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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years

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Parents

Jiang Cheng is still panting heavily when he goes to check if they really did kill the yao, but when he turns slightly to make a joke at Nie Mingjue, his husband is nowhere to be seen.

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng yells out and he doesn’t want to admit it, but fear grips his heart.

The last moments of the fight were pretty hectic and rough; what if something happened to Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng didn’t notice it?

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng yells again, louder this time, when no answer comes and he goes back to where he thinks he saw Nie Mingjue last.

“Shush, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue scolds him out of the blue and Jiang Cheng follows his voice into one of the many destroyed houses around the place.

The did not lose the whole village to the yao; these are long abandoned houses they simply found the yao at and so Jiang Cheng frowns.

“What’s going on?” he asks, carefully stepping into one of the destroyed houses but he comes to an abrupt stop when he sees what Nie Mingjue is holding.

“Is that a baby?” Jiang Cheng breathes out and is at Nie Mingjue’s side a moment later.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue says, even though it’s pretty obvious that the squirming and clearly upset bundle in his arms is a human baby.

“What happened?” Jiang Cheng demands to know and steps closer to check the baby over.

“I don’t know. She made a sound and when I came in here, I found her all naked on the ground, not even crying. I hope she’s okay.”

Now that Nie Mingjue said it Jiang Cheng realizes that he cut his own robes to dress her, and the act just makes him love Nie Mingjue more.

“Let me see her,” Jiang Cheng says, holding his hands out expectantly and when Nie Mingjue drops her into his arms he checks her over more thoroughly.

There are no visible wounds on her and even though she seems a little bit too cold, she’s quickly warming up, now that she can leech off Jiang Cheng’s and Nie Mingjue’s body heat.

“She seems fine to me,” Jiang Cheng decides. “Maybe a little bit hungry, but she doesn’t seem injured.”

“Thank the gods,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and gently strakes his finger over her cheek. “I was worried because she wouldn’t cry. I still remember how Jin Ling was, it seemed strange for her not to make a sound.”

Jiang Cheng decides not to take offense on Jin Ling’s behalf, because he was one loud baby and instead says “Babies are much more sensitive than we give them credit for. If her parents were hiding from the yao, it’s likely she somehow picked up on the fact that she needs to be quiet.”

“She’s barely older than six month,” Nie Mingjue says with a frown and Jiang Cheng presses her protectively to his chest.

“And maybe she’s just especially bright,” he snaps back and then walks out of the house. “Come on, we still have to let the healers check her over, maybe we missed something,” he calls over his shoulder when Nie Mingjue doesn’t follow him immediately.

“Alright, alright. But Wanyin—no getting attached. We’re not keeping her,” he says and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Of course we’re not keeping her. I don’t want any more kids, Jin Ling totally was enough for me,” he cheekily says, though immediately the doubt cuts deep again.

Jin Ling is only six, but the kid already has an attitude and he has his nose high up in the sky and Jiang Cheng is afraid that he fucked him over for good. He is not fit to raise any kid, least of all his sister’s child, and absolutely not the sweet baby in his arms.

“As long as you remember,” Nie Mingjue says and then keeps a hand under the babies bum the whole time they walk.

As if Jiang Cheng would ever let anything this precious drop.

~*~*~

“How is our baobei doing?” Nie Mingjue asks with a huge smile as he walks into the infirmary.

They are keeping her there for a lack of better accommodations, though Jiang Cheng is getting out all of Jin Ling’s old stuff again. Soon enough she’ll be able to sleep with them in their bedroom.

“She is perfectly alright,” Jiang Cheng gives back and looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor, tickling her tummy and watching her squirming around and squealing with laughter.

“And how is my most amazing husband doing?” Nie Mingjue asks as he drops a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head and then blows raspberries onto the babies tummy.

“I am doing very well, too, thank you for asking,” Jiang Cheng seriously gives back and then erupts into laughter when Nie Mingjue gives him a disgruntled look at that.

It makes the baby clap her hands together and kick her tiny, tiny feet in the air and Jiang Cheng simply melts at the sight.

“And news of her parents?” he asks, mostly to distract himself from the urge of squeezing her to death and Nie Mingjue shakes his head as he sits down next to Jiang Cheng and picks her up.

“No. There were reports of a family running from the yao, but no one knew them and no one seems to know where the parents ran off to. I left a message in the house we found her in, in case they come back, but I don’t think it’s looking promising. It’s been a week already.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng thoughtfully says and offers up one of his fingers for her to hold on to. “What a shame.”

“Yeah,” Nie Mingjue agrees and then they fall silent.

Well, at least until their little baobei starts to scream bloody murder because she’s hungry.

~*~*~

They are laying in bed, Jiang Cheng tracing senseless shapes into Nie Mingjue’s chest when he speaks up.

“We’re not keeping her, right?” Jiang Cheng asks and Nie Mingjue tenses.

“Wanyin, I thought we were agreeing on this,” he cautiously says and Jiang Cheng props himself up to look at him.

“We are. I am not fit to be a father; I was barely able to be an uncle to Jin Ling and raising him—I did so much wrong. I’m too much of my mother and not enough of my father and I’m just—”

“Well, from what you told me about your parents and from what I have seen with Jin Ling you are exactly the right mix of them. Just from the top of my head I can come up with at least seven instances where you held or carried Jin Ling, so I’d say you are perfectly good.”

“I messed up so much with him,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “The real damage will only show when he’s older, just you wait.”

“Well, pardon me, but your parents were shit and you turned out alright if I dare say so,” Nie Mingjue tells him and pulls him into a kiss. “And I am not actually keen on being a dad, either. I was pouring so much into raising Huaisang when our father died and I don’t know if I can raise anyone without the explicit expectation of them having to be a Sect Heir.”

Nie Mingjue sighs and Jiang Cheng snuggles closer to him.

“Look at how I messed up with him. I put so much pressure onto him all the time because I feared I would die young and now he avoids any kind of responsibility as if his life depends on it. I already fucked up once. I’m not going to do it again.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” Jiang Cheng protests. “If anything you spoilt him too much. You were too lenient. It’s not like he ever cowers when you yell at him, right? He’s clearly not afraid of you or the consequences you keep threatening him with, because he damn well knows you’d never follow through.”

“Is that right?” Nie Mingjue asks, raising one eyebrow at Jiang Cheng. “Just like Jin Ling laughs at you whenever you threaten to break his legs?”

“That’s different,” Jiang Cheng huffs.

“I don’t think it is,” Nie Mingjue argues and then rolls them over onto the side so they can sleep.

“No more kids,” he mutters, burying his face in Jiang Cheng’s hair and Jiang Cheng agrees.

No more kids for them.

~*~*~

It’s been two months by now since they found little Baobei in the abandoned house and they have formed a routine around her.

The healers complained after two weeks of her being in the infirmary that she can’t stay there anymore so Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue took her to their own bedroom, letting her sleep right next to their bed, so they could keep an eye on her.

“Good morning, little baobei,” Jiang Cheng says when she grumbles herself awake and Nie Mingjue laughs at the sight.

“She’s just like you,” he jokes and Jiang Cheng can’t even manage a proper frown over her head.

“Shut up, she is not,” he denies and Nie Mingjue has not even the decency to argue with him about this.

“Let’s go find Jiang Zedong and hear how the search for parents for her is going,” Jiang Cheng mutters, a little bit miffed that Nie Mingjue wouldn’t indulge him in a little argument, but when Nie Mingjue comes over to pepper first Baobei with kisses and then Jiang Cheng, he decides it’s forgotten.

When they ask Jiang Zedong about the issue he stares at them like they lost their minds.

“What do you mean, possible parents for her?”

“What do you mean, what do we mean?” Jiang Cheng bites back, though he’s aware that the look is a little bit ruined with Baobei in his arms. “You’re supposed to look for possible parents for her, what’s going on?”

“You mean for other people to take her in?”

“Other people? Who else would take her in?” Nie Mingjue asks as well, and when Baobei starts to sniffle, he takes her right out of Jiang Cheng’s arms.

It turns out that Baobei is a very sensitive baby, and she picks up on moods incredibly well. They haven’t found much that can sooth her, but resting against Nie Mingjue’s chest always seems to do the trick.

Jiang Cheng can relate. It’s a very good chest to lean on.

“You?” Jiang Zedong shoots back and Jiang Cheng quickly reaches out when Nie Mingjue’s arms go slack.

He manages to secure Baobei until Nie Mingjue remembers himself and hugs her close again.

“We’re not looking to adopt,” Nie Mingjue tells him, and Jiang Zedong frowns in confusion.

