky, her voice is low and soft as she speaks, “everything.” She turns her head and lifts it to gaze at Bianca, “have you noticed how we haven’t spoken about Adam at all tonight.”

“Yeah I have. But you can tell me whatever’s on your mind. We’re friends before anything else.”

Charlie laughs derisively, “no offence but I think you’ll be kinda biased.”

Biance lets out a small airy laugh, “I promise to be as objective as I can.”

Charlie sighs before looking out at the entrance of the mansion, the glow of the lights illuminating the pathway, a stark contrast to the dark night sky. “Tonight has been.. nice.”

“Just nice?” Bianca teasingly raises an eyebrow which Charlie catches in her peripheral vision.

“I mean it wasn’t what I was expecting. Some of the stuff I’ve told you, I’ve-, I’ve never told anyone before, not even Adam.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I thought tonight would give me some clarity, but I’m just more confused than ever.”

“And why’s that?” Bianca hums.

“Because.. I think I’m falling for you and I don’t know what that means for Adam and I because I still love him too.”

Hope glimmers in Bianca’s eyes when Charlie looks up at her, fear creeping into her own eyes.

“You know what I think?”

“What?” Charlie softly says.

“I think that you do love Adam but,” Bianca has a pensive look on her face for a few seconds before it slowly shifts into resolve as it settles into her features. “But, I don’t think you’re in love with him. At least not anymore. I think you’re afraid of upsetting anyone or hurting anyone’s feelings so you’re forcing yourself to go ahead with this wedding when it’s not what you want.”

Silence stretches between the two as Charlie mulls over Bianca’s words, her brows furrowed together in contemplation.

“Charlie?” Charlie hums non-committedly, still lost in thought. “Charlie.” Bianca says a bit more sternly, which gets Charlie’s attention jerking her out of her thoughts. “Look babe, I think you’ve done so much for this show, I mean you’re having a wedding on national tv just to please the fans. I think you need to start doing things for yourself, be a little selfish.”

The air between them crackles with intensity as the two look at each other, desire slowly beginning to flood in their system. Charlie deftly looks at Bianca’s lips before looking back up at her eyes, uncertainty looming before her eyes but she takes the plunge leaning forward capturing Bianca’s lips in a sweet kiss. Bianca moans a little as she deepens the kiss, her tongue tangling with Charlie’s as her hand moves to grip at the brunette’s waist. A familiar voice booms out behind them, and Charlie suddenly jerks back, horror plastered all over her face.

“Mackenzie.”

Mackenzie hovers by the entrance of the rooftop, nostrils flaring in anger, as her eyes dart between Charlie and Biance.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Mackenzie it’s not what you think I-” Mackenzie raises her hand, and the words die out in Charlie’s mouth, as tears threaten to fall. Bianca, too stunned to move, stands awkwardly, her mouth hanging open but not daring to speak.

“I think you need to leave,” Mackenzie’s glare snaps to Bianca, who solemnly nods in acceptance.

“I’ll catch you around,” Bianca squeaks out before shuffling towards the exit of the rooftop. She throws Charlie an apologetic look before leaving the two girls on their own.

“You have some explaining to do.” Mackenzie crosses over to Charlie, her arms crossed together, while she gives the girl a deathly glare. Charlie apprehensively wrings her fingers together, unable to meet Mackenzie’s gaze. “Why the hell are you kissing Bianca?”

A dam seems to break in Charlie, hot tears begin streaking down her face, as she begins to sob uncontrollably. Some of the anger in Mackenzie begins to dissipate as she tries to console her. “I don’t know what to do Mack.”

“Let’s sit down.” Mackenzie guides Charlie to one of the chairs before pulling one out for herself and sits on it facing the brunette. The tough girl awkwardly pats Charlie’s leg as Charlie’s breathing becomes frantic, her chest heaving heavily. “Hey it’s okay.” Mackenzie does an exercise to help Charlie control her breaths, telling the AME contestant to slowly inhale, hold and then to exhale. After a couple of tries, Charlie feels like she’s back in control and nods gratefully at the tough girl. “Charlie, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Charlie takes in a deep breath and proceeds to tell Mackenzie everything, from Bianca’s admission to her indecisiveness between the model and her fiance. Mackenzie nods her head along to the brunette’s admittance, a blank expression on her face.

“I don’t know what to do Mack, I’m torn.”

“Are you serious? You love Adam, you’re going to marry him in a couple of weeks.” Mackenzie looks down at the ring that sits on Charlie’s finger.

Charlie exasperatingly throws her hands in the air, “I know that! I’m not sure if that’s what I want anymore.”

Mackenzie sits back in her seat, contemplating, “I’m one of your best friends, and I made a promise to you that I would do whatever I could to make this the best wedding ever.” she runs a distressed hand through her hair, “are you sure about Bianca? I mean this could be a crush or-”

Charlie violently shakes her head, “no. It’s not a crush. It’s like-” Charlie gazes at Mackenzie, a euphoric look glistening in her eyes, “when you were younger did you ever want something so bad but you thought you couldn’t have it. And when you finally got it, it exceeded all of your expectations and made you happier than you thought was ever possible?” Mackenzie, purses her lips, her eyes lost in thought. A few moments later she nods. “That’s what it feels like with Bianca. I’ve always felt drawn to her, but I didn’t think she ever liked me like that, I didn’t think it was possible. But now it’s a possibility and I think that I can be happy with her. But the practical side of me thinks that I’m rushing into it. That I’m acting too rash or impulsive and that if I choose her I lose the stability I have with Adam and then I end up getting burned in the end because I’m rushing into something I barely know anything about.” Charlie shakes her head, “I’ve never felt so confused before.”

“You know I’m never one for the sentimental crap but I think deep down you know what you want, I think you’re just afraid of hurting someone you care about.”

Charlie laughs, “you know, Bianca said the exact same thing.”

Mackenzie smiles, “and here I thought she was just another dumbwitted model.” Charlie playful swats at Mackenzie who laughs. “For real, I think you need to have a deep conversation with yourself and weigh out all the pros and cons. But I feel like you already know the answer.”

Both of the girls fall into a silence as Charlie looks down at her ring, fiddling with it as she ponders. When she speaks, her voice is low and shaky.

“How do I tell him?” Charlie's voice cracks as her lips quiver, as she holds back another wave of tears.

“If he truly loves you he’ll understand. It might take him a while but he’ll get it, he’s a good guy. He only wants you to be happy.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Heh. I guess I’m just not one for indecisiveness, I usually know what I want and I go for it.”

“I envy you for that.” Charlie’s eyebrows furrow together, a skeptical expression on her face. “Do you think I’m rushing into it with her?”

Mackenzie shakes her head, “no, I don’t. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I mean if I knew she’s a lesbian I would’ve put two and two together but, sometimes you just know who you want to be with. I mean, look at Adam’s parents. They knew each other for 3 months before they got married and they’ve been happily married ever since. You know what Adam’s dad told me his only regret was?”

Charlie shakes her head, “what was it?”

“His only regret was that he didn’t ask her to marry him sooner.” Charlie breaks out into a wide smile which Mackenzie returns. “Adam’s probably still awake, you should go and talk to him.”

Charlie nods with determination, letting out a huge breath, “you’re right, I shouldn’t delay it.”

#playchoices #america’s most eligible #AME #bianca x mc #bianca ame #bianca scandoval #hope you guys like it!!!

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alittlebitgoofy · 4 years ago

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if i had my way i would be yours - chapter two (taywhora)

i’m pretty proud of manaing to keep to the deadline (mostly i mean it just hit tuesday and i said late last week but it’s basically monday and been a lil over a week)

this chapter is fun, tayce and her journey with denail and internalised homophobia

ao3 link

“You cunt! Why’d you blue shell me!” A’whora huffed, placing her controller on the table before directing her attention to Tayce.

“You hit me first, you little hound! I swear, it was like four red shells!”

“Yeah, but you were ahead of me,” A’whora whined, her frown beginning to form into a pout as Tayce stared at her with a raised eyebrow. “You were first, not my fault.”

A’whora was cute when she was angry. Video games lit up her competitive streak more than anything, leading her to pout and whine whenever she was beaten. Her complaints were currently directed at Tayce, who’d narrowly beaten her in the last race. Bimini watched them with a bemused grin, the more tayce tried to calm her, the more A’whora pouted.

Tayce tried to hold back her amusement, though seeing A’whora turn away from her with an exaggerated huff made her break character, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a laugh. The blonde squeaked as she was pulled in, quickly wrapping her arms around Tayce and leaning her head on her shoulder.

“You got lucky,” she murmured into Tayce’s chest, curling into her arms further around her waist as the taller girl ruffled her hair. “You’re so competitive, just accept you lost, you little idiot.” “Can you two stop flirting and move so we can do the next race?” Lawrence shook her head, turning to Ellie to mutter something into her ear. The taller woman snickered, catching the attention of the pair, quietly separating before going back to playing.

Tayce shook it off, remarks like that weren’t something that bothered her. Their relationship wasn’t like that, she didn’t like girls, and A’whora was like a sister to her.

So why did her heart beat faster at the blush on the blonde’s face, why did she need to watch her flusteredly trying to play it off and failing miserably?

She’d always thought A’whora was cute, anyone with eyes would have. Something about her drew Tayce in the moment they met; the way she pouted when anything slightly didn’t go her way, how she laughed at her own jokes, the way her eyes lit up when Tayce laughed at something she said, her dimples showing as she grinned.

She could admire the beauty of her friend without it meaning anything, right?

“Tayce! The game is starting!” Tayce snapped her attention back to a giggling A’whora, gesturing to the screen with a shake of her head.

Fuck, the game. Why did she agree to play again? Ellie had subbed out for Bimini, the five of them somehow making the four player game work. Tayce tried to shake her thoughts, focusing on beating A’whora, hearing her whine about Tayce cheating one more time, both of them knowing she was better at the game but not wanting to say it.

---

Tayce spent the rest of the time trying to act cool. No one seemed to notice anything off, too attentive on the game and the comments that the loser would always drop, denying a lack of skill and saying it was the game.

Bimini was too caught up texting their girlfriend to try and swap in to play, it slightly irked Tayce to see people happy in a relationship. Though she’d never say it, it stung knowing she lacked something to get that from anyone. Everything she tried failed, what was she lacking that everyone else seemed to have?

The more she pondered it she became away from the ongoing tension with Lawrence and Ellie. It was clear something was going to happen soon. The way their attention went to each other instantly.

They had each other, the idiots just didn’t realise it quite yet.

