#do u see the red flags now terry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sjuusei · 9 months

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Sun Reborn Chronicles: - The Good Doctor -

"So, u-uhm... Good luck!"

"Why are you all glowy? It looks like a flame!"

... Uh. I came to visit the doctor, but now a hyperactive child is making me questions.

Long story short, the kid´s name was Anna. She had a doll... And she says it´s Jirachi, much for his brother Noel´s tiredness.

... The weird thing is that that "Jirachi" actually has an energy sign.

"This is my friend Charlotte. She´s actually really, really pretty, you just have to see through the scars. By the way, you look cool with them!"

"... Thanks."

Alright. This kid would get along with Terry.

... Yes, he´s another of my kids.

... And no, I don´t have an adoption problem.

Anyways, after a little bit of chit chat--

"The Doctor is scary."

"Yeah! He has really strong Electric-type Pokémon, and he uses in his "therapy."

"... What?"

The hell? What kind of doctor uses shock therapy on children?! The way Anna talks...

... Alright, calm down. Perhaps she´s exaggerating things.

[-----------------------]

"Ah, a visitor."

"..."

Hmn. I can see why they´re scared of him... The "Good Doctor" doesn´t look that good.

... Thanks, kid. Now I have to deal with a orderly in battle.

Which doesn´t takes long thanks to Gea. Ah, right. Eevee evolved... At a new type of Eeveelution, Eeveeon. Normal type too. Sun Stone.

[-----------------------]

"You´ll simply have to wait until a different time."

"... Agreed."

I´ll ignore all the red flags for the moment. I´m a Pokémon Professor, not a Doctor, and Shelly needs help... I´m not able to give it to her, regardless of dealing with Apollo´s similar personality.

"No!"

After that shout, Anna moved aside and went quiet.

...

Damnit. Too late to leave... I have to hope to see if the kid is wrong.

"Why don´t you tell me why you´re really here, Sun?"

"..."

(Sigh)

[-----------------------]

"Heather is the most hurt at the moment... I need to find her--"

Before Victoria or her could move, I simply stopped her.

"No, kid. What you need is to take a moment to rest. Seeing this kind of things is not something to take it lightly."

... Ugh. I can feel Cal and Victoria´s eyes on me.

"N-No... I think... I think I would rather being doing something."

[-----------------------]

And off the kid went.

"You sounded like you saw something like it before."

"...?"

Turning around, Cal was talking to me.

"... It sounded like experience."

Victoria looked at me too. Seems that she was too polite to ask that too.

"... Experience can be acquired in different ways, kid. Good or bad."

"..."

Seeing like both didn´t have another question, I went to challenge Shelly.

My mind is in other places than my life experiences.

[-----------------------]

My battle with Shelly took it´s time. Make it fun it the least I could do... I even managed to make her laugh a few times with Zs´Skayr.

Which is a good sign, making her distracted. Except when it ended and she started to ramble again herself.

"... Not like thiss at le--"

"Shelly"

"?!"

Again. What´s up with this kids and their low self-esteem?

"Stop doubting yourself. You´re a great Gym Leader... You treat your Pokémon with excellent care and commnads. You master the field like it was the very same you´re stepping on. You feel like you´re not progressing? Big surprise. Everyone can get better."

The look she was giving me seemed like she was about to tear down... So I knelt to her level.

"Let me tell you something. I have a kid just like you... And he has the strongest spirit I know of everyone I know. Because it doesn´t matter how many thing happen... If a friend needs help, he´ll be there. And you know what he uses to like to feel better?"

She shaked her head.

"A hug."

"...."

Well, she practically throwed at me, and started to cry.

...

Like I said, experience can arrive in different ways.

#Part 8 of...#sunrebornchronicles #oc #pokemon reborn #pokemon rejuvenation

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sherlockmonkeesstartrek · 6 years

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OMG You are a goddess for sending me Terry!!!!! I LOVED IT SO MUCH!!!!! ps I would be very keen on reading the rest if u post it. *whispers* Smut isnt something i mind at all, lol. You made my day with that masterpiece!!

Well, I must say I don’t think I’ve ever been called a goddess before! What a compliment. Thank you. And as promised, here is some more. I’m not sure how the smut went, but I hope it’s not too bad ;)

You talked until most of your friends had left, and the other drunk parties around had mostly dispersed. You had tons of questions, all about the band, all about Terry, a man you’d only read about in papers, only heard about a while ago. You wanted the story from his mouth. And not just the story of how he got into the Hollies. No, you had to know a lot more than that. To really get a feel for the guy, you listened to as much of his life story he was willing to offer.