“But didn’t you already? I mean, she sleeps with you and you modelled your whole day around her. You come running when she cries or makes any kind of sound and no offense, but you don’t even allow the healers to hold her for her check-ups. I am actually afraid of what you’ll do if I tell you that we did find someone to adopt. Honestly, I just thought you would keep her.”

Jiang Cheng blinks at Nie Mingjue who in turn blinks at him.

“We didn’t want to adopt,” Jiang Cheng eventually says and Nie Mingjue nods.

“Well, to me—and everyone else—it looks like you already did. Now if you excuse me, I have real problems to solve here,” he then tells them and simply marches off.

Jiang Cheng wonders what demon was possessing him when he appointed Jiang Zedong his second in command, but when Baobei gurgles he forgets that thought.

“We weren’t looking to adopt,” Nie Mingjue says and bounces Baobei in a soothing manner.

“No, we weren’t.”

“Maybe—maybe she adopted us?” Nie Mingjue tries and Jiang Cheng sighs, before he leans into Nie Mingjue’s side.

“My soul, maybe it’s time we face the truth,” he gravely says, and surprisingly enough he’s not terrified out of his mind. “We’re done for. We are her parents.”

There’s a moment of silence from Nie Mingjue before he shrugs.

“Could be worse, I guess,” he says and lifts Baobei up high in the air.

Jiang Cheng fights the urge to snag her out of his hands, because what if he lets her fall, but by then Nie Mingjue already has her safely against his chest again.

“Just promise me, Wanyin: if I put too much pressure on her, if I demand too much of her, you’ll have to smack me over the head.”

“I’ll smack you over the head whenever I please,” Jiang Cheng cheerfully tells him but then he nods. “Of course I promise. And—the same goes for you: if I snap at her like my mother did or if I don’t give her the affection she deserves, you’ll have to smack some sense into me.”

“I promise, my heart, but you already did a good job with Jin Ling.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t comment on that, because the fear that he fucked his nephew up sits deep, but when Baobei babbles happily at him, he pushes those thoughts away.

“Oh shit,” Jiang Cheng suddenly says, and looks with big eyes at Nie Mingjue. “We have to come up with a real name for her!”

“Oh fuck,” Nie Mingjue wholeheartedly agrees and then they dissolve into laughter because if that is their biggest worry right now, then maybe they’ll be alright.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #mingcheng #mdzsbingo #established relationship #canon divergence #adoption #found family #quite literally #fluff

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Comforting You When It's Too Much

Request: 💵 Heya, I’m the anon from earlier that wasn’t doing so cash money, and I have a request for Dabi, mr compress, and twice with someone who is too nice to the point it becomes their downfall. Kinda mother’s everyone because they didn’t have that when they were a kid, (mommy issues check) but eventually it just kinda, comes crashing down on them. Overall just really, really needs a hug and to be told that someone is proud of them and loves them regardless. Thanks <3

A/N: Wow,,, this is late. Sorry about that… Love you!!

Bubaigawara Jin:

Jin doesn’t realize how much he leans on you until he sees your breaking point. He had a rough experience in his late teen years that when he meets you, he sort of just leans onto you for comfort. He doesn’t mean to do it, it just happens naturally. One day, he’s pulling you close and letting his hand glide against your lower belly and the next, he’s on your chest, eyes closed as you run your hands through his pale hair. He’ll go to you for comfort, lean against your chest and be lulled to sleep as you play with his hair and hum him a song that he can’t be bothered to recognize. It’s been such a long time that someone has cared for him the way you do, that he’s just tired and wants to be taken care of for a minute. He hasn’t felt the loving touch of someone in such a long time- in a romantic sense- that with you, he’s become greedy and wanting to have more and more for you until he’s satiated.

He doesn’t recognize when you’ve begun to wear yourself thin. He can tell you’re getting a bit more snappy but even then, those moments are quickly soothed over by your apologetic look and hands rushing to cup his face while you murmur how sorry you are under your breath. He thinks nothing of it, merely leaning into your touch and telling you that it’s okay, the scruff on his face scratching against your palms. He isn’t great at picking up on small signals, the negative voices usually making a mountain out of molehill, so he ignores the small sign merely writing them off that you’re just tired in a way that he isn’t. He’ll kiss your cheek and offer you a candy bar, telling you to hold him for just a bit longer before he goes to get something for you.

The eventual crashing down happens out of nowhere- at least to him. The music has been blaring, there’s a mess, you’ve gotten little to no sleep and you’re tired. You’re so tired and yet, you can’t find it in you to take a break. It takes one little thing that makes everything come crashing down and suddenly your palms sting as they slap against the table. The tears in your eyes burn and you can feel the stares on you. In that same moment, you retreat to the shared room and cradle yourself at the corner of the bed. You hold yourself close, head resting between your knees and chest, hands knitted into your hair and he’s quick to rush to your side. His hands fret over you, quickly making sure that you’re safe, that nothing is wrong with you before you pull away with tear stains that streak down the curve of your face.

It's hard enough to talk to him about these sorts of things. You wipe at the tears that cling to your lashes and tell him how it’s just been getting too much and even with that, you still can’t explain it properly. You’re just tired and want to be held but he also needs you and you hold his hands as tears fill your eyes once more. You whisper in a strained voice that you know that he needs you but you also need him, you’re just a person and you want to know that you’re okay. He feels awful, something so horrible that twists his insides and makes his heart ache. His teeth dig into the inside of his cheeks and he hugs you, his face buried into the crook of your neck, shame making his body hot and heart beat against his chest.

His arms are tight around you, pulling you to his chest and letting the scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne fill your lungs. He hadn’t meant to make you feel this way. If there’s one thing about Jin and the relationship he has with you, is that he respects it and doesn’t want to hurt you. He knows what it’s like to be human, the mistakes that can be made and the guilt and anxiety that can bubble up and boil inside of you, and he’s sorry for that. His knees dig into the mattress and the back of his head thuds against the wall, his hand going to cradle your head as if you were the one who had gotten hurt despite being cushioned by his chest. He kisses you, fleeting kisses that pepper over your face and he tells you that he’s sorry. He hadn’t meant to let you handle everything alone. He cusps your face and he tells you that he’ll hold you until you tire of him. He’s proud of you for talking to him, praising you for all the good and hard work that you’ve done while he kisses your forehead.

Dabi:

Unbeknownst to you, Dabi relies heavily on you due to his own parental issues. He hadn’t meant to, but there was something nice about being cared for that made him lean into you. He liked having you run your hands through his hair and have him sit in a bath where you washed his hair for him and kissed his scars as if the pain would go away with such a simple gesture and for a moment, the pain would fade away. He sees you as this safe haven, wanting to keep you locked away for just his own selfish needs but even any negative thought like that is turned away when you peck the tip of his nose, your fingertip running down the same nose that has been broken many times over. He seeks you out for comfort, leaning onto you and expecting so much. He wants to be cared for, to fill the emptiness inside of him and have you kiss at his lips to make the pain go away.

He sees you wear yourself thin but speaks nothing of it. He’s of the belief that if you wanted help, you would have asked for it, but you haven’t and he lets you continue on. It’s selfish of him and guilt will gnaw on his insides until he’s curled against your chest, your heart beating softly against his lips. He can see your eyes start to lose the spark, the heaviness of your smile and how your hands start to slow when you comb through his hair. He hates to say it, but it's an annoyance for him. He’s grown so used to having you care for him that the minute you show signs of stopping, he takes it personally. He hates it and he feels like a child as he grumbles and pulls you away to lock you in his room. You shouldn’t mother anyone else but him; he’s the one that craves it more than anyone else does, he’s the one that needs it and the words slice through your skin until you’re left bleeding dry holding him in your arms.

Ultimately, you are left to care for him because he likes it and you want to care for him, you want to make him happy. You hold him close and he’s returning your hug with quick arms that trap you with him. You both gain something from the way you treat him so he sees no objection to it. No matter the amount of sweet gestures down to him, the guilt still gnaws on him. He hates it, he’s desperately trying to not feel guilt and yet, here you are. Your eyes are sad and you hold him, your lips pressed against the top of his head and he can feel you sigh against him. He’ll frown, and his hands will clutch at the back of your shirt, the fabric twisting in his hands and he’ll pull away, coming to sit with his legs crossed.