A’whora was the only one like her, though she never understood why. She was perfect, sweet, but not afraid to stand up for herself. She was funny, quick witted to a scary extent. She always knew the right thing to say to get Tayce bursting into laughter, though her insults would sting like nothing else, she always knew where to strike. Not too bad to turn people on her, but harsh enough to shake up the person it was directed at.

The blonde caught onto Tayce’s introspection, quietly moving to grab her hand and making the brunette jump in the process.

“You’re thinking too hard again, aren’t you?” A’whora titled her head as Tayce turned away, denial. Great.

“I’m fine, I'm just bored,” she muttered out a response, knowing neither of them believed it, but attempting it anyway. A’whora saw straight though her, grumbling at the lack of proper response before moving closer to her. Her arms found their way around her waist soon after and Tayce had to fight the dopey smile coming to her face from the affection.

“Don’t let them get to you, you’ll find the right person, it just takes time. I haven’t, have I? You’re not alone.” Her tone turned softer, whispering so only Tayce would hear her.

“Yeah, thanks Rory.” Tayce gave a small, genuine smile, wrapping her arms around her waist back to pull her into another hug with the attention off of them for the time being.

“I’m still better at mario kart than you, though,” Tayce giggled at the exaggerated pout on A’whora’s lips at the quip.

She knew she messed up the moment, but it felt too good to see A’whora giggling, her dimple showing enough to make anyone squeal in how adorable she was.

“We’ve won a similar amount of games! Don’t discount me there, lass!” Tayce just shrugged, holding back her laugh at the pout on A’whora’s face, turning her attention around them to see Bimini looking at them with a raised eyebrow, their eyes flickering back to their phone briefly before continuing to watch them in interest.

Ellie and Lawrence were thankfully too distracted in playfully insulting each other; it made A’whora and her look tame in comparison to how much they unwittingly flirted. At least it kept the attention off of them, Tayce gestured to whatever they were up to, and Bimini let out a laugh at the mess of them just before figuring out their feelings were mutual.

The games kept going, keeping the thoughts away for that much longer. She was acutely aware of how A’whora started to lean against her, grumbling when Tayce attempted to move. She huffed more at losses, not deflecting it with jokes as she had been an hour before. Everyone had started to quieten down now, A’whora just happened to be more grouchy than the others the more time passed.

It wound down as Bimini announced the last game, A’whora having given up playing a while ago to lean against Tayce and mindlessly scroll through her phone. Someone commented on her being suddenly antisocial, to which she just grumbled and turned to Tayce for defence. “She’s just grumpy cause she’s tired, don’t mind her,” Tayce quipped, getting a laugh from their friends as A’whora groaned next to her. “Oh fuck off, you’re supposed to stick up for me.” “You’re like a child who’s up past their bedtime,” Tayce deadpanned, A’whora rolling her eyes at the statement though still stayed leant against her roommate.

They’d made it home soon after. A'whora was scarily quiet, though Tayce knew it was because she’d spent too much time with people and exhausted herself mentally. She didn’t bother her, only sliding her hand over hers when they got into the uber to get home.

“Are you going to bed now?” Tayce questioned as they got in, A’whora turning to look at her quizzically before responding. “Not right now, I’m going to get into bed and go on my phone for a bit until I fall asleep.” She shrugged, voice laced with tiredness she wasn’t willing to admit to. “Alright, I’m going to play some games until I feel tired, don’t stay up too late. I know how pissy you get when you don’t sleep enough.” “I do not!” A’whora shook her head, laughing as Tayce shot her a look of shock at the denial. Tayce’s presence made her relax, not feeling the social exhaustion so much when she engaged in conversation. “You absolutely do, and don’t try to deny it. You better not be up by the time I go to bed.” “I doubt I will be, but never say never.”

They bid each other good night, Tayce turning to her room to hook up her xbox and play some more. It kept her brain occupied letting the previous thoughts wash away. She didn’t know what had come over her, but it was something she’d shake off soon enough. It took an hour of online playing for her to start to feel the fatigue, turning it off and stretching before going to move to her bed. She remembered A’whora, wondering if she was still awake. It was getting late, and if she wasn’t asleep by now then tomorrow would be a long day. Curiously, she went to check, poking her head round her door to see a sleeping A’whora with her phone on her chest.

Of course the idiot forgot to put it on charge. Tayce laughed silently, moving to put it on charge to avoid the complaints she’d hear the next morning. Tayce felt her eyes linger on her asleep roommate. She knew it was weird to look at her sleeping, but she looked so peaceful, curled up in her duvet with her face half buried in her pillows. She was adorable while awake, this felt like something she shouldn’t get to see, A’whora fully relaxed and cozy in her bed. The brunette left soon after, confused about the lingering image of how adorable A’whora was in her brain. The warmth in her chest prevailed as she started to fall asleep, something in her wishing she could hold A’whora as she slept. Be close to her when she was that relaxed and vulnerable.

She couldn’t think too hard on it before she was asleep, only hoping whatever was going on would pass within a few days.

She never looked at A’whora like that, why would she start now?

#tayce #a'whora #taywhora #rpdr fanfiction #if i had my way i would be yours #tayora #i hope we don't have to start using this tag pls

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bibliocratic · 5 years ago

Text

For @babtest, who asked for the prompt: Martin showing normal, genuine human anger.

Jon/Martin, set in a nebulous post-160 AU. Cws in the tags.

“And if you want me to call – ”

“I know, I'll send a message.”

“And if you don't feel safe, or you want out of there, there doesn't have to be a reason – ”

“Jon.”

“I'll have the phone on me in case – ”

“Jon,” Martin snaps, and his voice is saw-toothed, edged with an irritation that serves as a defensive carapace to his nerves. “It's – it's fine, he's probably not going to be there anyway, this whole thing is going to be a waste, s-so would you please stop fussing, for – ” He releases a grunt of annoyance but tries to muster some calm, breathing with heavy huffing sounds. “I just need... this bloody Christ, this tie – ”

Martin's made a knot-eyed strangle-hold mess of it in his rush, and he tugs angrily at it, making it worse.

“Do you want me to – ?”

“No, I don't! Would you just let me do it! God forbid I be able to do it myself.”

Martin's voice raises to a shout that dips into a hollow of passive aggressive sniping. Jon stills, steps back from where he's been moving into Martin's space and crowding him, and tries not too feel too hurt, pushes down the knee-jerk cutting responses that will neither be helpful or deserved.

Martin tussles with the tie for a few more vicious seconds, his smart shirt having been tucked, untucked and re-tucked again and taking on a rumpled, disturbed pattern. He finally breathes out again, a heavy, weighted breath, closing his eyes. He takes a few calculated, noticeably deeper inhales and exhales that Jon recognises as the deep breathing his therapist taught him. Jon lets him tide through it.

“I'm sorry for snapping,” Martin says lowly, roughly. “I didn't mean – I'm not handling this very well. That's no reason to take it out on you.”

“Considering how many times I was short with you, you probably still have a surplus until we're even close to equal,” Jon replies, trying for levity. Martin wrings the abused tie miserably in his hands, and Jon wishes that this was easier, that this wasn't drawing out all of Martin's embedded poisons, his anxieties he's long laboured to conquer.

“Can you – Will you help? With the tie?” Martin says in a smaller voice, and Jon takes a step into Martin's unhappy orbit, and removes it gently from his hands.

“Of course,” he replies. “If you want to wear it. But you – Martin, you look good without it. And you hate ties.”

The last time he'd worn one was at his mum's funeral, Jon both knows and Knows. He hadn't been able to tie it then either.

“I want – ” Martin says, looking frustrated when the words don't come as easily as he desires. “It looks professional, yeah? Smart? I don't want to look – do I look like I'm, I dunno, trying too hard? It's – huh – it's only a cafe, right, not the bloody Ritz or something – will it, do you think it'll look too desperate?”

Jon touches Martin's arm with his hand. Martin's fidgeting with his shirt sleeves, the buttons at the cuffs, keeps tugging them down like he's worried they're not long enough. He twists and twists and twists his wedding ring and bleeds out nerves like a weather front stagnating in fog, and Jon selfishly wants him to cancel.

“You'll look fine,” he replies. “Smart, and put-together. And I'll think you look handsome, but that's by the by.” That coaxes Martin's lips to twitch. “But you don't... you don't have to wear it, if it's going to... if you're uncomfortable in it. Especially if you think not wearing it will make him disapprove or some nonsense.”

Martin huffs a sound that's the verbal equivalent of a long-suffering eye-roll.

“Spooky mind-reader strikes again, huh.”

“Fear my psychic powers,” Jon dead-pans, and Martin chuffs another one of those aborted half-laughs. Then, quieter, softer. “Want me to help with it?”

“I – I think I'll leave it,” Martin responds finally, with a nod to himself. “It's a Costa anyway, I'm just going to look like a hipster anyway in this shirt.”

“It's that and the beard,” Jon agrees, rubbing his hand at the thick scratchy weave of it until Martin bats his hand away with a 'get off you'. “Do you need your umbrella?”

“ 's only ten minutes down the road, should be alright.”

“You get caught in a downpour, it's your own fault.”

Martin's lips do actually quirk in a smile then, finding the grooves of their light-hearted bickering as a comforting oft-replayed melody.

“Your compassion never ceases to astound me.”

“You didn't have to marry me.”

“Not like any one else was going to do the job.”

“How noble and public-spirited of you.”

Jon kisses Martin's lips briefly, raising himself up on socked tip-toes. Martin's hand slots into his, faintly trembling.

“Whatever you decide, I'll support your decision,” he says in the tight woven space of their bodies. “Even if this isn't what you want, or even if it is.”

Martin nods, and returns a dry, bristly kiss in return before he heads out.

It starts spitting with rain not a minute later.

Jon has not been blessed with an abundance of patience. Martin's meeting is at half two, but he checks his phone at obsessive intervals, watching the screen lighten and the clock on analogue mode work through the grinding seconds. In case Martin's changed his mind. In case he wants out, doesn't want to do this. In case he was stood up, or is sat alone because there was some problem with traffic, or, or, or.

Jon, half-heartedly, tries a great number of things to distract himself, and to avoid any instances of Knowing. After an hour, he's given channel-hopping a go – watching five minutes of a mid-afternoon western, and then ten minutes of a reality show about buying houses on the coast and renovating them. (Martin loves these types of programmes, and in the spirit of them is trying to doggedly renovate the front hall. Meaning that any time Jon wants to go to the front door, he has to pick his way over old blankets thrown down to protect the flooring from paint drips, Martin's small forest of tester pots and paint pots and drying brushes).