As he spoke, you realised that he’d known so many people, George Harrison and his brothers, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, the Swinging Blue Jeans of which he had been a member.

However, you also realised that, despite all this, the fame that the Hollies were beginning to give him, the tales of people he’d met, the stories he could tell, he was a down to earth young man, a shy boy stepping nervously into a pretty hectic world of which he’d only had a taste and was craving more. He had passion for what he did, a deep interest and love in music.

It was in that conversation that you decided how you felt about him. You liked him, perhaps better than Graham Nash. You’d always had the thought in the back of your mind since you heard Hollies Sing Dylan and Sorry Suzanne that perhaps his voice matched Allan Clarke’s better than Graham’s, but admitting it was hard until now. Until you look into his eyes, smile, because his own is so infectious, and confess to yourself as you listen to him talk that you are kind of falling for him.

And something in his shy glances up at you gives you the sense that he may feel a similar way. You let him finish talking, then gulp down the last of the drink you’ve been idly playing with between sips. He does the same. You’re both finished, you’ve spoken through the evening, practically until closing time of the bar. What more is there to do but ask;

“So, are you going home after this?” You almost pat yourself on the back for having the courage to even allude to anything further.

Terry’s eyes glimpse knowingly at you, “I was going to, yeah. Nothing better to do.”

For you, it is too easy. You’ve a naughty mind, people have told you so before. You can’t help it, though. It’s your playful side, your silly side and boy are you sure you’ll get a laugh out of him for the line you’ve just thought up. Laughing at yourself disapprovingly, you lean forward, pushing your chest out suggestively, and very deliberately, and open your lips.

“Well, now you have someone to do.”

Ok, so it wasn’t that funny, it sounded much better unspoken, as a secret joke only your privy to. But the slight shock and suggestiveness brings about a good enough, shy laugh from Terry’s lips. That is a win. You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, slightly pushing up your breasts and gaze at him with a sleek, flirtatious look, waiting for a reply. It may not have been a question as such, rather more of an offer, but you wait to see if he’ll take you up on it, if he even gets it in the first place.

For as much of a sweetheart as he seems, with such a young, innocent face, you know full well that he is a red-blooded man and there is no way that he really could miss at least the idea you’re suggesting. Certainly not when his smile has taken on a more amused, approving look to it.

“Would you be interested in coming back to mine for a…” He trails off as he realises he’s already bought you a drink. He’s bought you two, in fact. Asking you back for yet another one might seem like too much, especially when you’ve already been slow in finishing the ones you had, but what he seems to be forgetting is that it’s merely an excuse, a formality, a pleasantry. If he really is getting what you’re implying, it doesn’t matter what line he uses to get you back to his place, or even to go to yours. It’s just that, a line.

So, it doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t finish the sentence. To help him, you say, “Sure. Let me get my coat.”

He looks surprised, and pleased, of course. You chuckle to yourself as you get up and walk out amongst the tables. Your coat remains on one you’d been sitting on with your work friends. Not one of them are still around. As you pull the garment on, Terry joins you, waiting patiently, even helping when you fail to hook your hand in the coat’s sleeve. He pulls it up over your shoulder and draws both sides of the collar closer together to ensure it’s on properly and keeping you warm. As he does so, though, one of his long fingers brushes your neck. He’s quite cold, the feeling lingering on your flesh longer than the touch. You gaze up at him, wondering if it was intentional or not, but his expression is discernible. He merely carries on as if nothing happened, but beams brightly, eyes glistening like a kid who knows he’s done something bad.

“Ready?”

“Oh, I think I am.” And you think this is going to be fun. More fun than you originally imagined when the thought of you spending any time with him entered your mind.

He pivots on his heels, heading towards the door of the bar and you follow not two steps behind. Having no car and being probably too tipsy to drive, he hails a cab while you stand, cold at the road side, watching his timid gestures at the vehicles. The night may not be a kind one, it is England after all and autumn has set in with its brown leaves carpeting the pavements, but just the sight of Terry has you warm. You care not for the bracing wind that blows your hair mussed, nor the slight dampness that threatens in the air, a light shower hanging in the purple clouds above. You ignore your goosepimpled legs, shivering beneath your skirt with only a thin layer of sheer fabric protecting them and you disregard the numbing in your fingers, as you had a poor choice in coats, this one has no pockets to warm hands in. Instead, you are preoccupied from these discomforts by Terry. You notice that his dark moptop is long enough to be blown by the wind too, ruffling it. When he looks at you, strands of it brush his face, over his nose and over his eyes. You also see the way his flared trousers are rounded at the bottom quite perfectly as he stands, leaning slightly forward to flag down a car. They billow around his ankles, covering the top of his dark coloured boots.