While not a stranger to confrontations, he doesn’t want to have one with you, but he can see how tired you are. He’ll sigh and when he asks what’s wrong, he’ll see tears form in your eyes and he instantly feels awful. He lowers himself to hold you to his chest. You cry softly onto his chest and he just holds you close, running his fingers down your spine and trailing them upwards softly. He lets you get your grievances out, holding you to him. His arms are tight around you but rather than keeping you trapped with him, he holds you, a loose grip that stays firm around your sides. When you begin to shift, he opens his arms, letting you shuffle around him. His hands are calloused, ears of use and mistreatment scarring them, hsi fingertips brushing away your tears and he frowns when you lean into him.

All he sees when you lean into him, when you welcome his touch and love the way that his hands are different to yours, is someone so exhausted and he remembers it was him who pushed you. Dabi apologies under his breath and keeps you close to him. His words are said as he looks at the wall in front of him, his hand cupped over your shoulder and massaging it weakly. He tells you that you don’t have to say yes to everything, that you’re allowed to take a break. He’s sorry that he pushed you, but he does want you to know that he appreciated you taking care of him, that it made him happy and that you were the one to make him happy. He nods his head, swallowing the lump in his throat as he tells you that he’s proud of you for sticking with these messy feelings for so long but for the next time, to tell him and he’ll back off and help you.

Sako Atsuhiro:

Being an older man comes with certain restrictions. People treat you as if you can carry the weight of the world on your back. He’s gotten to a point where it’s difficult to be treated with such care. As he ages, his bones ache and phantom pain shoots throughout his arm until he’s bent over and clutching the prosthetic. When you come along and start to treat Atsuhiro with tenderness, he’s quick to melt into your palms. He hasn’t had someone comfort him with gentle hands that when you come along, he holds you close and doesn’t want to let go. He’ll rest his aching head against your shoulders and hold your hand. Your fingers will trace the lines on his palms and ghost over each finger and he’ll be lulled to sleep by your soft touch.

It can be rather embarrassing to admit but he has grown rather accustomed to your touch. He’s grown rather needy, wanting to slither between your legs and rest his head on your chest. He loves having your attention, loves all the lovely things that come with it. He’ll start to expect you to hold him, to kiss his lips and massage his hand. For the moment, you welcome it. You want to be needed, you want to care for others in a way that you hadn’t because for whatever reason, now you want to care for those close to you. You hold him close to you, your hands threaded into his hair as you scratch at his scalp and he’s lazing above you, a tender smile that stretches wide across his face as you take care of him.

If you are close to a breaking point, he won’t realize it. He’s so caught up in himself and everything he’s in that he doesn’t recognize your own turmoil. He still leans into you and you still treat him the same and in his eyes he has nothing to worry about. You allow him to take advantage of your caring nature and you’ve stated multiple times that you enjoy fussing over him. He might take notice if you’ve become rather tired throughout the times spent with him. A lack of energy where instead of him resting his head on your chest, it’s you resting your head on his, holding his hand tightly and squeezing it as if to plead to him to hold your hand just as tight. It’s until he hears you sniffle that he realizes that something is wrong. Your hands hold onto his shirt, your face buried into his chest and no matter how many times he calls your name, you do not rise to look at him.

He frets immediately. He pulls away from you and has you sit up with him. He asks what’s wrong, his words slurring together as he rests the back of his hand against your forehead to check for a fever, his hand resting against your tummy and asking if you feel sick. His mind wanders to physical ailments, checking to see if you might have a bruise or a bump on your head and even resorting to letting his hand glide against the bed covers, hoping to find a reason for your tears. He won’t stop until you speak, finally voice your worries and thoughts into the world and he can see the weight that is lifted off your shoulders from just expressing that. He realizes with a heavy heart that it was him who did this, who made you feel so exhausted. His shoulders slump and his head will bow slightly as his hands come to curve over your shoulders and to your back, pulling you into a hug and he has you rest against the curve of his neck, frowning and petting you as tears wet him.

Atsuhiro hadn’t meant to place such a heavy burden onto you, but he had. The most that he can do right now is allow you to cry while he holds you. He keeps you close to him, his nose brushing against you when he kisses the side of your head every few minutes and so. He’ll let out a soft sigh when your cries have turned into whimpers that slowly fade into silence. It’s okay for you to feel all these sorts of things and he wishes he had seen the signs earlier. He apologizes and will tell you that he’s happy that you want to make him happy, but you come first. The showman will hold you, let you rest upon him and sleep close to him as he takes care of you. He’ll tell you that he’s proud of you, for wanting to do good to others, but he needs you to watch over yourself as well, his lips pecking at the tip of your nose. You don’t need to watch over him, he hadn’t wanted you to think he fell for you simply because you tended to his whims, he feelings won't change for you no matter the way that you change.

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farfromharry · 3 years

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The one without the suit | Peter’s girl

Summary: Peter doesn’t know where to go when Mr Stark takes his suit away from him after the ferry incident so he comes to you. You spend the rest of the night comforting the distraught boy.

Word count - 2746

Warnings - language? i don’t think there’s anything else

A/n - i’m gonna try and do regular updates for this again, but it probably won’t happen😳

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It all kept replaying in Peter’s head, all those people he’d put in danger just because he couldn’t let this go. Even you had told him he needed to stop, so why couldn’t he?

He sat and stared into the water with a frown, his legs dangling over the side of the building while his mask sat beside him on the ledge. God how had he messed up so bad, Mr Stark must be so angry.

Speaking of, he heard the suit before he saw it, his eyes squeezing shut as he braced himself to get yelled at by his mentor. Swinging his legs over the side and beginning to head in the direction of where the iron man suit stood, probably empty of the real Tony Stark, just like the time at the lake.

The words he was saying- yelling, weren’t really registering in the boy’s head, Peter was wanting nothing more than to skip the lecture and just apologise to the man for everything he’d caused. He didn’t even really care how this was going to affect him, not while he didn’t know the aftermath of the boat.

“Is everyone okay?” That was all he really cared about, knowing that no one had gotten hurt all because he screwed up, again.

“No thanks to you.”

The next few minutes had been a blur of Peter raising his voice angrily, finding it very difficult to believe that even after all that happened where he’d just tried to help, Mr Stark was still blaming this entirely on him. He remembered apologising profusely, not seeing the anger in Mr Stark’s eyes falter for even a second.

“I’m gonna need the suit back.” He felt like his entire body was shutting down, his heart shattering and a lump building in the back of his throat. Peter begged him, trying to change his mind with empty promises that meant nothing.

“F-For how long?”

“Forever.”

That one word kept repeating in the boy’s mind. Forever. He was never getting the suit back, God he fucked up again. Walking down the streets of New York in clothes that weren’t his own was probably mortifying on a normal day, but he felt like there was a cloud of shame hanging over his head that everyone could see, and that was much worse.

He didn’t know where his feet were taking him at first, making the subconscious decision that he wasn’t yet ready to go home to his aunt in this state. Peter wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this disappointed or embarrassed with himself. He managed to fuck up so bad that the Tony Stark, his idol, his mentor, took away his suit.

He was disappointed in him.

Granted Peter was only a kid, heck he was still a teenager, but he felt like he owed it to Tony to be the best, to be better and apparently Mr Stark thought so too.

He was growing increasingly self conscious walking through the streets of Queens in clothing they’d gotten from lost and found at the ferry dock. He probably should’ve gone home. May was definitely worried sick about him right now, but he didn’t have the strength to go and face a lecture when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and let his emotions out.

He had to stop for a minute to realise that he’d been walking to your apartment on instinct.

It felt like a second nature for Peter now to go to your window every time he was in need of help.

But it hurt him in a way he couldn’t explain when he realised he was unable to swing his way up there, not having either of his suits or his web shooters. The boy sniffled quietly, deciding he was just going to have to show up at your front door, hopefully not disturbing your parents.

He took the elevator up, giving him a chance to think everything over again, the boy deciding he needed some kind of distraction at least to ease his mind. His feet carried him from the elevator to your apartment door, the boy knocking before he'd even registered he was doing so.

“I’ll get it,” you yelled. You paused the movie you were watching on the TV, getting up from the couch. You didn’t bother to check you looked presentable, assuring yourself it was probably just your neighbour, she was a very old lady that often forgot the keys to her apartment and would always ask if she could use your spare that your parents had made just for this situation.

You grabbed the key that resided in a bowl beside your front door, pulling it open with a small smile on your lips. “Forgot your keys again Mrs Ka- Oh, Peter hi.”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly as you stared at the distraught expression that had overtaken your friend’s face. He sniffled slightly, his head raising from where his eyes were locked on the floor. You stepped forward and carefully placed your hand on his arm.