Martin's got a window seat – the window misted with condenseness, some child has imprinted a pudgy hand as a calling card – has ordered a mocha – over-sugared, tacky in his mouth, he regrets the choice immediately –

SHUT UP, Jon fumes at himself, and tries to read, manages a few pages before he's struck with the frisson of Martin's spiking anxiety every time the ding of the cafe door pipes up, and stomps into the kitchen to occupy his mind by making himself an unappetizing lunch that he doesn't even want to eat.

His phone remains silent. Jon fights the powerful urge to send a brief check-up message, a little everything going ok? but stops himself. Martin's going to have enough on his plate.

Jon frets and waits for him to come home.

–

There's the plaintive squeak of the front gate (Martin will need to oil it again), and Jon sits up from where he's been petting the cat and poorly playing one of Martin's hand-held console games. He's been on the same level for about an hour now, and stubbornness is preventing him from giving it up as a lost cause.

The pad of two footsteps.

“You've – the flowers are nice. That you've got growing.”

“Thanks. It's not really – it's more Jon than me. He's pretty green-fingered.” The footsteps peter out. “So – er, well, this is me, heh. Close by.”

“Time really flew, huh.”

“Yeah. T-thanks for the, thanks for the coffee – ”

“Don't mention – ”

“ – and for the walk back – ”

“ – You can keep the umbrella, if you – ”

“N-no, it's, it's fine.”

The conversation stalls and splutters like an engine with the wrong fuel. Jon's moved out into the hallway, the cat restless but demanding in his arms, and sees the blurred bulk of Martin's stiff shoulders in the frosted glass pane of their front door, set high like he's shoved his hands into his pockets.

Jon skirts around the paint pots to get nearer.

“So,” the other voice – and it's so similar, strikes the same gulleys and furrows, the stop-and-start of thoughts eking their way out into expression, and it wrong-foots Jon to hear it, the ill-matching echo of it. “I – I'll see you again? If you, that is – I really liked... It was good. To catch up, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, and he sounds wrung out, straining on some mental rack he's internalised. “It was. Yeah. It was good to see you.”

“You want to do coffee again, sometime?”

“I – er. Maybe. Maybe.”

The first fuzz of hurt creeps to moss over the over-eager nervousness of the other voice. “Oh. Er, yeah. S-sure. That's... it's not a problem. Why, why maybe?”

Martin's hackles go up defensively. “I'm not sure, alright?”

“Was everything ok?”

“I guess relatively?”

“What's that mean?”

“Relatively as in, it's been thirty years, there's a few things to iron out after all that. Hence the, y'know, the maybe.”

“Right,” comes the response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin's voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

There's a punch of silence. The cat buts against Jon's chin. Through the vague blurring of the glass, Martin shifts in that way of his, when he says something he wishes he hasn't, but he makes no move to take it back.

Half beseeching, half reproachful: “That's not fair, Marty.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“It's Martin,” Martin replies, blistering with something bubbling to the forefront. “It's Martin, not Marty. I'm not – I'm not a child any more, so you can just – just drop that.” He scoffs a breath, and it's hard and hurt and deliberate. “And no, it wasn't fair. But neither was you leaving. So guess we're equal.”

“I – I tried to explain,” the other man starts, a heat of his own starting to shade indignant.

“And it was bollocks – ”

“It's the truth!”

“It wasn't good enough!”

“Your mother, she was – ”

“She was ill! She was sick and you knew, you knew she was just going to get sicker, and so you cut your losses and you legged it.”

“It wasn't like that – ”

“I was eight!” Martin snarls, and there's no pausing in his words any more, no careful consideration, it's a scatter-gun of words he's had secured in his chest for a long time now. “What the fuck sort of parent leaves an eight year old in that sort of house, with that sort of responsibility? What the hell kind of a life did you think I'd have?!”

“She had – you had aunts and uncles! They were, nearby, they were always cluttering up the house, popping round. I thought – I thought if, when she got really bad, they'd take you in!”

“She cut everyone out! What a stupid – you knew her! She hated anything that felt like pity, she was proud and she didn't want anyone to see her as she got worse. You think she'd have accepted someone implying she couldn't care for her son? No. And eventually it was – it was only us, and you know what, she hated me for it. Because I looked so much like you! Because everything I did, everything I ever did was just a reminder of how much she hated you for leaving.”

“I didn't – ” The response is regret-mired, apologetic, but Martin doesn't want to hear it. “I couldn't have known that...”

“No,” Martin replies, his voice all venom and hurt. “But it's not like you checked, did you? Pop in, see how I was doing. A visit o-or a letter in the post, o-or something! Christ, you didn't even come to the bloody funeral!”

“I.. No one told me! I found out she'd... she'd passed about a month back. I swear, Marty – Martin, sorry. I swear, I didn't know.”

“And now here you are.”

“I wanted to – I wanted to make amends! To be a better, a better father to you.”

“I'm nearly forty, dad,” Martin snipes unkindly, his throat thick. “What makes you think I need you now?” He sniffs, his words damper than he'd like. “Thirty years is a long time to wait to try and play happy families again.”

“Martin, I. Look, I had a lot of problems. Back then. For a long time. I'm not saying them as an excuse – ”

“Then don't say them,” Martin cuts him off. “I don't – I don't want to hear them. I... just. Don't.”

The conversation dies abruptly. There's a horrible, terminal sort of quiet to it.

“I'm going to go,” Martin says, his tone sanded down to quiet exhaustion. “I've got – Jon'll be waiting and I – I can't do this any more.”

“Right,” Kenneth Blackwood replies with an equal tone. “I'm staying, I'm nearby if you want to – I hope to see you again, Martin.”

Martin doesn't reply. Jon has enough warning of the looming shadow in the door to skitter back as Martin uses his key to twist the lock open.

His face is ruddy, splotchy with patches of red. His eyes wet.

“Guess you heard some of that, yeah?” he bites out bitterly on seeing Jon, tugging off his coat.

“Some,” Jon admits honestly, and Martin shakes his head like he's trying to knock something loose, throws his coat over the banister head, pulling off his scarf and balling it up and chucking it in the corner by the door like it's wronged him.

“What a fucking – It was a mistake, I knew I knew it was a bad idea, me and my stupid bloody – playing the bleeding heart idiot again as per fucking usual.”

“Did it, did go badly?” Jon asks, putting the cat down and skirting the edges of Martin's return, watching him pull off his shoes unlaced and slam them into the shoe pile into the corner.

“Absolutely fabulous!” he responds with a false bitter cheer that tinges yellowed and sick. He's not calming down. His hand threading through his hair, his face continuing to redden with an angry heat, eyes welling up. “He's so bloody sincere and apologetic and what the – what am I supposed to do with that now? Where were all his sorries then, where was he when I wanted to hear them?”

Martin plows on, clearly not wanting answers.

“A-and he was so interested, wanted to see our wedding pictures, and kept asking so so many questions like it was a job interview or something – what are you doing? What do you like doing? What are your hobbies? How long have you and Jon been together? – a-and, like, I couldn't help thinking that it's none of his – he wasn't there, he doesn't get to be all friendly like he didn't just walk out. And! And then!” Martin's voice rises to a furious damp crest, throwing his hands about. “Then he wants to share! He had pictures on him and his new wife and new kids – a-and mum, she always, she always said he hadn't wanted a family, hadn't wanted to be a dad, didn't want the responsibility that'd fall on him when she got sick. But he was so happy! So I don't – what am I meant to think of that? I don't know, I mean, was it lies she told me, how much was the truth, and how much did she twist like she did everything else?”

Martin sniffs loudly. “He got married a year after he left mum, and they're still together. His other kids are finishing uni or they've got cushy jobs in the financial district, and h-he was showing me and he sounded so... god, he was so proud of them.” Martin wipes at his eyes. “S-so that's, that's just great.”

“Martin...” Jon starts, despairing, listening to the croak in his voice, the way it keeps catching, the hitching jagged rise of his breathing.

“No. No, don't you get it, it's clear as fucking crystal. Because he wanted a family, yeah, he wanted kids he could dote on and take to the park and play football with. He just didn't want me, did he? And what the hell was s-so wrong with me?! I wasn't – I wasn't a bad kid, I was quiet and I kept out of trouble, and there's no, no reason he couldn't have taken me with him when he left. S-so what was so wrong with me?” Martin's shoulders are starting to shake. “Why – why wasn't I enough for him?”

Jon surges in as Martin bursts into angry bitter tears. Sobbing into Jon's jumper, fisting his hands into the hem of it, repeating snatches of recrimination and confusion over and over. Jon tries to tell him that he's enough, that he's always been enough, that he's so so loved, but Martin can't hear over his own hitching breaths, the sea swell of his grief.

Jon just holds him and waits for the tide to go out.

–

The doorbell rings around nine o'clock, and Jon Knows who's at the door.

Martin stirs under the twisted covers with a questioning noise, but Jon shushes him.

“It's the postman,” he lies. “I'll get it.”

Martin hums.

“Put the kettle on?” he asks sleepily, as though he won't be back snoring in a minute. Jon promises he will regardless, manoeuvring himself out of the heat-packed bed and Martin's loose grip, slipping on his slippers and a shirt.

He opens the door with his most imperious of gazes already set on his face.

Martin is there. Or, a man uncanny in resemblance. He shifts his weight from foot to foot like Martin does, has the same nervous twitch in the flutter of his hands. His skin is more weathered, maybe, has built up a collection of lines Martin hasn't sourced out just yet, a further progression to the receding hairline that's beginning to retreat back at Martin's temples.

“I – um, is Martin in?”

“Yes.”

“Can – would I be able to – ?”

“No,” Jon replies. “He's still asleep.”

It's taken for the denial it's meant to be. Kenneth Blackwood makes an 'oh, right' with the same ringing nervous cast to his movements that Martin had when he first came to the Archives.

“It's...” he starts tentatively, and politely does not have his gaze stray too long on the scars on his hand, his face, his throat. “It's Jon, isn't it?”

“Jonathan Blackwood,” he responds, feeling the odd need to stake the territory here. “I'm Martin's husband.”

“Oh!” Kenneth replies, a little surprised “That's... that's good. I didn't know you took his name when you got.... That's... that's great.”

“It's a good name,” Jon responds, and his father gives a sad, crooked look.

“Not sure Martin would agree with you.”

“It's not my place to comment,” Jon counters, and Kenneth nods and replies with a: “Yeah. No, no, you're right.”