Ah and when a cab does turn up, he pulls open the door for you, like a real gentleman. As you get in, you try your hardest to be dainty, composed. You have a knack for being clumsy. Thankfully, it seems to work- either that, or your clumsiness goes unnoticed- and he gets in after you, sitting right by your side. Now you’re touching, your arms, your calves. You can hear him breathing. You hear the rustle of his clothes as he sits forward and tells the driver where to go. You can hardly believe this is happening. Not only are you going home with a guy you met in a bar that night, which in and of itself is surprising, but this man is… well, if he is not a famous musician, he is sweet, he is damned good looking.

In your mind, you pat yourself on the back for taking this chance. You can’t wait for the payoff.

Which seems to be coming soon as the drive is short, the cab pulls up in a street that you half recognise and Terry helps you out of the car with an outstretched hand. He doesn’t let go once he’s got hold of you. Gently, he guides you to the front door, fumbles with his keys with his free hand and lets you both in.

As soon as the door is closed with you both on the other side, Terry spins you around and kisses you. His lips are full, soft to kiss, and he is very gentle, pressing you lightly against the wall, just so you have something to prop yourself up against. You hear, as you have closed your eyes, the clang of his keys tossed on a chest of draws beside you, then feel his hand draw up to rest on your hip. You bring yours up and cling to his torso, tightly. He has a wonderful, slender body to look at, never mind actually feel. Now that you do, though, you’re intoxicated. You have to feel more. You’re the first to make a move, sliding one hand to his front and tucking it into the hole between buttons of his shirt. His chest is dusted lightly with hair, one trail of it reaching to his belly button. He feels hot, smooth. You want to really hold him, so you start to unbutton the shirt, inviting him to do the same to you.

He unbuttons your shirt about halfway and appears to get impatience. He pulls apart the severed flaps of the garment, revealing your dark green bra adorned in a layer of black lace. He cups one of your clothed breasts, feeling it, before he breaks the kiss to look at what he is holding, appreciatively. That is until looking simply is not enough. He pulls down the bra and encloses his mouth around your nipple. You gasp, rising onto your tiptoes at the first shot of pleasure running down your spine. One of your hands involuntarily reaches up and knots its finger into his thick hair, while the other attempts to pull the coat still around your shoulders off. It ends up gathering at your back, falling only when you move, letting it pool on the ground. With this layer gone, Terry decides it’s time to shed some more clothes.

He finishes removing your shirt, then moves onto unhooking your bra after sliding his own shirt off his arms onto the floor. He kicks off his shoes while you unlace yours- you curse yourself for wearing strappy kitten heels- and peel off your tights. Then he grasps your waist, quite forcefully, which is a bit of a shock from a man who has been, so far, as gentle as a butterfly.

“Do you think we can make it up to my bed?” He asks. You mockingly consider it for a moment.

“If not, could we not make use of the stairs?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He continues to hold onto you as you both head for the stairs. Behind you, you’ve left a pool of clothing, making it look as though two people have evaporated into thin air, leaving behind only their outfits. Well, minus the trousers and your skirt. That’s the best bit to remove, no? You’re going to savour the moment with his, while he has other plans for you.

You both enter the bedroom, a cosy, slightly messy room whose defining feature is not the bed, which is pushed up against the far wall, but an acoustic guitar leant on a stand next to a leaking wardrobe. You recognise it from picture you’d seen of the Hollies on stage. It hits you once again just who’s room you’re standing in, goggling at as though it were a showroom.

But you’ve not much time to really look at it all, as Terry walks up behind you, feathering his hand up your thigh. As it gets higher, your skirt is hiked up sending a soft breeze that wakes the skin there. His hands are still pretty cold, so you feel his touch lingering, all the way up to your hip.

“May I?” He asks politely, tugging on the waistband of your underwear.

You peer over your shoulder, eyes half fluttering closed as anticipation builds. You manage to whisper, “Of course,” though you are sure that’ll be the last coherent phrase you’ll speak all night. You’re already moaning as he threads your underwear down your legs with one hand while the other parts you, parts your lips and feels between them.