“Pete, what’s wrong?” you asked. His eyes were bloodshot and dark when he looked at you, the boy looking like a kicked puppy. Your heart ached just at the sight of him.

“He took my suit,” he whispered, so quietly you didn’t hear him. You stepped closer, placing your hand on his cheek gently.

“What?”

“Mr Stark took my suit, I let him down.”

That was the final straw for him. He let out a heart wrenching sob, falling into your arms utterly broken. You weren’t sure what you were meant to do, having never seen him in such a state, so you simply wrapped your arms around him and cradled his head against your chest.

With all the hugs you’d shared with Peter, he’d never held you so tightly, but he’d also never been so upset in view of another person, not even May. Not when his parents died and not when his Uncle Ben died, his tears were restricted to the eyes of him and him only.

His crying had obviously alerted your mother, seeing her head pop in to look in the living room where you were cradling a crying Peter. She raised her eyebrows, her eyes softening out of motherly concern.

She took your word for it when you just shook your head, promising you’d help him and stay with him until he calmed down.

“Come on, Pete.” You helped the boy up off of the floor and towards your room. He’d been in your room plenty of times over the past few weeks so he took it upon himself to crash on your bed instantly. You didn’t know what to do, you’d never had to deal with consoling a superhero that got their suit taken away from them, so you didn’t fully understand what that suit meant to Peter, even if you did know how much he enjoyed being Spiderman.

“Peter, I-“ you sighed, sitting on the bed beside his exhausted body. “I’m sure you didn’t disappoint Mr Stark.”

He scoffed, running his hands over his face exasperatedly. His heart was aching. “You didn’t see it in his eyes. You didn’t hear it.”

Your heart ached listening to the words muffled by the covers of your bed. You could hear his quiet sniffles as he tried to calm himself down, the deep breaths not doing much of the sort. You took a seat beside him awkwardly, your nose scrunching up when you caught a whiff of the boy’s unusual scent.

Your mind told you that a hot bath might help him, as it was always a comfort to you when you were having one of your days. You gently laid your hand on his back, rubbing over the material of his shirt softly for a few moments before you suggested your idea.

“Why don’t you go take a hot bath? They help me when I’m down,” you said, seeing him turn his face to the side on the bed so he could look at you. “Plus you smell like garbage,” you teased.

He clearly wasn’t in much of a joking mood when he simply stood up with a nod of his head, his eyes still morphed into puppy dog eyes. You flashed him a tight lipped smile, mentally scolding yourself for how badly your attempt at lightening the mood had gone.

»»——⍟——««

You’d generously offered to wash Peter’s hair for him when he stated that he didn’t think he was up to it. He was flustered as he agreed, listening to your promises about just washing his hair for him, no peeking or anything, and then you’d be out of there.

“You promise you won’t look?” he asked, a stern look in his eyes as he wasn’t sure he could do this if you even took as much as a tiny peek. You rolled your eyes, cursing him for having no faith in you. “Peter, I don’t even want to look.”

He seemed to take offense to those words too, his nose scrunching in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You huffed at his childish behaviour, telling him there was not a single chance you were about to have this discussion with him about why you didn’t want to see his dick, that was a whole other story.

Eventually he took your word and headed for the bathroom, calling you in when he was ready and sure you wouldn’t be exposed to anything you didn’t want to see.

“Thank you,” he whispered, sending you a genuine smile as you lathered up the coconut scented shampoo on your hands. You shook your head, dismissing his thanks by telling him it was just what friends did. Maybe not all friends, as you couldn’t imagine too many people had to console their superhero friend after their hero suit was taken away from them by their billionaire mentor. So maybe it was just a you and Peter thing.

He hummed quietly as your fingers threaded through his locks, gently tugging when your fingers would encounter some kind of tangle. You muttered apologies under your breath but they went unheard by the boy who looked as though he was in complete bliss.

“Pete.” It took him a few seconds to hear you calling his name, his eyes snapping up to yours with a shy, apologetic smile. You giggled at his shyness, gently guiding his head to tip backwards so you could wash the soap from his hair.

You repeated the process of washing and rinsing one more time to ensure he no longer smelled like dirty garbage, before leaving him to finish up and dry off in your bathroom.

You started to worry when he began taking his time, scared that something bad had happened, even though you knew he was able to take care of himself.

But your worries died down when he came out of the bathroom with the same clothes he’d worn earlier, pulling a small amused smile from you at the sight of him in hello kitty pyjamas.

“You okay?” you asked, noting that he hadn’t yet said a word since emerging from the bathroom. His voice came out slightly scratchy, a sign of all the sobs that had wracked his body. “Yeah, jus’ need a hug.”

Your heart warmed in your chest, arms opening for the boy to crawl into. “I can do that.”

»»——⍟——««

“I’m so tired,” he mumbled, harshly rubbing at his still teary eyes with his fists. You frowned, taking his hands in yours and moving them away from his face so he couldn’t hurt himself. He’d cried so hard and so much in such a short time that he was physically exhausted.

You wrapped his arms around your waist, letting him lay his head on your chest so you could hold him. Your hands threaded in his freshly washed hair, the scent filling your senses much more pleasant than the one he’d originally arrived with. You gently untangled any knots that had developed in his curls over the course of them drying from the water, the boy humming softly.

The feeling of your fingers gently scratching at his scalp and playing with his hair was almost enough to soothe him completely to sleep, but you could feel that his body was fighting it off as he probably didn’t want to feel like he was burdening you with another thing.

“Peter?” you whispered. He hummed tiredly in response, nuzzling his face closer to you. “You’re kinda heavy.”

He gasped, finding the energy to raise his head and gape at you as you held back your giggle. He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for you trying to put a smile on his face, even if that was through an insult.

“That was so mean,” he whined, a smile threatening to form on his lips. The first smile you would see from him today.

“M sorry, but you are. Are you forgetting you’re literally built like a God?” He rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing a soft pink at the hint of a compliment. You let out a loud laugh, trying to shuffle away from him as you muttered his name repeatedly. He was laughing now too and the sound, after everything you’d seen from his attitude tonight, was music to your ears.

“Pete, stop!” you squealed. He collapsed down beside you on the bed, the two of you catching your breath as your stomachs began to ache from all the laughing. He still had a grin on his face when you turned your head to look at him, smiling softly as you noticed that familiar sparkle in his eye.

“Pete?” you asked, after your laughter had died down into a comfortable silence. “Yeah?”

You sighed. “Does May know you’re here?”

He didn’t respond for a few minutes, answering pretty much everything you needed to know. He could feel your eyes on him, making him feel even more guilty about the whole situation.

“No, she doesn’t,” he finally admitted.

You took his hand in yours, the action still making Peter’s breath hitch even after the many times the two of you had embraced recently. “You should call her, she’s probably worried about you.”

It took a bit of convincing, but after a while he did call May. He moved out into the hall so he could have a little bit of privacy, not wanting you to hear the earful he was about to get from her. She was angry, and rightfully so, scolding him for leaving her in the dark, but she was still mainly more worried about her nephew’s safety.

He came back with a rather sullen look on his face, phone in hand as he stood awkwardly in your door frame, like he was uncomfortable.

“I-I have to go, May wants me home,” he mumbled. You nodded your head, flashing him an understanding smile. You’d already guessed that May was going to be upset with him, so you could only pray for him for when he got home. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself up off of your bed and heading straight to Peter to hug him.

“I’m sorry,” you started. “About everything that happened tonight. It’ll all be okay,” you promised, rubbing your hand up and down his back. He pursed his lips, nodding as he pulled away.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You followed him from your room to the door of your apartment, seeing the way he dragged his feet sadly along the wooden floorboards. He sent you one last look over his shoulder, and in the light the rings of redness around his eyes were accentuated.

You watched him walk out of your apartment with a small frown on your face, waving goodbye to him with a rather quiet, “Bye Peter.”

You closed the door with a sigh, your heart aching at the situation Peter had been put in. You knew how much he loved being Spiderman and you knew this wouldn’t stop him, which would probably only cause him more harm, but you trusted him and you hoped that Stark would be able to see he made a mistake.

“Did Peter leave?” You turned and looked at your mother, nodding your head.

“Is he okay?” she asked. You plastered on a fake smile, nodding your head and pretending as though your last few hours consoling the teenager hadn’t happened.

“Just some family problems, but I'm sure everything will be fine.”