The cat has come up to the door out of curiosity and nudges at the back of his legs before deciding to stay indoors. Jon clears his throat, feeling the nip of early morning under the thin cotton of his nightwear.

“I wanted to – ” Kenneth Blackwood starts. “I wanted to apologise. I didn't keep a cool head yesterday, and he – he deserved my honesty, not my defensiveness.”

Jon gives nothing else, and Kenneth Blackwood continues, clearly grateful for the conversational opening.

“Look, I'm – I have to head back today. I live up near Preston these days. But I hoped – Can I leave my number? I know I shouldn't have pushed so hard. It was a lot to expect. He doesn't...” He makes a half-sigh. “Martin doesn't have to call. I won't contact him again, if that's what he wants. I just – I'm there. If he wants to give me the chance to get to know him again. But if he doesn't.... I understand.”

Jon takes the piece of card offered.

“I'll give it to him,” he says, firmly but not unkindly, and then gives a nod. “Drive back safe, Mr Blackwood.”

He takes it for the dismissal it is meant to be, and he returns the nod. Shoves his hands in his pockets to stave off the chill of the morning as he leaves.

Jon closes the front door with an unobtrusive click, pockets the card he was given. Pauses for a moment, listening to the lull of the house, the rumble of snoring upstairs. Then he makes his way past pots and paintbrushes into the kitchen to make Martin a cup of tea.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #fic #prompt #cw parental abandonment #cw emotional abuse #cw intense emotional outbursts #cw poor parent-child relationships #jonmartin #angst #some domestic fluff #this is kinda heavy so if you want me to add more tags #please tell me #i wasn't sure how to word them

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cakejots · 3 years ago

Text

Unstained, Chapter 2

After certain events that happened in the day, Chat Noir revealed to Ladybug that he knows who she is under the mask. Her reactions astounded him. After certain events that happened in the night, Ladybug unveiled to Chat Noir why she can’t do what he asked of her. His reactions astonished her.

Rating: T, Words: 6938. Chapters: 4/4

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Read on AO3

“So, are you going to take my Miraculous away?”

“I suppose.”

Chat immediately stiffened his relaxed posture and whipped his head to look at her, moon-eyed. “You—”

“But, if that’s supposed to happen, I wouldn’t be here talking to you as Ladybug, would I?” Ladybug finally faced him with a small smile hanging on her lips.

Seeing her smile, Chat felt even more perplexed than he already was. “What do you mean?”

“I know who you are, Adrien.”

Adrien didn’t think his day would get any crazier, but it just did. “C-come again?”

“Adrien, that’s you under that mask. Marinette, that’s me under this mask. And I’m not going to take away your Miraculous, silly,” Ladybug, Marinette, teased. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying his reactions to all these.

“Sorry, but this is a lot to take in, I need a moment.” Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to internalise this new information that Ladybu—Marinette just dropped on him.

“Take all the time you need, Minou. We have time. But—”

“But we need to move if there’s an Akuma attack,” he recited.

“You know me so well, but patrols rarely have those, so you’re good.” Her attention was now back to the glittery sky above.

Silence, until…

“My lady? M-Marinette? Argh, I don’t even know which to use now! This is all so new to me,” he whined and pulled his hair while making distressed faces.

“You can use whichever you want Chaton, we are still the same person under the masks,” she giggled.

“I’ve got a few questions if you don’t mind?” He asked with hope in his eyes.

“Of course not, go ahead.”

He started to fidget. “How did you find out?”

“Well, it wasn’t like I actively sought out your identity or anything. It just happened, to the point I simply couldn’t ignore it any longer,” she stated.

Chat was looking at her curiously. But he was listening attentively and signalling for her to go on, and she did.

“Wow this is such a long list, where do I even begin?” She mused.

“Start from your earliest memories of it?” He suggested.

“That’s a good idea. Remember when there was a design competition for bowler hats and your father—”

Chat gagged.

“—got to decide which is the winning piece you’ll wear for your next photoshoot?” Ladybug raised an eyebrow.

Chat’s eyes widened with realisation and nodded. “It was the first time we fought Mr Pigeon.”

“Yeah. And Chat Noir was sneezing non-stop due to the allergies he had against feathers. Guess who I found that had the same allergies after we defeated the Akuma?”

Chat blushed.

“But it wasn’t enough of an evidence to give away that you’re Chat Noir. After all, plenty of people are allergic to feathers.” He nodded. “Next, was when as Chat Noir, you worked with Marinette to take down Evillustrator.”

“Oh! So that’s your secret mission. How did I expose myself? I’m pretty different in and out of the mask.”

“Indeed you are. Thing is, no one knew Marinette and Chat Noir worked together that night. Yet, Adrien-you approached Marinette-me and asked what I thought about Chat Noir.”

“Please tell me there’s no more of my reckless behaviour that could possibly scream Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir,” he grimaced.

“You’ll be surprised,” she winked. And he groaned.

“Those two might have been coincidences, but not this next one. Does ‘Tom Style: Booyah!’ remind you of anything?”

“Wow I really need to stop being so careless, who would have thought!” Chat was hiding his face behind his hands.

Ladybug started listing more. “There’s also that time where Jagged Stone tried being a baker on a reality show, and basically flashed my room full of Adrien’s photos on national TV. And you were acting all smug about it the next day, very Chat-like might I add. And our train ride to London, Chat Noir—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I leave tons of clues, sheesh.”

It was quiet again and Ladybug went back to admiring the many glimmers that hung above. Ladybug sensed a change in the mood surrounding them and hoped that he wouldn’t ask what she thinks he’d ask.

“So, how long have you known?”

And there it was. “You know how long, Adrien,” as if pleading him to drop the questioning.

“Yeah, but do you know since when?”

“S-since the first year we got our Miraculouses,” she confirmed, hugging her knees.

“Is there a reason why you didn’t tell me in the first instance possible?” He asked gently.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Adrien. I do, I really do, but Master Fu said… he said our identities must remain a secret.” Ladybug tried to reason with him.

“I know you do, and I have no doubt about that. And Master Fu did say that, didn’t he? But you still knew about Rena Rouge and Carapace.”

“They were needed for our battles, and you knew about Queen Bee.” But her determination was wearing thin, and she knew she wasn’t making any sense.

“And so did you.”

Ladybug kept quiet and was looking at everything else but Chat.

“Marinette, if identities were so important, Master Fu would have made sure you didn’t know about Rena Rouge’s and Carapace’s, you know that.” Adrien's voice was really soft, the softest it has been the whole day. “Queen Bee was an unfortunate case that the whole of Paris knows.”

She still wasn’t looking at him.

“Marinette, is there something you’re hiding?” Chat shifted towards her.

And yet, she didn’t utter a single word.

“My lady?” He had begun to hold her as he witnessed her eyes welling up.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hands, but they continued falling.

He looked at her earnestly before he went ahead to wipe her tears with his thumb, mindful of his claws. Chat then placed a hand at the back of her head, and pulled her into his embrace, rubbing circles on her back. He figured that if she didn’t want to talk about it, the least he could do was calm her down.

“I-I’m guessing that you figured out my identity this afternoon? When y-you were almost akumatised?” She started.

Ladybug felt a nod at her shoulder, and she continued.

She heaved a deep sigh and wrapped her arms around him. “In… in another timeline, we knew each other’s identities in the first year we got our Miraculouses. And we were in love.”

Chat went rigid with his ministrations.

“I… I don’t really know the details, but it… it was our love that destroyed the world.”

He felt a vicious chill spread through his core. Chat pulled back to look at Ladybug, eyes conveying desperation that this where it stopped, that it couldn’t possibly get any worse than this.

Ladybug held his gaze for a while before looking up. “This moon above us, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Chat didn’t know where this was going, but he looked up nonetheless. The moon was indeed very pretty, gleaming brightly against the clear blue-black sky that made sure all focus was on it.

“In that timeline, this very same moon was split into half," she paused. "By you. Akumatised you.”

Chat whipped his head back down to her, gaze wavering as a feeling of disorientation blanketed him.

Ladybug fiercely pulled him back into her embrace, instantly regretting the way she had delivered the news to him. “Do you see it now?” She wept. “The reason why I was so hesitant to reveal myself to you?" She gripped on him firmly, afraid that he'd run away.

Chat’s vision had turned blurry, and he squeezed her. “Then why did you reveal yourself now? If you knew this was going to happen.”

“I… I figure the reveal was going to happen sooner or later, and y-you were akumatised because of something entirely different. And honestly, I am so exhausted about everything.”

They basked in the silence together, sniffling and trying to stop their tears from flowing.

“So what are we going to do now?” Chat whispered.

“I really don’t know, I’m just glad that you didn’t get akumatised and I didn’t have to fight you.” She hugged him tighter than what he thought was possible.

Chat slowly pried himself away from her to look at her. With his hand at the back of her head, he pulled it forward and kissed her forehead. She froze.

“Adrien, what are you doing?”

“I love you.” Ladybug opened her mouth but he cut her to it. “You’re always thinking about others even while going through hell all by yourself. You’ve been through so much. I’m so sorry for not being there for you, and I thank you for sharing this with me, Marinette. I love you, so, so much. For being so brave, for being all that you are.”

Her tears flowed down her face like a river escaping a dam, comparable to the speed of her thoughts running through her mind. All the ‘could haves’ she might have experienced with Adrien if it wasn’t for her fears. And the possible devastation that may happen if she went ahead with what her alternate self did.

“Adrien, I don’t know if you know this, but I love you too, romantically. Ever since the first day we’ve met. But...”

To say that didn’t break his heart would have been the joke of the century, but…

“I understand Marinette,” he smiled weakly, “but please stop pushing me away. Even if not romantically, I want to be there for you every step of the way.”

“I’m doing fine Adrien...” She looked away.

Adrien felt disheartened. But he didn’t want to give up, not yet, never. He cupped her face to look at him.

“Marinette, you’ve been waiting all this time, haven’t you?” Marinette didn’t think Adrien’s voice could go even softer than before, but it did. “Since 3 years ago, for someone to save you from this helplessness, for someone to share this burden with you. Let me be that person for you.”

Marinette sometimes could perfectly explain what she saw in Chat. His desire to lighten up other people’s day, his unyielding trust in her, among many many others. But other times, she wasn’t able to, because it was indefinable. It’s just the way he was able to take her to places where no one else could. Maybe, it's time she finally let go of all the burdens she has had and shared them with someone, with her kitty.

“I’ll always be here, my lady.”