He remains behind you, for some reason, after removing your underwear. He slowly nears you until he moves the hand pleasuring you to the front and presses his front against your back. You’re quite a lot shorter than he is. He can practically rest his chin on the top of your head, should he want to. He does not, it seems. He has more interesting touches to press against you, like the distinct hardness resting just above your butt. He’s hard for you. The idea ignites a flame of pleasure below your stomach. You ache for him. His fingers slowly rubbing you is not enough. You imagine what he looks like completely nude, what it would feel like to have him inside you.

For now, however, he makes you rest your head on his shoulder so he can reach your lips. He kisses you, still quite gently, which he pleasures you. You whimper into his mouth, begging with those small sounds for more. He begins to understand as you thrust your hips into his hand for more friction.

“Turn around.” He moves his lips from yours to speak, quietly. You obey, turning close to him so you don’t miss the heat of his body, the touch of his flesh, his chest. He moves you just a step back, barely even that, so he can reach down and unzip his fly. You watch hungrily as he pushes the trousers out of the way, reaches into his briefs and pulls himself out of them. His hardness accidentally brushes your stomach, which he would’ve apologised for had you not stolen the silly words from his throat by collapsing onto your knees and enthusiastically taken him in your mouth. He groans quite loudly, perhaps the loudest he’s been all night, which tells you that you’re doing a good job. In fact, you even think you’ve surprised him.

He places one hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair lightly, just for a handhold to steady himself, while the other reaches down to hold one of yours. You have your left hooked on his trousers which hang below his butt. He sides his fingers around your knuckles and clasps them tight when it feels really good.

When he starts to hold you that tight the whole time, he decides it might be time to stop.

“I’ve got to have you,” He tells you, helping you back onto your feet, “I’d hate to be short with you.”

You giggle, turned on and nervous, mostly because your legs have turned to jelly and you’re feeling clumsy with desperation. Thankfully, he saves you of embarrassment, keeping hold of you, guiding you to the bed. He kisses you, pushing you back until you buckle onto the mattress, until you’re lying on it, under him. He then brings up his hand, presenting two of his long fingers, the middle and ring finger. He places them into his mouth, sucks, slicking them up ready to insert them inside you. They slip in easy, because you are already wet for him, so he doesn’t spend all that much time playing around down there. He grasps hold of his rock hard member and guides it into you.

The first thrust causes every nerve ending to explode with pleasure. You grip the sheets beside you, pulling them up on one side to your mouth, muffling the gasps you cannot stifle. But Terry wants to hear them. Kindly, he intertwines his fingers in yours, making no space for the sheets. They fall back around you.

For much of the time he has you, you’re looking into his eyes. It is downright impossible in your state of mind to fathom what you’re looking at. You’ve been disbelieving of it all night: you bagged a Hollie and you thought it would really hit you when he was inside of you, having you hard in his bed. Apparently, it remained as surreal, like a trip, like a dream. Even more so as pleasure rose within you, spiking as he thrusts harder, lulling as he lazily does. And when he kisses you, you’re sure to study the taste, the movements. You never want to forget this. It’ll fuel your fantasies for the rest of your life. Most girls, they dream of being fucked by musicians. Who didn’t imagine a Beatle on occasion? There were many who probably dreamt of the Hollies. But all your dreams will merely be recalling this moment.

Because you’re not sure if he’ll see you again. You’re not sure if you’ll see him again. He’s busy and you’re the worst with keeping in contact with people. So, if this really is going to be the only time, you have to remember every little bit.

Like the look on his face when he realises he’s made you come. You lie beneath him, writhing, shaking, while he watches on, pleased and proud. It doesn’t take him much longer to announce that he’s about to climax too. He pulls out of you and wraps his hand around himself. You watch the pleasure take over his expression, the way his brow furrows and he bites his lip, then he spills over your stomach, which he goes to apologise for once the shockwaves have subsided. But, of course, you stop him.

“Don’t you dare.”

“What?”

“Apologise for anything. That was so hot.”

He smiles shyly again. How can he be shy? You roll your eyes at him, jokingly.

“Well, I think you need to get cleaned up. Would you like to take a shower with me?”

Your heart, which has already taken quite a beating and still thumps erratically in your chest, skips a beat. As if the night could not get any better. It does not take you a moment to think before you agree.

Then, as you both walk on shaky legs to the bathroom, he turns around and whispers, “I think its also far too late for you to go home. You might have to stay the night.”

“Oh no,” You feign disappointment, “that would be terrible.”

“Well, I am sorry, but I am also going to have to ask for your number.”

As though he read your mind, your scepticism in whether you’d see him again, he confirms in that moment that you’ll have to see him again. And you’re not complaining, not one little bit.

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