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

peter’s girl taglist → @sunsetholland @captainamirica @tomsirishgirlx @givebuckyhisplumsnow @lou-la-lou @slutforsr @tayyx @gog0juice @minejungwoo @creatorofthegalaxy @annathesillyfriend @paninipress @bvttercupbby @peterswebshooters @whoeveniskendall @itsallyscorner @hoodpankow @sunwardsss @hallecarey1 @writingrem @mamaparker28

#peter parker imagines #peter parker imagine #peter parker #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fluff

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helgabatwrittings · 3 years

Text

When your world comes crashing down don't cry

His mind kept racing between everything he had learned. It was all he could think about lately. Alya and Nino are Rena Rouge and Carapace. They know about each other. Ladybug knows that they know. Ladybug was the one who gave that secret away. Ladybug didn’t tell him. Because they must keep their identities a secret. And they all think he is annoying. That’s why Ladybug doesn’t tell him anything. Because Chat Noir is annoying, and he can’t be trusted.

AO3

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

Pretending everything was okay was becoming the most strenuous task each day.

Especially when one hasn’t slept for almost a week.

A week…

A week has passed ever since Nino told him just how annoying he was. It made sense actually, the more he thought about it, the clearer it got.

Adrien was annoying, that was a fact, he has always been like that and that is why his father never wanted to spend time with him, it was why his parents have never let him go to school, they always said they were protecting him, and now Adrien knew exactly why…

They just did not want him to realise how bothersome he was.

It was why Ladybug… why she-

Prrrrr Prrrrrr Prrrrrr

The alarm interrupted his jumbled thoughts. Adrien sighed. Getting out of bed was also becoming the most strenuous task each day.

“Are you going to turn that off so I can proceed to sleep?? I was in the middle of eating this amazing piece of camembert” Plagg grumbled, his nasal voice still thick with sleep.

Adrien turned to his side and with a heavy hand, he grabbed his phone and turned off the alarm, the missed texts from Nino not going unnoticed. He just couldn’t find any strength to engage in any conversation his best friend was starting. Not that it mattered anyway, he would probably only bother him and then Nino would just get sick of him just like everyone else did. Just like Nino already had with Chat Noir. And Adrien didn’t want that. Adrien would never want that. He had lost too many people already, so he might as well try to save the few relationships he still has, even if he must keep them at arm’s length. It’s still better than nothing, right? Even if that crushing void of loneliness was growing inside him every day.

It was with an increasing effort that Adrien finally managed to get out of the bed, his limbs feeling like lead. He walked to his bathroom, not noticing the black blob staring right at him with downcast eyes and dropped ears.

After going through his usual routine, Adrien just stood in front of his mirror checking for any imperfection that might put him in trouble, like he did every day. A paler, skinnier version of himself looked right back at him with heavy dark bags under vacant eyes. His lower, chapped lip trembled slightly, but he quickly managed to get a hold of it, the same couldn’t be said for the lump that had settled itself in his throat for a couple of days now. Adrien suddenly broke eye contact and fumbling through the top drawer, without really looking at it, without really looking at anything, he finally felt the familiar shape of his concealer. And with a professional mannerism, he applied it on every imperfection, carefully moulding that sickly looking boy in the mirror into the face of the Gabriel brand.

Breakfast was, once again, all by himself, and Plagg of course, but he had to remain hidden in case anyone was to suddenly enter the dining room. For some reason, Adrien kept staring at the main door to the room, still hoping that his father would appear just to spend some time with him before school, but as usual, no one interrupted the suffocating silence that was becoming more and more unbearable each day. He even found himself hoping that Nathalie would appear, in all her stoic presence, with her tablet in hand to inform him of his schedule, even though he was perfectly aware that she was currently bedridden for some mysterious illness everyone was trying to hide from him.

He missed Nathalie, he still heard her every day through the tablet, but it wasn’t the same. At some point, his mum would only speak to him through a tablet when she got so sick she couldn’t leave her bed, and no one dared to explain to him what was happening.

The sight of his food got blurry as Adrien blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape. He took a deep shaking breath to fight the nauseating wave that crushed him. Once again, his appetite was absent, he sneaked the cheese under the table for Plagg and with that, Adrien went to the car, to start another day.

School was… School used to be the highlight of his everyday life, it was finally something Adrien had fought for and won. His first ticket to freedom. School gave him a chance to finally live in the real world, outside the four massive walls that made up his bedroom, and that for the longest time, had been his whole world. But now it just seemed pointless.

For the first time since he started attending public school, Adrien was actually feeling on edge at the idea of going there and meet his friends. His stomach was constricting itself, accentuating the ever-present nausea that had settled since that day, and the feeling seemed to worsen at each kilometre the car got closer to the building.

Do they also think Adrien is annoying? Do they also rant about him behind his back? Is that why Marinette doesn’t seem to stand being around him for too long? They have talked about it, and she assured him that they were friends. Marinette has done a lot to help him, like convincing his father to let him go to New York. But again, she does help everyone she knows. Of course, she would help him, even if she finds him annoying. Marinette is that nice.

How should he act around them? The knot on his stomach was becoming unbearable. How was it that he was feeling hot and cold at the same time? That there was this electric sensation running all over his body and making the tips of his fingers go all fuzzy, while his chest was beginning to burn as well. The lump on his throat was making it hard to breathe, no matter how much Adrien gasped for breath, it seemed that no air was reaching his lungs, which were blazing with the effort. Oh, God! Is this how he’s going to die? At the back of his father’s limo, on his way to school? His face felt wet for some reason. Was he crying? Why was he even crying?? He’s so ridiculous, crying for no reason whatsoever. This was the reason why everyone seemed to get tired of him fast, he was just an unstable mess. Why would anyone want to deal with that??

“…rien…” Adrien felt something press against his cheek.

“Adrien!” Apparently that something was Plagg. Thank goodness the divider was up so Gorilla couldn’t see the shameful pity party Adrien was throwing at the back of the car.

“C’mon kid, breathe with me…” Plagg was floating right before his eyes, taking deep exaggerated breaths so that Adrien’s sluggish mind could follow his request.

Emerald eyes connected as Adrien’s trembling breaths evolved to more stable ones. The knot on his stomach was starting to untie itself, although Adrien knew that it would never go away completely. He was used to it anyway. He blinked rapidly, successfully containing the tears that had started to leak during his episode.

“Adrien…” Plagg rarely used his name, “Maybe it’s better that you stay home, you can still ask Gorilla man to turn back…” Plagg was looking at him with concern, sad eyes and dropped ears complementing his worried expression. He hated that he was the cause of it. He hated that he was dragging everyone down with him.

He shook his head wildly, not trusting his voice to sound secure. He had to go to school. How would he even explain why he skipped school? His friends would ask, his father would ask, and he really didn’t have the energy to come up with any excuse. Adrien just had to pretend everything was alright, he was used to it, pretending was as natural as breathing for him. Even if it was becoming harder and harder each day to seem detached by everything that was happening to him lately, not that he would ever tell anyone what exactly was happening to him lately.

Shaky fingers searched through his messenger bag, looking for the small mirror he carried with him almost all the time, along with the concealer that for sure had been washed down by his ridiculous crying.

Once again, Adrien hid all his imperfections and insecurities behind a fresh layer of concealer.

“Adrien…” Nino was talking to him. When had he left the car and entered the classroom? The blackboard Miss Mendeleiev was writing on, was filled with fresh formulas, of a different subject from the last lesson. Which meant that they had already gone through the correction of homework and had started talking about a different thing. When had they done that? Adrien was in the car, having just barely recovered from a panic attack, and now he was in the middle of Physics class. The time between those two moments was lost to him.

A nudge on his left side made him flinch.

“Woah, dude, calm down, it’s me!” Nino whispered, while defensively raising his hands.

Trembling lips curved to form a shaky smile. It was the best Adrien could do for now.

Unfortunately, said smile didn’t seem to be enough to reassure Nino, as the latter raised his eyebrows in concern, silently asking Adrien if everything was okay. Adrien nodded quickly, his eyes immediately drifting to the blackboard ahead, putting an end to their silent conversation. He should try and pay attention to the lesson anyway. Physics was his favourite subject so it shouldn’t be hard. He could at least pretend to be paying attention to class. Adrien was getting sicker and sicker of pretending…

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #ml season 4 spoilers #hope you like it #tw panic attacks #depression references

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Loving You For You [Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord is struck with a panic attack when he's getting ready to shoot one of his famous infomercials. He's hit with the trauma of his youth and begins to spiral, until you, his loving partner, show him that it's okay to feel afraid and it's okay to find admittance in his struggles.