She raised her arms to hold his face in her hands—

“I am so sorry.”

—and pressed her lips onto his.

#mesfics #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #mlb fanfic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #post chat blanc #hurt/comfort #unstained

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jacksjoke · 4 years ago

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Title: the good, the best

Pairing: Wave/Pang

Ao3 link

Wave has always had a bit of an attention disorder when it comes to Pang. Since the first time he set eyes on Pang back in sophomore year, Wave has had a difficult time keeping them off him. Nothing special has to be happening, either; in the days of the Gifted class, the group could be focused on individual assignments, Pom might be giving a lecture at the front of the room, or really any number of things. But the constant variable was Wave’s attention slipping from whatever actually needed it, to Pang. And that hasn’t changed in the year that’s passed.

“You know as well as us that this is the best solution,” Claire says, like it’s that simple. Her arms are crossed over her chest and it’s obvious that her patience is waning. (Considering Punn’s absence for class, it’s no wonder that she arrived with less than usual to begin with.)

When their leader gives no sign of answering her, Ohm is prompted to say from his place behind Claire’s seat, “Pang, I get it’s hard for you, but this is too risky for us.”

“If I do this, how am I any different from the Director?” Pang asks after a second. He doesn’t look up from the table, unable to meet the eyes of any of his friends, and even only seeing Pang’s profile Wave can tell that he’s moments away from cracking.

“You said it yourself,” Korn points out, to Pang’s right. “We really have this one chance, that’s it.”

Pang doesn’t speak again, and after another beat of charged silence, Wave pushes up out of his chair at the desk to call it. “Clear the room,” he tells the group. “We’ll meet here in five hours to discuss the final plan.”

“Wave,” Ohm begins, but a silencing stare from the other boy makes Ohm shut his mouth. Wave doesn’t often employ his position as unofficial co-leader of the Gifted, but the rest know better than to challenge him when he does. More often than not he’s perfectly content to let Pang take charge, but sometimes, like right now, Pang needs a break. They must sense that, from Pang’s downtrodden expression, because their friends disperse from the storage space without a word. Only Ohm remains for an extra minute to make their presence here invisible, and then he’s gone too.

Wave follows Pang up to the little alcove, where Pang has taken a seat on the pearl armchair by the lockers. He’s quiet, fiddling with the hem of his untucked shirt. Wave lowers himself onto the edge of the orange ottoman across from Pang. He isn’t a stranger to Pang’s occasional moods; especially when issues come up such as this, Wave knows to prepare for an impending storm, even if it’s a small one.

“No one expects you to be the Director,” is the first thing Wave says.

“If I was, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with,” Pang answers.

“Pang.”

“I invited in the Anti-Gifted, I didn’t stop them from forming after they decided we’re mutant freaks, and because of that, they planted the bomb that hurt Namtaan and all those teachers.” Pang looks at Wave for the first time all afternoon. “And if I weren’t such a coward, I could’ve stopped Time and prevented him from going rogue too, but I’m so scared to be anything like the Director that it paralyses me.” Wave feels his chest ache at the sound of Pang’s voice catching.

“It isn’t all on you,” he says. “Do you think if anyone here blamed you for what’s happened, they’d still want you to lead?” Wave has said all this probably thrice over in some variation, but Pang never seems to internalise it. This school has done a real number on him, and it kills Wave to see it.

He’s the one who used to put on such a front of unshakable strength, but these days it’s been Pang who tries so hard to appear fearless when he’s so far from it. But that doesn’t make him weak. Wave says this to Pang, because he knows that he needs to hear it.

“I’m not a good leader,” Pang says, after a second.

“You are. And don’t give me any of that about being like the Director, because if you were, Time would be a non-issue right now.” Wave pauses. “And I know tonight’s had you feeling like shit, but you know it’s necessary, right?”

“It’s the chance we’ve been waiting for,” Pang admits, as Korn had mentioned.

“And the circumstances suck, but they are what they are,” Wave says. “They turn themselves in to the admin, Ritdha takes it from there. You aren’t doing anything even close to what the Director would do, Pang.”

“It’s just…”

“I know.” Wave goes quiet, then says, “And you know, I share part of the blame for what happened last year.” Pang looks at Wave, skeptical and disbelieving, and Wave goes on before he can actively protest. “Namtaan was closer to the bomb, sure. But I had you in the room with me; I didn’t want you to… I couldn’t let you leave and not know if you’d make it back.”

“Wave.”

“So you can go on blaming yourself, but it was me too. And more than us, it was the Anti-Gifted for choosing violence,” Wave says pointedly. Pang drops his eyes to his lap, and Wave watches him, as always, waiting. He sees Pang give a slight nod, and a bit of the tightness in his chest loosens. “Let’s tell the rest we’re set.”

Pang follows Wave in standing but takes Wave’s hand before he can go. “You never said… Is what happened with Namtaan why you told me how you felt that night?”

“I… wanted to tell you for a while before that,” Wave manages to say. Even after months he isn’t a fan of all this talk of emotions and it’s likely showing on his red face. “But the bomb was part of the reason. Yeah.”

“I wanted to tell you too,” Pang says, “but there was never a good time…”

“So the night of an explosion was ‘good’?” Wave asks, eyebrows raised, and Pang laughs.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Pang says, tugging Wave by the hand for the stairs. He pauses, though, making Wave bump into his arm at the abrupt stop. “And thanks. For being there, since then. Even before that you were there, and I haven’t thanked you.”

Wave squeezes Pang’s hand. “There’s no need for thanks between us. You know that.”

“Can I elect to change that rule? Cuz I definitely think—”

“Pang.”

Pang nods once dutifully and leans forward to press a kiss to Wave’s forehead. Wave has only just closed his eyes to bask in the feeling when Pang pulls away to give him a small grin.

“All good?”

“I should be asking you that,” Wave points out, giving him a look.

“I’m okay,” Pang says, and the soft, simmering light in his eyes tells Wave that he’s being honest. He gives a pull to the string that connects to Wave’s hat, hanging around to his back now. “Where would I be without your nagging?”

Wave snorts. “Let’s not find out.” Pang’s smirk melts into a dopey smile as Wave rolls his eyes, blushing. “Back door. I’ll take the front.”

“I can’t wait until this is all over and we can just… walk together. As it is, you’ve already stolen my jacket, my fishing hat, my heart—what’s next?”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Wave says in a rush, already halfway out the door. Once he’s out of sight of Pang, Wave stops against the wall to catch a breath. That leader of theirs is seriously going to be the death of him.

I love you, beeps his phone. It’s fortunate Wave had already propped himself against a wall, because otherwise he’d be floored. One would think that after nearly half a year together Wave wouldn’t be so affected by these words, or anything to do with Pang, by now. But no. It’s as earth-shatteringly endearing as it ever was and, Wave knows, the reason as to why his attention has never strayed. It’s Pang. That’s all, always.

Wave returns the sentiment and then stuffs his phone away lest he delve into his hidden gallery of stolen Pang candids. With that, he goes on his way for class and tries not to think about the next time Pang will get caught in his own mind regarding the trepidation toward his abilities, so similar to Director Supot’s.

He hates seeing Pang hurting. But at the least Wave knows that he will be there at his side, the same as he’s been every other time, to remind Pang that he’s good, the best, and that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

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eryiss · 4 years ago

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Chapter Eight - The Smile

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This is lighter than last chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Eight – The Smile

"I get that this is your weird revenge," Bickslow grunted, arms flexing slightly. "But why isn't it just aimed at Freed?"

He grunted with a glare on his face, trying and failing to manoeuvre a double bed through a door far too small for it to fit. Holding the other end of the bed was Laxus, who was also glaring at the furniture while attempting to adjust the angle to get it through the doorway. Sitting atop the windowsill of the bedroom, was Evergreen, who was clearly doing nothing to help with the moving of furniture. In fact, she was absently applying lipstick.

"I made it very clear that I'm not helping move anything," She said as she glared at the reflection in her compact mirror. "Just here for the free pizza."

"We're not having pizza," Freed said from inside the bedroom, where he was placing his clothes in the wardrobe.

"What!" Both Bickslow and Evergreen exclaimed almost simultaneously.

"It's Sunday. Italian place closes on Sundays, and nowhere else serves it in town," Laxus explained, tilting the bed slightly and pulling at it. It slipped through the gap of the doorframe, and allowed the two men to get it into the bedroom. "The only other place is like an hour away, and it tastes like ass anyway."

"As opposed to the Magnolia's pizza," Freed said under his breath. "Which is award winning."

"You act like they poisoned you," Laxus grunted, turning to Freed. "It was a little greasy, that was all. It tasted good."

"There was more grease than there was dough, and it tasted like vomit," Freed met Laxus' eye, a challenging smirk on his face. "And we can't be sure that they didn't poison me, I have a high constitution and may have not noticed it. But I won't risk it again, which is why I chose to move in today, where there wasn't a chance of eating from the hellish place."

And thus, Freed and Laxus engaged into a playful argument between one another about the taste of a pizza they had apparently shared together at some point. Too engrossed in an intense discussion about the merits of thin crust vs deep pan, they missed the silent conversation of expressions between Evergreen and Bickslow. Looks of disbelief and a shocked shake of the head from Bickslow clearly showed just how exhausted with the two men they both were.

Because, although Evergreen had told Bickslow about their clear flirtation, he hadn't believed just how obvious it was. Somehow their argument had gotten to the point where Freed had invited Laxus to have a home cooked pizza Freed would make, on the pretence that he should know what quality food tastes like.

"Weren't kidding, were ya?" Bickslow laughed, and Evergreen shook her head.

"About what?" Freed asked, looking to Bickslow from the wardrobe while frowning. Laxus had a similar expression.

"What are we eating then?" Evergreen deflected, snapping her compact shut.

"Well, Laxus, Bickslow and I will be whatever we feel like from Fairy Tail's restaurant," Free informed her, closing the wardrobe, and walking to the bed, helping the other two men position it correctly. "You will get yourself your own food, and pay for it yourself, given that you haven't helped with moving at all."

"You are paying for my food because you insulted me-"

"I didn't insult you, I kicked you out of my house," Freed smiled. "Something I'm willing to do right now."

"You're awful at grovelling," Evergreen mumbled, jumping off from windowsill and looking around the bedroom which Freed would be staying in. "You really did make this place look great; I didn't think you could do it honestly."

Laxus grinned proudly at the compliment, chuckling quietly when he heard Freed claim he wouldn't have taken on the house as a project if he didn't believe he could make it a sound, high quality home. It was interesting for the blonde to watch as Freed spoke with his friends, as he acted quite similar to the way he acted with Laxus. It was a nice feeling, to be assured that Freed treated him with the same level of affection that he did with the only other people important in his life. Laxus liked knowing that Freed undoubtedly saw him as one of his friends.

Though of course it was perhaps more than that. Because, upon playing and replaying their last moments together in the fairground, Laxus had been sure of one thing. Freed had leant in, possibly to kiss him.

And Laxus had essentially run away.

He found himself pissed off every time he thought back to it, because that was perhaps the worse response to the situation he could have done. He couldn't explain why he'd done it, not even to himself, but he could be sure that it was a mistake. Freed's reaction had made that clear.

Even though Evergreen had assured him it wasn't Laxus' fault, and that Freed was going through a lot and didn't know how to deal with it, Laxus still felt guilty.

Because he really wanted to give Freed that kiss.

But now, all he could do was beat himself up over the fact he hadnt seized the moment when it had been there. He really didn't know why he hadn't. He'd kissed men before, taken a few of them to bed. He'd long since gotten over his internalised homophobia – as Porlyusica had called it – so it wasn't the fact that it was with a man. He'd thought about the fact that Freed was his boss, and found that it didn't bother him; a dark recess of his mind was slightly attracted to the fact. There was only one thing that separated Freed from all the other men he'd been interested in, and Laxus was slightly scared by it.

Freed didn't feel like he'd be a fling, to Laxus. Laxus hadn't ever had a long-term relationship, be it because he only wanted something casual or that he didn't like the guy enough. But with Freed, there was this feeling of… solidity with him. As if he had kissed Freed, the next part of his life would begin. A more adult part of his life.

That was a thought that Laxus pushed to the back of his mind. He didn't like dwelling on the fact he was in his early thirties, and still felt like a kid.

"Yo blondie, come back to us," A loid voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked at the grinning face of Bickslow.

"Yeah?" He asked, blinking away the thoughts to focus on the other man.

"Freed and Ever went downstairs," Bickslow explained, and Laxus scanned the room to see that it was just him and Bickslow in there now. "We finished putting everything away, so they're ordering the food."

"We're done already?" Laxus frowned.

Freed hadn't brought a lot of his things to Magnolia, given that moving there wasn't a permanent thing. After talking for a while, he and Laxus had decided it would be best if Freed only really moved into the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. That way not only would moving in and out be less of a chore, but it also meant they could move the furniture from room to room when they needed to decorate it. But still, even with the small amount of furniture – and shockingly large number of books – Laxus had expected it to take longer.

"Well, I guess it feels pretty quick when you're mooning after the handsome homeowner," Bickslow taunted, grinning. Laxus snapped his eyes to the man. "Oh relax, he can't see it. He's the only one though. But, now we're alone, I kinda wanna have a chat with ya about that."

"This ain't gonna be some 'hurt him I hurt you' crap, is it?" Laxus sighed, perhaps unwisely.

"Nah. If Freed wanted to hurt ya, he could do it himself. He used to fence, might have mentioned it," Bickslow shrugged, sitting on Freed's bed. Laxus joined him, anticipating this was going to be a long conversation.

"Once or twice," Laxus laughed.

"Shocked he didn't bring the trophy with him," Bickslow laughed, before his mood seemed to turn into something more serious. "Look, don't tell him I said any of this, but Freed… he's not the best when it comes to his emotions. He can sometimes kinda bottle his feelings up, not knowing he's doing it. And we kinda think that maybe that's what he's been doing, and me and Ever kinda wanted to ask if you can… keep an eye on him."

Laxus frowned. Freed not being in tune with his emotions wasn't a shock, really. It was why Laxus hadn't brought up what had nearly happened between them. Still, to have it confirmed wasn't the best feeling.

"I guess I can do that," He nodded slowly.

"Don't worry about him, though. It's not like he's gonna burst into tears if you say something wrong or anything," Bickslow hurriedly said. "When he says he's fine, he probably means it. He's not fragile, so don't worry about him. It was just… just make sure he's okay for tonight. He's a city boy, even if he won't admit it. He likes the loudness and the bright lights, and this is kinda the opposite of that. Whenever we stayed at hotels for work that weren't in cities, he used to bring this white noise machine thing with him. I'm sure he's gotten used to it with how many times he's been here, but can you maybe, I dunno, just make sure he ain't too closed off when we're gone. He'll probably be fine, but I can't help worrying."

"Of course," Laxus nodded, feeling a little better at Bickslow's assurances. "If it helps, he seems pretty strong willed. He should be fine."

"He probably will be," Bickslow laughed. "I just get a little worried about him sometimes, I get the same with Ever. They say I'm like their mother," Then he grinned, almost manically. "But he doesn't need his mother anymore, not when he's got his daddy."

Laxus spluttered, turning redder than he had been in quite some time.

Bickslow nudged him, cackling loudly.

"Fucking hell," Laxus muttered under his breath.

"Not that Freed's the type of have a daddy kink," Bickslow continued, as if he hadn't just given Laxus emotion whiplash to the point of speechlessness. "Well, he might like it if you called him daddy. You should try it out some time. Lay the seed, y'know."

"I don't think we're close enough for you to make these jokes," Laxus said, flushing harder now.

"Probably not," Bickslow grinned. "But Freed likes ya, and that means we're friends. And you ain't my friend if I'm not making fun of you at least once a week. Oh, and speaking of that, apparently Freed's gonna ask some hot guy that Ever likes to bring the food, so I wanna make sure I see him. Think the guy's name is Elf… something. I've got a lot of jokes about the elf giving her his package for package for Christmas. Real A-grade material."

He practically jumped off the bed, leaving Laxus alone. The blonde now had a clear understanding of what Freed meant when he said all his friends were forces of nature. He took a few moments to collect himself, both from Bickslow's teasing comments, and the request that Laxus make sure Freed was okay.

Bickslow really did know how to control and steer a conversation. Him being a lawyer made sense.

When Laxus walked to the lower floor of Albion House, he found that the food order had been placed – with Evergreen also getting a meal – and that Freed had been organising the kitchen. Laxus found himself shocked when he saw the number of spices that Freed bad brought with him. He hadn't taken Freed for a chef.

True to his word, Bickslow had quite a few comments prepared for when Elfman arrived to deliver their food. Freed too seemed to enjoy the situation, offering Elfman a tour of the house to extend his time around Evergreen. The poor man had no idea that he was being used to antagonise the woman.

The woman who very clearly had a crush on Elfman. Laxus would have to store than information for later, giving Elfman just as much crap as Evergreen had gotten.

As they ate, Laxus watched as the three friends interacted with one another, often bringing Laxus into the conversation as well. Laxus also began noticing the differences in how Freed treated the two of them compared to how he treated Laxus. With Laxus, in their most relaxed moments, there was always this spark behind Freed's eyes. Often it either led to a stupid competition, playful argument or even a request to learn a new skill. This spark wasn't absent with his other friends, but it seemed different.

With Evergreen, it led to teasing comments and these odd arguments that sounded like they were on trial. With Bickslow, he seemed to have this joyous sense of fun and an entire back catalogue of inside jokes.

It was nice to see him interact with them.

It was nicer knowing that he had his own special relationship with Freed.

Eventually, the two of them needed to leave before the last train left for Era without them. Freed had decided to drive them to the station, leaving Laxus to clean up the take-out containers that remained in the kitchen. As he did, he thought back to Bickslow's request of him and wondered how he would be able to fulfil it.

The obvious answer was that he should have a conversation with Freed, asking if he's okay and seeing if he needed anything from Laxus. But, with Laxus' experience with Freed, he expected that the conversation wouldn't go well. Freed was more of a man of action, and Laxus would respect that.