Warnings: descriptions of poverty, starvation, body dysmorphia, panic attack, general insecurity, brief mention of addiction (alcohol and gambling), brief mention of abuse.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2000>

Author's note: So many of you loved 'Perfect to Me', which was about a reader who had their own body dysmorphia (you can find it in my Masterlist under ‘Maxwell Lord’, and asked me to write more. I put a little twist on things and wrote this, a one-shot in which Maxwell suffers from body dysmorphia and struggles to leave his past behind him. Reader discretion advised.

Masterlist

When Maxwell Lorenzano was 6 years old, he owned one pair of shorts and two t-shirts. He had no choice but to wear them throughout the coldest winter in history, his knees red raw from the cold, and they lasted him for two years until he quite literally was growing out of them. When he finally parted with them, his mother gifted him with a dark blue knitted sweater, and Maxwell swore it was the best present he'd ever received. He'd finally feel the warmth he craved so desperately. The warmth that other children got from their parents embrace...he was getting from an itchy sweater that smelt like cheap beer and cigarettes. But it was his, and it was all he had.

After Maxwell's father stole all of the money for his gambling and alcohol addiction, he left Mrs Lorenzano with just five pesetas to feed the small family for a week. The brown eyed boy remembered that winter as the worst one yet. The bedwetting had gotten bad again and he had never gone so hungry. He remembered his stomach rumbling in class and his cheeks would flush as the other kids teased and laughed at him for it. He remembered stealing a banana from another kid's packed lunch, getting caught, and told that if he continued to steal, he'd be nothing but a criminal low-life just like his father. But he was just hungry. His shoes had holes in them so his toes poked out. He bathed in a tin bucket once a week right up until he was a teenager.

And thirty years later, Maxwell Lorenzano, or Lord, as he now went by, was staring at himself in the full length bedroom mirror. Everything was perfect. He'd proved everyone back home wrong. He became someone. Someone esteemed, someone important and someone with a heightened self worth. People asked for his autograph in the street and preached to him about their love and admiration for his work. He was a man who could make dreams come true. Everything was perfect… or so it should've been.

It didn't fit. Maxwell picked at the way the pale pink polo shirt clung to his body. He turned to the side and sighed when he saw the way it highlighted his little tummy. He sucked in his breath, trying to flatten it, but it didn't really work. And for a split second he considered how many meals it would take to lose that little bit of weight. This whole outfit had been tailored for him just two weeks ago and it was perfect but now he hated it. He didn't just hate it. He felt disgusting.

It was weird. Sure his insecurity about his body image was rampant as he took in his appearance, but he didn't feel like himself.

Truthfully, when he changed his name from Lorenzano to Lord he had done it to start anew. That name was his father's and he wanted no association with the man who had abused and tormented him and his mother. But when Maxwell Lorenzano became Max Lord, it was like the struggle ended. He'd fought for so long and so hard trying to fit in with the modern-day example of a successful businessman. He was the least American all-American man. He dyed his hair blonde, even seeked a vocal coach to try and rid himself of his accent. And it worked. Everything was being handed to him on a silver plate. He was the coverboy of Forbes, the owner of three country clubs and day spas across America. The Wall Street Journal were constantly on his case, wanting to interview him. He was swimming in cash. He had everything he could ever want. But it wasn't him.

He felt like a fraud. A liar. A con-man. And as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he saw nothing but the broken little boy he was thirty years ago, wearing ill-fitted clothes and a fake smile. It wasn't meant to be like this. He was spiralling.

"Hey honey?" he heard your sweet voice call from the next room, your footsteps approaching down the corridor. His tense composure relaxed ever so slightly when he heard you coming, and he grabbed the white suit jacket from the top of the dresser, quickly pulling it over him. He didn't want you to see him like this. See his tummy and the way the stupid shirt didn't fit him the way it did two weeks ago. You'd seen him naked plenty of times and deep down Maxwell knew that you wouldn't care, but he just felt so vulnerable in his own skin. "The camera crew are waiting downstairs in the lobby and they're getting antsy," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you padded into the bedroom. "The director is insufferable, Max. I keep telling him this is your infomercial, not his, but he just-- hey, Max? Are you listening?" you narrowed your eyes with concern. Maxwell hadn't looked at you once since you walked into the room.

"Hmph? Oh yeah." he murmured, turning back around to see if his tummy poked out even wearing the white jacket over the shirt. It didn't, which was a relief for him, but the padded shoulders of the jacket made him look huge and boxy. And it was just another thing he began to hate about himself.

"Are you okay?" you asked, biting your lip and walking towards him. You wrapped your arms around his waist and placed your hands over his tummy. He winced. "Max?"

"Yeah I'm fine." he said quickly, pulling out of your grip and buttoning up the suit jacket.

As he was about to leave the bedroom to start shooting the latest infomercial for his company, Black Gold Cooperative, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. You popped open to the button of his suit jacket, freeing his tummy, not that you noticed. "You should keep the jacket undone," you hummed. "I like you in pink." You placed the palm of your hand on his chest and subconsciously began to brush him down, straightening his collar so he looked as smart as possible.

"I might get changed. Don't really like this outfit." Max muttered with a frown that made your heart ache.

"Wh-what? You loved it when you tried it on for me at the tailors the other week. And you look so good. Is there something going on?" you asked curiously as Maxwell stepped away from you.

He sighed in defeat (and slight frustration), before ripping the jacket off his body and letting it pool to the ground. "Look." he said, pointing his finger aimlessly at his tummy.

"What?" you asked, genuinely bewildered.

"Look." he repeated again, wiggling his ring clad finger this time.

"Maxie you gotta help me out here," you replied. "What am I looking at?" You noticed Maxwell's lips begin to quiver and tears prick his dark glazed eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat that he didn't realise he had before slapping his hand over his face in shame and breaking down into a heaving, sobbing mess. "Oh Max," you cooed, taking him in your arms and guiding him over to your bed. You sat him down on slid next to him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your chest. "Baby what is it? You can talk to me."

"Nothing fits," he hiccuped, and you felt his tears dampen your own blouse. "I feel disgusting. I feel fake and. Disgusting. It fit two weeks ago- and now-"

"Max," you hushed him, running your fingers through his golden locks of hair. "It fits you perfectly. You look amazing, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your partner, I'm saying it because it really truly does. You look so handsome." you promised him.

"When I look in the mirror all I see is the old me. The me who wet the bed, who starved and stole and who couldn't save my mother from my father's horror and abuse. I moved here to escape it all, but it still haunts me. It follows me and I can't- I just want it to stop." Maxwell confessed, the tears now streaming down his face.

You had dated Max Lord for three years now, and you were both deeply in love with each other, but he had never quite opened up to you about his past trauma. You knew little things here and there but you never expected it to be so bad. Your boyfriend was suffering and you felt so helpless.

"I hate myself." he continued through a choked sob. He began to feel so constricted in his clothes, tugging his pink shirt. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and you saw the panic on his face.

"Hey, breathe with me. Let me help you." you whispered, cupping his face with your hand and wiping away his tears. He found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch and he followed your breathing. Inhale for seven seconds and then exhale. And repeat. It was working. As he followed your breathing, you gently began to undress him and as you discarded the garments of clothing he began to feel better.

Leaving him on the bed, you promised you'd be back in one second, quickly darting into the walk-in closet and bringing out some of his comfiest cashmere pyjamas.

"I- I can't," Maxwell panted. "I have to shoot the- the infomercial."

You shook your head, unfolding the pyjamas. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, okay? This is your infomercial. Not anyone else's."

"I can't let them down." Maxwell insisted, looking back at the clothes that were pooled on the floor. He had to be brave. For once he had to be brave.

"No," you said sternly. Maxwell looked at you with doe eyes. "I want you to change and get into bed. I'll be back in one minute, I'm just going to let the crew and the director know that we'll do this another day."

"Yeah but-" As always, Maxwell Lord was the most stubborn man on the planet. "I can do it. I can- I can-"

"Sweetheart," you whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. "There's no shame in admitting when you can't do something. No shame in struggling. I love you all the same."

"You aren't embarrassed of me?" he sniffed wearily.

"How could I be? I feel like the luckiest person on the planet because I scored with you. You're the most amazing, gentle, compassionate guy I have ever met. Max, I wish the rest of the world got to see you the way I see you. You are perfect." you smiled and Maxwell felt his cheeks flush pink.

"I love you so much." he confessed, and you giggled, leaning in to brush your lips against his.

"I love you too," you smiled warmly, nudging your nose against his. "Get comfortable and I'll dismiss the crew. I'll bring a VHS up and we can watch a movie in bed too. Anything you fancy?"