He spent the rest of his time alone thinking of how he would deal with the situation.

~~~

"I think I should spend the night here."

Laxus had to almost force the words out, having been thinking them over for a good forty minutes now. It was the only thing he could think of that would let him be in a position to be there for Freed, even if the idea itself seemed ridiculous without the context. That was proven concretely when Freed, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, watching the TV they'd installed on one of the counters, looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"You what?"

"I think that I should spend the night here," Laxus repeated. "For my own sake, y'know. If I managed to fuck something up with the place that we can only see by being here, I should be around to fix it. Even if it would be kind of funny to see you pissed off in the morning because a window wouldn't shut."

Freed, rather than laughing at Laxus' attempt at a joke, frowned. It worried Laxus.

The other man had been down since dropping Evergreen and Bickslow at the train station. Or at least Laxus was pretty sure that he was, it was entirely possible that Bickslow had gotten into Laxus' head and now Laxus was seeing things that weren't there. It wasn't helpful that, with Freed's habit of being insular with his emotions, Laxus had to look for smaller signs to see how he was feeling. Quirks in his expressions, a change in how he held himself, or differences in how he reacted to things.

But it made sense that Freed would be feeling down. For the whole day he'd been caught up in the whirlwind of moving, and with his friends being there to distract him he wouldn't have had time to think. But being alone on the ride back from the station would have taken any distraction away, possibly making him regret his choice.

"The house is fine," Freed spoke before Laxus could think further. "You've done a good job working on it, and I wouldn't have moved in if I thought otherwise."

"We don't know how it'll work long term though," Laxus continued, acting more nonchalant than he felt. "The heating, for example. We've tested it for like an hour, but never for longer. What if it goes off in the night? It's getting colder, I don't wanna come back here and find a Freed shapes ice sculpture."

"The heating has been on since half two and it's not broken," Freed rebutted, looking at Laxus with confusion. "And there's a fireplace in the bedroom I could use if needs be."

"Okay, but what about the shower," Laxus suggested. "Bet you wash yer hair every morning, right? What if the shower just doesn't work and you look like crap, and that's how the town sees you for the first time? The crazy weird looking guy living in the haunted cottage."

"They have seen me many times," Freed deadpanned. "And it's not haunted."

"There's rumours."

"You started them," Freed exclaimed, though he was fighting a smile now. "What's the real reason you want to stay? And if you make up a hypothetical situation wherein the roof falls in on me and kills me, I will run you over."

"That's a bit of a disproportionate reaction," Laxus mumbled, a grin pulling at his lips.

"You're deflecting," Freed stated.

Laxus sighed. It was perhaps naïve to hope that Freed would just accept that Laxus was going to be staying the night without any questions, but there had been a chance that it would work out. But of course Freed wouldn't just allow Laxus to invade his home, and would have one or two questions about the situation. Which meant that they were going to have a conversation about emotions, something that neither man would particularly be good at.

"Bickslow talked to me while you were ordering food," Laxus confessed, almost laughing at the narrowing of Freed's eyes. "He just wanted me to make sure you ain't too down about not being in Era. So I just thought the best way to do that is actually being here."

"For goodness sake," Freed snapped, rising, and taking out his phone. "Why are they so insistent-"

"Would've done it anyway," Laxus interrupted, thankfully stopping Freed from scrolling to Bickslow's phone number.

"Why?" Freed asked, his tone a mix of anger and confusion.

"Because I care about ya, fuckwit," Laxus said, laughing slightly. "And this ain't some patronising shit where I think you're vulnerable, 'cause I don't. But moving away is a big deal, and you might have been… lost. I mean I remember when I moved to my college dorms and I felt sick not knowing what to do. Era's a lot further away than that place, and a lot more of a culture shift."

"I'm not a college kid, Laxus," Freed sighed, sitting down again. "I'm a grown man."

"Yeah, and one who ain't letting anybody help them," Laxus rebutted, crossing his arms. "You ain't less of a man, and you ain't less independent if you let people look out for ya. Something I'm pretty damn sure you already know."

Freed looked as though he was going to say something, but the stern expression on Laxus' face must have stopped him. He sighed and looked at the table.

"Before my mother died, people were intimidated by me," He began, his tone suggesting this was going to be somewhat confessional. "I was at the top of my field, and that garnered me respect. And then, somehow, it became common knowledge that my mother died, and suddenly the reputation I had changed. I was the person who lost their mother, and I got sympathy. People I didn't know started to treat me as though I would shatter if they said the wrong word. It was infuriating. No, it was degrading."

Laxus could understand that, to an extent. He remembered that, after his mother had died, all the teachers who used to yell at him, give him detention and hated him started to treat him differently. Now their after-class talks weren't about him hurling spit balls and starting fights, they were suddenly inviting him to talk if he needed it. It was a jarring change.

"It feels as though, suddenly who I am isn't important. People would rather I be the victim so they can look after me," Freed leant back in his chair. "I suppose I might be guilty of lashing out at people with the best intentions."

Laxus could understand that too.

"You're allowed to lash out, Freed," Laxus assured him. "And as for people not seeing who you are, you don't gotta worry about that with me. You're the guy who swindled me outta dropping your ass into ice water."

Freed laughed a little at that, and Laxus grinned.

"I'm gonna get you back for that, by the way," The blonde continued, smirking. "But what I'm trying to say is, there are gonna be people who wanna get close because they're patronising assholes who wanna make themselves feel better. And then there's people who care about ya and wanna make sure you're doing alright. You need to figure out who's who, and not push away the good people."

"I know," Freed admitted, voice soft. "And I know you're in the latter group."

"Ah, not really," Laxus laughed. "You wouldn't be so charitable if you knew some of the other ways I was gonna get you outta your funk if I had to."

"Like what?"

"I put a lot of thought into wondering how mad you'd be if I was waiting for you to get back and took the hosepipe to ya the second you were close enough," Laxus grinned.

"How on earth would that have helped my mood?"

"How could you have been all sad and crap if you were standing in the cold, dripping wet, shocked because you don't know why it's happening?" Laxus shrugged, then smirked at his friend's amused expression. "If you do start feeling down at some point I'd be more than happy to take you outside and see how well it works."

"And your obsession with getting me back has nothing to do with that plan?"

"Didn't even entre my mind," Laxus lied with a wide grin.

"You're incorrigible," Freed chuckled, almost to himself. He looked contemplative for a moment before speaking again. "You don't need to stay here, Laxus. I understand why you think you do, and I'm fully prepared to admit that over the last few weeks I haven't been the best version of myself, but I really am fine."

"I know you are," Laxus said with a nod.

And he did. Because, as he looked into Freed's eyes, he saw a level of honesty that Freed usually hid through sarcasm and a quick wit. Laxus thought that, although it was only a small sentence and barely an admission of him not being in the best place, this was Freed's equivalent to a long and heartfelt conversation. And while Laxus hoped that, at some point, he could get more out of Freed, he knew that this was a good step. And Freed wasn't going to lie about that.

The mood seemed to relax after that, and after finishing the remaining food from Fairy Tail's restaurant, Laxus confessed he was getting tired and – as Freed was an awful host who wouldn't allow his friends to stay with him, something which Freed laughed at – would the lawyer mind giving him a ride home.

Freed agreed, and they were outside Laxus' and Makarov's home within the hour.

"You were genuinely going to stay with me, weren't you?" Freed asked, just as Laxus was reaching for the car's door. The blonde stopped, looking to his friends with furrowed brows. Freed's voice was almost… wistful. "If I needed it, you were actually going to give up your night just to make sure that I'm okay. That's a very kind thing to do, Laxus."

"It ain't that kind," Laxus laughed, sitting back in the chair. "Just decent."

"We perhaps have different definitions of decent then," Freed smiled slightly. "I don't know if I can say I'd do the same. Admittedly that's because I refuse to sleep on anything other than a bed, which wouldn't have been available for you."

"I lugged the fucking thing into the house, I would have been in that bed whether you were there or not," Laxus laughed, talking again before he could process what he just said. "You'd have been there for me, even if you don't know it."

"You seem very sure of that," Freed sounded amused. "I'm afraid I'd disappoint you in that situation."

"I know you better than ya think, Freed," Laxus shrugged, opening the door to the car and beginning to climb out. "You're a good person, and a kind person. You're just a dick a lot of the time so it doesn't shine through."

Freed laughed at that.

"I suppose that's fair," He chuckled, leaning slightly so he could look at Laxus as he left the car. Laxus lingered with the door open, resting on it. "Thank you, though. Both for offering to be there and for what you said. It means a lot to me."

"Don't think too much of it," Laxus smiled. "I'm only getting closer to you so that my revenge is that much sweeter."

"I'm sure," Freed grinned. "Goodbye Laxus."

"Bye Freed."

Laxus closed the door, giving him a short wave through the window. As he did, he saw a soft smile of contentment flash across Freed's face, something that he no doubt wasn't meant to see. He looked serein, relaxed, and so beautiful.

In retrospect, that was the moment he fell in love with Freed.

#Fraxus Day 2020 #Fraxus Day #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Event #Multichapter #Word Count 4.3k #Fuckyeahfraxus

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scottfuckingreed · 4 years ago

Text

Truth or Dare - Part Five

VERY REQUESTED (i’m sorry for the long ass wait)

Warnings!: Includes swearing and detailed sexual images (female masturbation)

Oh wow okay. His? I hate the fact that I heard ‘back to mine’ and internally started worrying about the fact that I haven’t shaved, I’m not mentally prepared at all, and I’m an absolute sucker for anything this boy does. It must be hypnotics or something. But I haven’t shaved. I’m not like a monster - I’m not that hairy - but I ain’t smooth. But he is. His words are too smooth. He must do this often. I mean, look at him. Imagine a guy looking like THAT and being unsmooth. It just wouldn’t happen. We get to his, and it’s this nicely done up house which is cosy and cute. It’s somehow exactly what I imagined. Not that I’ve imagined it too often... The fingers on my right hand rub against the top of a unit. They stop at a picture frame, which I pick up. “Is this you and your mum?” I ask, totally in awe at the adorable photo. Monty’s probably 13/14 in it. Both of their faces are smushed together with the biggest grins on their faces. “So cute,” I smirk towards him. I wish I could say I see a slight bit of awkwardness in his face, but he plays it off so cool. “I’ll get you a drink, you can make your way up to my room if you want,” he smiles. 1. That’s so cute. 2. Okayyyyyy. Photo frames line up the side of the stairs. They’re all so happy, and Monty continues to be so fucking cute as a child! There’s no shock there either I guess.

No part of me feels nosey, which it should, as I look around Monty’s room. It’s pretty basic. Baseball shit on the wall, trophy’s placed proudly on shelves. It’s quite tidy though. There may be a few clothes on the floor and some shit shattered, but it’s honestly probably tidier than my room. He hands me a glass, which is very clear. His eyes lock on me as I sniff the contents of the glass. He lets out a laugh. “It’s just water.” After confirming that for me, I take a sip. “Yours is water too?” I ask. I’ve never seen this guy drink anything other than alcohol. “I have practise later so.” And then there’s silence. Fuuuuuuuuck.