Maxwell pondered for a second, trying to remember his wide selection of filmography he kept in one of the living room cabinets. He could always go with one of his favourites— a guilty pleasure he liked to indulge in when he craved comfort. "Breakfast at Tiffany's?" he asked with a hopeful glint in his eye.

"Oh yes, we haven't watched that one in a while! I'll make us both some herbal tea too," you exclaimed, handing him a comb so he could brush out all the hair product and reveal his natural waves. "We've been needing a movie day." you commented.

"Let's not do anything," Maxwell grinned. "For once. Let's just relax and cuddle and watch movies."

"I can't think of anything better." you smiled cheerily, pinching his cheek and giving him another kiss.

Permanent taglist: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #ww84 #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years

Text

Music for the Soul

Summary: Soulmate AU where the song your soulmate is thinking of gets stuck in your head.

This fic is inspired by and gifted to @yellowpaintpots.

Notes: canonical, this is S2 E6 and a little beyond but it’s not exactly like the show obviously.

AO3

Kurt Hummel was used to not fitting in. At McKinley High, he was often an odd man out. He did partner projects alone, he held his tongue around bullies and had no one to complain to, and most days, he had an entire lunch table to himself. No one sat with the kid in weird, homemade clothes unless there was no other choice.

What kept him going was music. He had one earbud in as he walked down the halls. Choosing from playlists his mother used to listen to, Broadway soundtracks sung by people still performing on stage today, and to the thrill of his father, rock classics. If Burt Hummel had passed anything onto his son, it was his music tastes and the fantastical idea of soulmates.

The image of a white knight coming to save him by serenade was one that haunted him before he fell asleep. A boy, which little eleven-year-old Kurt held close to his heart, picked out by the universe meant just for him. Even when he started to find the fantasy a little too cheesy, it kept Kurt going until he found the glee club.

No one could touch him or change him because there was someone out there who would love him exactly the way he was.

The New Directions were a hot mess when they started, of course. The 5 of them weren’t winning any competitions when they first found themselves in the choir room but they were five misfits who finally had friends. People who understood the passion of music and an adult who shared that same passion and would hopefully guide them to their dream futures.

Just months later, they became a mixture of a dozen sophomores and freshmen with a Sectionals win under their belt all ready to face the Dalton Academy Warblers in a few weeks. With Regionals looming over them, glee had become much messier than usual. With plenty of in-fighting about solos and song choices, the choir room was always a jumbled, loud mess. That is until Mr. Schue came up with the idea for a school musical. It was taking their minds off of Regionals for the time being.

Kurt was all too happy to be auditioning for a role instead of sitting in the back row wishing he had a shot at a solo. His voice was too unique for Ohio. But someday, he knew, it would get him to Broadway. He held that thought close to his heart while tuning out Rachel’s insistence bickering.

Yesterday, Mr. Schue had decided their school musical was going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Kurt loved cult classics as much as the next person but he wasn’t sure how Mr. Schue had gotten this approved by Figgins. It seemed too risqué for high schoolers.

He only hoped whoever his soulmate was enjoying the soundtrack he had stuck in his head this week.

Kurt planned on auditioning for Riff Raff. Already putting mental outfits from his closet to wear. The wound of Mr. Schue assuming he’d play Frank N. Furter based solely on the fact that he was gay was still fresh but his audition was going to blow everyone away.

He had chosen “Dammit Janet” for his audition despite it being a Brad and Janet duet. Quinn, who was hoping for Magenta, was going to be his partner. They had joked about the main roles already being off the table before auditions; it was clear Mr. Schue had chosen Finn and Rachel for the leads. It was hard to be upset when Quinn had instantly offered to do a joint audition with him. Their voices went so well together and Kurt liked spending time with her.

Ever since Kurt and Mercedes had their stint as Cheerios, they had gotten closer. The three of them even had a weekend sleepover this past Saturday. Mercedes had dumped the Cheerios but Kurt stayed on and Quinn had just gotten back on the squad after her dismissal last year. Coach Sue had them sing during practice last week and Quinn was waiting for him after their showers with the suggestion of a double audition song.

They had been having rehearsals in the auditorium during their shared free period and twice after glee club on days when it wasn’t already reserved. As the day came closer, Quinn offered her house to practice in since her parents were rarely home and so Finn wouldn’t become Rachel's spy. Though, Kurt assured her Finn was much too engrossed in video games to bother with their rehearsals.

Since they increased their run-throughs, Kurt’s had one song in his head all morning. In case the lyrics weren’t already ingrained into his head, he had his own little concert in his head. Just after lunch, that changed. A mere 3 hours until his audition after school his soulmate’s music had taken root. As much as Kurt was willing to bow down to the queens of pop, what he wouldn’t give for 5 minutes of something other than Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream”. This bubble gum pop song had gone from ‘oh, that’s a good song to scream in the car’ to ‘if I hear it one more time, I’ll rip my ears off’ fairly quickly.

It hadn’t helped that his brain went from one song on repeat to another.

As he sits in geometry, he tries to hear Mr. Finnegan’s explanation of arcs but his brain has other plans.

Let you put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans.

Kurt knows it’s just a song but the image is so clear in his head.

Smooth, soft skin. Obviously, someone who used lotions regularly, Kurt expected nothing less from his soulmate. Neatly trimmed fingernails so they wouldn’t catch on Kurt’s pants when fingers trailed up to cup his knee. The grip would be teasingly light. He never let his fantasies get too far. Especially outside the privacy of his bedroom. In all honesty, even when he was alone in his bed at night envisioning the same kind of scenario, Kurt didn’t really know what came next. He wasn’t even sure what kissing really entailed.

What if his soulmate is ready for...certain things...Kurt’s not even to verbalize yet. What if he’s imagining their first meeting very differently then Kurt, who’s hopeful they’ll have coffee or a meal together before they do anything besides maybe hand-holding. The touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets, unless you ask Katy Perry it seems.

He spends the rest of math wondering what the boy with Katy Perry in his head must look like. Kurt wonders if his soulmate wears bright colors like his idol or maybe Katy is a secret shame that he’ll only share with Kurt.

…

Blaine liked fitting in. He enjoyed the uniform for many reasons. One, he thought the blazer looked stylish. It was also nice knowing what you had to wear every day, one less thing to worry about people judging you for. Plenty of people at his old school picked on him for his bow ties but at Dalton, everyone had neckwear. The standard blue and red striped tie. He liked how neat it was; there was a certain way to wear said uniform.

Everyone was the same here. No typical hierarchy of jocks and cheerleaders. Only the Warblers stood out simply because everyone knew them.

How could you forget a group of boys singing acapella at all hours of the day?

Blaine might joke that they’re teenage rockstars but really they are just a group of talented guys who liked to sing.

The Warblers were the first real friends he ever had.

When he was still attending public school he held tightly to the idea of his soulmate since it seemed hopeless to wish for friendship. Not when he was being harassed for a sexuality he wasn’t sure of yet and being pushed to the ground in the parking lot for it.

But a soulmate was a guarantee. Everyone had one. By the time Blaine reached eighth grade, he knew. All of those middle school bullies had used words Blaine didn’t quite understand until that moment.

He was surrounded in the parking lot after school having missed his bus because someone had stuck gum in his curls during last period. That was the day Blaine started to seriously consider investing in some gel. Maybe that would prevent some bullying. Anyway, he was surrounded, being literally kicked around by a group of soccer players and friends.

Other students had gathered to watch the so-called fight but Blaine thought their chants would only grab the attention of a teacher or so he hoped. No one came quickly. He had enough injuries by the end for his mom to insist on a trip to the ER. A big black eye and sprained his wrist along with plenty of bruising on his limbs.

But he honestly didn’t remember getting hurt beyond the initial pushing to the ground. When the bullying got bad like this he pulled out those daydreams. This time around it wasn’t this blurry image of hand holding, there was a boy. Blaine hadn’t seen his face but his voice was soft and comforting, inviting Blaine in. There was an outstretched hand just out of reach for Blaine to take. Blaine knew then. His soulmate was a boy.

When everything was over and he was being released by the doctor, all he knew was there was some boy built perfectly for Blaine just waiting to be found. Waiting for him.

He hadn’t even been upset by his injuries because he was sitting with these thoughts of ‘how do I come out to my parents?’

Instead of deciding that day, he kept those daydreams close to his heart for the next year and a half. Until the issue of high school came out and Blaine didn’t want to go back to public school. To his surprise, both of his parents took it well. They were more concerned for his safety than his sexuality. Together, they decided on Dalton. A private school with a zero tolerance policy for bullies. That was that.