It quickly becomes less awkward. Me and Monty hardly talked 2 days ago, and now we’re laughing around in his room. It doesn’t just happen. But it did. “I didn’t know you were this good,” I say, not in a rude way, as I admire one of the trophy’s. “I’m no ‘Bryce Walker’, but I’m alright I guess,” humble? This is NOT the Monty I know. “Didn’t you used to be a cheerleader?” Oh god. Bring up the old memories why don’t you. I let out a small laugh. “I’m surprised you would remember such an insignificant thing like that, but yeah I guess. I was shit at it though.” “Well the main part of being a cheerleader is to be sexy and distract the players right?” A smile spreads across my face, shaking my head slowly at the words flowing out of his mouth. “It is, and I have to say I’m definitely distracted,” as he spoke his words, he started making his way towards me. He so irresistible. Ffs. He just there, right in front of me, smiling because HE KNOWS he has me right where he wants me. “You’re such a flirt Cruz,” I go to push his head softly and playfully, but my hand just stays placed on his cheek. “You’re so distracting Y/L/N.” Move Y/N. Say something! But I can’t say something. I can’t say anything. The Monty I knew- thought I knew- is not the guy sat in front of me. Where’s the guy who pushed Tyler Down into the lockers on multiple occasions. He’s always been the bad boy you’re not meant to like, but they’re always the attractive ones so you do anyway. This is too tempting. My words are stuck in my throat, not that I even know what to say. He knows what he’s doing. And it’s working! He moves his head slowly closer to mine, and I just wanted to pull it closer faster. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine. Hovering lips almost touch then... my phone rings. His body throws itself back on his bed. Defeated. “Shit, it’s my mum.” I let out in a whisper. Every inch of my being wants to just ignore it, but my mum with never forgive me. EVER! “Hey mum!” I answer as enthusiastically as I can. She mumbles on about how she’s cooking tea before she’s goes out. And my little sister will need me. Blah blah blah. Way to kill a mood mum. “I have to go,” I break to him slowly. “I figured, I guess we’ll just have to continue another time,” I raise my eyebrows. Grabbing my bag, I go to show myself out. Something about leaving makes words I couldn’t find earlier come spiralling out. Words I didn’t intend on saying. “You can call me though, if you’d like,” I shrug. Confidence? Who is she? I don’t recognise me.

A strong, slightly chilly breeze guides me home. It’s nice to actually clear my head. To think so much has happened over the past few days, ever since that stupid party and an even sillier game. I’d like to believe that it’s for the best that my mum rang me when she did. Although I doubt it, maybe I’d regret flirting with Monty more. Who am I kidding, I’m pissed. But at least the sky is clear, even if my head isn’t. It’s muddled and tangled and, well, fucked. The best thing for me to do is push Monty, and all the other boys, out. I don’t care; It’s just a little game: As fun as it is, it’s a no.

“Where were you after school?” My 7 year old sister Y/S/N asks. I know all children are annoying, but she actually not too bad. Sure she smells and screams and just pretends to be angelic for mum, but I’ve seen worse. Oh and she’s nosey. Sometimes I think mum puts her up to this. “I was at a friend’s, why?” I smile. Purely out of happiness, not because I was hanging out with Monty. We sit at the dining table. Y/S/N has not moved from her seat since I’ve got home, so neither have I. Shes rather artistic. We draw and colour and doodle. It’s actually extremely relaxing. “Mummy thinks you have a boyfriend,” her tone is ‘know-it-all’ if that makes sense. At least I’m not lying. “Well I’ll tell mummy that I don’t. I wish!” I gasp, making her giggle. “Yeah, you’re lonely!” “Hey! I shout jokingly. “You just continue doing your colouring missy,” i reach my hands towards her, tickling her all over her body until she’s red in the face.

Do you ever just close your eyes and make up scenarios in your head? It’s sounds crazy I know! But I just lay down and visualize things that are just unrealistic sometimes. I did say that I was going to push Monty out, but I meant out of my life. Thinking about him is nothing. He won’t even know. The clock reads 11:57, and my head remains on hyperspeed. I can’t get the thoughts of Monty out. Images of him smirking. The sound of him being smug. The feeling of him underneath me as I ground on him. I squeeze my eyes shut, already regretting the movement of my hand. I could search for some willpower. If I did, I’m sure I’d find some. But I have no willpower to search for willpower right now. My hand reaches my vagina, shooting immediate pleasure through my body. I hold it still for a second, wondering if this will push me too far towards Monty. I don’t want anything, like this, to do with Monty. But he’s so fucking hot.

I let my fingers move. Flashes of Monty shoot through my head. It weird how you can imagine things that you haven’t seen happen. Like it’s weird how, laid here right now, I have the ability to imagine Montgomery in any way I’d like. As I rub soft circles against my clit, I visualise myself laid in sexy lingerie on Monty’s bed. It’s the same blue sheets with white lines all over them. I can feel the mattress beneath me. I can see Monty in nothing but white boxers crawling on top of me. My breath heightens at the thought of feeling his breath against my face once again. I change the rhythm of my fingers, slowly sinking a single digit into my core. A slight moan escapes my mouth. In my head, Monty kisses down between my breasts, his right hand squeezing one as he trails down my body: all the way down to the top of my panties. One finger turns to two. I can’t help but get wetter and wetter at my own vivid imagination. That’s all it is. I’m only imagining Monty’s slightly rough fingertips against my skin as he pulls my things down and throws them across the room. But it feels so good! Our eyes lock, and he’d say something like ‘are you ready baby’. The deepness of his voice would send me to a different dimension. He’d hook his arms around my thighs, pulling me down closer to him. I wiggle to get into a comfier position. The toes at the very end of my body begin to curl quite violently. His head would be buried into my pussy, which makes my top half of my body raise only slightly. My moans are mostly internalised, but the pleasure is all real. I pick up the pace of my fingers as juices begin to flood down my own hand. I should stop, but it feels incredible. Imagine what it would feel like from him? His hands, which remain latched around my thighs, would keep my core close to his tongue lapsing around my clit. I wouldn’t be able to help my right hand pushing him as deep into my vagina as possible, probably catching him a few times with my nails. I begin to focus more on my clit, as I imagine he would too, pulling my fingers out. The circular motion becomes quite vigorous. “Shit,” I whisper to myself as I feel my stomach start to knot. My thighs would attempt to close around his face, but he would pull them open and hold them with quite a bit of pressure. Both his forehead and his arms would bulge with a vein. I roll my eyes back into my head. The knot tightens more and more until I feel the need to release. My scream would be as simple as ‘Monty I’m cumming!’. Right now, I cover my mouth with the inner elbow of my left arm. My eyes squeeze tighter shut. I wanna scream out as I ride out my high. I know for a fact that Monty would lick up all my juices. He’d make a slightly dick comment about how he’s ‘just cleaning up’, but I’d feel him him against me, vibrating an incredible sensation up through my entire body. My arm collapses onto my bed, having that feeling of almost cramping. The racing of my heart follows my heavy breaths.

I’m sure the guilt will take over in the morning.

#13 reasons why #13rw #montgomery de la cruz #13 reasons why montgomery #smut

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blake-belladonna-defence-force · 5 years ago

Note

For bee prompts if they’re not closed: Blake coming out as ace to Yang maybe?

Okay. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you had in mind but... I got this idea and I needed to write it.

This is part Blake coming out and part Yang being very supportive and helping Blake through it.

This is basically about Blake knowing she doesn’t experience sexual attraction but not knowing that there are others like her until she and Yang have a talk. I don’t think she would have had much chance to explore other orientations when she was with Adam so that’s where this comes from.

I... think it’s a little self-indulgent. When I found out I was ace aro and there was a name for it and that I wasn’t alone, I felt so happy and relieved. There was nothing wrong with me. I was okay.

And as I was writing this, I just wanted Blake to hear those words words too. To simply be told;

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

Slight internalised aphobic language.

If you need me to add any tags, let me know, mates

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Yang. Can we… talk?”

Blake asked nervously. She knew there was no need for it. Yang was her partner and her best friend (that she may or may not be head over heels for). She knew that she’d be accepting of what she was about to say.

“Of course, Blake. Come in, sit down.”

As they entered Yang’s room, the blonde woman took off her bomber jacket and threw it over a chair and stretched. Now… Blake knew that Yang was beautiful. There was no denying that. Her hair, her face, her eyes… she was easily the most gorgeous woman she had seen. And she could certainly appreciate the hard work she put into her muscles.

But Blake also knew that she should feel something. She was attracted to Yang in all ways but the physical. She just didn’t think that that sort of attraction was real. But as she made friends at Beacon and listened to them talk, she started to realise that she wasn’t like them.

“What’s on your mind?” Yang turned around, stopping when she saw Blake’s curious gaze lingering over her body. “See something you like?” She said with a coy smirk that faltered when Blake frowned. “Blake?” She asked, concern flooding her voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t me-“

“It’s not you. I’m just… I guess… that confirms it.” Blake sighed sadly, looking down at her feet. Could she really do this?

“Blake. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” Yang asked gently, eyes soft and kind. And it hurt. Because here was a beautiful, kind, intelligent and strong woman and Blake felt nothing physical for her. Was there something wrong with her?

“I just… I can be… honest with you, right?” Blake asked shakily, arms hugging her torso. Yang frowned slightly and gently reached out to guid them to the bed and wrapped an arm around Blake’s shoulders.

“Of course you can.” She whispered against Blake’s temple. Blake fiddled with her own fingers before speaking up.

“Remember how, back at Beacon, , I chose to come out as bisexual?” She said quietly, continuing only after she felt Yang nod. “I, uh. I may have been wrong about the… second part of the word.” She waited with baited breath. For the shock, the rejection. The accusations of being led on. But it never came.

“Oh. So you’re asexual?” Yang asked simply. Blake immediately pulled away to stare at her.

“Wait. There’s a name for it? You know what I’m talking about? How?!” Her eyes were wide with confusion as she gazed at Yang.

“I had a couple friends who were ace back at Signal. You… didn’t know there was a word for it?” Yang asked gently, carefully taking Blake’s hand and soothing it as it shook.

“I-No! I just thought that- that there was something wrong with me. That’s what he-“ Blake felt her breath hitch painfully.

“There is nothing wrong with you. However you feel is how you feel and nobody has the right to change that.” Yang murmured, gently pulling Blake into a hug that she melted into immediately. “Summer made sure that I knew that. Were you scared that I wouldn’t accept you? That our friends wouldn’t accept you?”

“Kind of? I’m sorr-“ But she was cut off gently by Yang.

“Don’t be. Sexuality can be scary. You’ve never met somebody like you before, right?” She asked carefully. When Blake shook her head, she continued. “We all care about you. I care about you, Blake. Whether or not you find people hot doesn’t matter to me. Love’s way more important than lust anyway.”

Blake let out an snort.

“Poetic.” She mumbled with a fond eye roll as Yang let out a small chuckle.

“So that’s why you were checking me out before. You were trying to confirm whether or not you found me physically attractive.” Yang said thoughtfully. “Can I ask why?”

Blake let out a sigh and spoke into her partner’s shoulder.

“I care about you. As in…” Blake hesitated for a minute before just saying to hell with it. “As in I think that I love you. Romantically.” She clenched her eyes shut, anxiety coursing through her.

“Good.”

“Wait. Good?” She parroted, pulling back to stare at a flustered Yang.

“Because I think I love you too. Romantically.” Yang whispered, nuzzling Blake’s nose with her own. Blake felt tears prick her eyes and she pulled Yang into a hug.

“But what-“

“Blake.” Yang interrupted, speaking softly into her ear. “I don’t love you for your body, as attractive as it is. I love you for your dedication. Your kindness. Your passion and drive. I love you for your bravery. I love you for your heart and soul. This doesn’t change that. I… would really like to be with you. To love you. Whatever that would look like for us. But only if that’s what you want too. Regardless of what happens, I’m here for you.” She said, adoration and kindness flowing from her eyes and voice.

“I… I want to be with you too, Yang.” She whispered back. Adam’s words threatened to come back but she had long since learned that she deserved better and shoved them back. Kicked them out and refused to listen to them. He had destroyed her life in so many ways, so many times. And she had bounced back each time, stronger than the last. She wasn’t going to let him take this from her. She was strong enough to push forward and brave enough to take a running leap. She had proven that to herself time and time again.

“Yang?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I… kiss you?”

“Only if you want to.”

It was an easy decision to make. And when she did, the love that she found made her heart swell and adoration flow.

Maybe the way they would show their love would be different. But that didn’t make it any less real.

#rwby #blake belladonna #bumbleby #yang xiao long #fanfic

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