He still had his doubts at Dalton. Was he really good enough to be a lead soloist let alone go onto Broadway someday? Could he make it out of Ohio? In those moments, Blaine still came back to his soulmate. Someone, no matter what came, Blaine would have by his side.

When he imagined his soulmate, Blaine could never truly figure out what he’d look like. All he saw was that outstretched hand. Usually, people could draw up a picture in their heads based on the music they heard.

For Blaine, the genre of music didn’t help. His soulmate was clearly someone with mixed taste.

Today’s selection was...a musical. Blaine wasn’t familiar with the characters Brad and Janet but he had looked it up at lunch. Some kind of cult classic people went to see in the weeks leading up to Halloween. It was October so it made sense for the soundtrack to be stuck in his soulmate’s head. Blaine wondered if he had gone to see it, wondered who he saw it with.

The Warblers thought he was crazy. Imagining that his soulmate was off with some other person. It was rare to date seriously before meeting a soulmate but Blaine always told them the same story of his parents. Both of them had been in very serious relationships before they met. Hell, his mother had been engaged. Neither of them thought they’d meet their soulmate, which was also fairly rare but had happened.

When they met, they didn’t drop everything to be together. The wedding was put on hold but his father hadn’t broken up with his girlfriend right away. His parents wanted to be together only if they agreed with the universe’s choice.

Blaine knew his dad had been wary of his mother’s music taste. Pam had been deep into her metal phrase in her early twenties. His dad, Robert, was not a fan. He loved classical music. Forever dooming Pam to hum music without lyrics meanwhile Robert was cursed with “nonsense yelling” as he called it. Lucky, both of their music tastes had shifted over the years to have more overlap. Though, Blaine and Cooper had been subjected to dinners with a mixtape of Def Leppard and Bach.

They got together in the end, which was the important part, but what if they hadn’t chosen each other? What if Blaine’s soulmate was deeply in love with someone else and he’d spend the rest of his days loveless and alone?

When he voiced these thoughts aloud, his friends usually told him what a downer he could be, which tended to shake those fears away. If his parents, different as they were, still fell in love it would happen to him too. It was just a matter of when.

…

The next day at lunch, Mercedes was fretting over her soulmate.

“What if he’s super young, Kurt?”

“What makes you think that?” He asked, stabbing his salad.

“He’s got The Backyardigans theme song in his head again,” she sighed. “He got to be like 7. I’m just not comfortable with that.”

“It’s an age gap for sure,” Kurt agreed, but he’s fairly sure Sam Evans was singing that song after PE today, “or maybe he just has younger siblings. Don’t let your only-childness cloud your judgment.”

She hummed in agreement and pushed her tater tots around.

It was sort of a hard way to figure out your soulmate unless they were obvious about what music they had playing in their heads.

Some people, like Mr. Schue, we’re pretty obvious. He had been singing in the auditorium when Ms. Pillsbury found him. It was a pretty clear-cut match. As far as Mercedes was concerned, Kurt is sure she’ll overhear Sam’s humming soon enough.

He doesn’t want to spoil anything for his best friend nor does he want to be wrong. Soulmate meetings only come once in a lifetime.

Well, the first soulmate meeting that is.

There are plenty of people, like his dad, who lose a soulmate too soon and are gifted another one later in life. Kurt was so happy when he introduced Burt and Carole at parent-teacher conferences. They had just been listening to the Wicked soundtrack in the car ride over and Carole Hudson did not strike Kurt as the type of person who knew “I’m Not That Girl” by heart.

“Are you nervous about auditions?” Mercedes asked. “The list goes up today after glee.”

“Not at all like,” he shrugged, “I think Quinn and I did well.”

“Oh no, Kurt, we crushed it,” Quinn said, sitting down with her lunch.

He smiled at her. Quinn went on to compliment Mercedes on her audition, having heard part of it from outside the audition. She would’ve been inside with Kurt to watch but Coach Sue wanted to meet with her head Cheerio about their upcoming competition. From what Quinn had told them via text, Sue was going all out at practice today.

“She doesn’t want us to be late,” Quinn said. “That list better be up right away.”

“We should change before glee,” Kurt suggested.

“Good idea.”

Once Quinn had sat down the rest of the New Directions filed in. With interlocking pinkies, Santana and Brittany wandered over taking the last two seats available.

“Cheerios practice is gonna be hell, hope you’re up for the challenge Hummel,” Santana said.

He shot her a short glare.

“Kurt always understands the assignment, Santana,” Quinn quipped back.

Brittany nodded in agreement smiling at Kurt from across the table. She gave him a small wave half hidden by her lunch tray. In return, Kurt waved back just as shyly.

They had an interesting friendship. Kurt had kissed Brittany before. He was sure it hadn’t phrased Brittany as it had him. After all, she had kissed almost every boy in school. Some kind of record, he thought.

They sort of dated for like a week when Kurt was trying to convince himself he was straight. When he firmly realized he was kidding no one, not even himself, they broke up. Since then, he and Brittany had remained close. They were both Cheerios and in the glee club, it made sense.

He was happy to have Brittany in his life, even if that meant Santana by extension came with her. Santana was fine outside of the public eye. If the Unholy Trinity incited Kurt to their sleepovers, Santana was a different person. She put up a front at McKinley, extremely similar to the one Kurt attempted when he dated Brittany.

Few are privy to why she did this, Quinn and Kurt knew and he was fairly certain Mercedes did as well. She was very perceptive that way. Brittany was Santana’s soulmate. It explained so much about their relationship. Always in sync, completing each other perfectly, a literal better half.

Honestly, it gave Kurt so much hope that everyone’s soulmate was like that. A missing puzzle piece.

He really hoped his soulmate listened to more than just Teenage Dream because the lyrics were slowly creeping into his everyday language.

Usually, Kurt found himself hyper-focused in glee club. He got an energy boost just from walking into the choir room. Like a light switch turning on. His focus wasn’t always on whatever lecture Mr. Schue was pursuing, sometimes he watched his fellow glee clubbers (catching himself up on drama just by sideways glances), or mentally mapping out his next performance.

Today, Kurt wasn’t able to do any of those things. With the soundtrack of Teenage Dream (again) in his head, all he was thinking about was the center of a bulletin board with the cast list for The Rocky Horror Show on it. How far down the list was Riff Raff? How many names came before his?

Someone was snapping in front of his face. Kurt shook himself from his daydream to find Mercedes.

“Boy, wake up!” She said, “cast list is about to go up.”

Either glee club had gotten shorter or Mr. Schue was putting it up early.

…

Blaine didn’t really understand why the Warblers were concerned. Doing an improv performance was not new to them. In fact, Blaine had done three already this school year and he was only a freshman.

The first one he did had been way back in September, he hadn’t even been an official Warbler yet. Warbler Tradition said: all potential freshman recruits were required to perform again after their auditions with the whole group. It was a solid way to see if they fit in well with the other established Warblers. Blaine fondly remembers vibing along with the older Warblers and fellow potentials to a medley of Pink songs. None of the freshmen had solos but it was still a fun time.

At the time it seemed like all of Dalton fit into the choir room and surrounding hallways but in reality it was the entire freshman class. Improv performances weren’t something any middle schooler had seen before but the upperclassmen of Dalton knew the Warblers had plenty of improvs to come for the rest of the school year. The first one was special. Just for the newbies.

Three days after that performance, Blaine had gotten word that he was to be a new Warbler and two months after that he was granted his first solo. Now, he was slowly becoming their go-to soloist for almost every performance for an audience. Blaine had become a vital part of all rehearsals for the most part. He was honored by their commitment to him honestly and he loved to sing however, a week and half of preparations was a tad excessive. Still, he walked his way to rehearsal positive that the council would have at least five points to discuss before they actually started singing.

He walked into the choir room shaking his shake fondly and smiling at the Warblers already present.

The council were always first to arrive. Together. Then it was a mixed bag of who followed. Usually Trent was there, punctual as always, and Blaine took the seat between Trent and Jeff.

The room was mostly full already.

Nick came in shortly after Blaine and sat across from him immediately asking if there had been a pop quiz in Stanton’s class earlier and was rather relieved to find out Jeremy was a filthy liar, who liked to start trouble. Before Jeremy could get on Blaine’s case about being overly sincere, the meeting began.

Wes banged his gavel and welcomed everyone before gesturing for David to read off last meeting’s notes. Once the talking portion of the meeting was over, they pushed the furniture aside to make room.

...

A week later Kurt was happy to have one musical under his belt but thankful the performance run had been short. If you thought the New Directions were dramatic during competition weeks, it was nothing compared to their musical rehearsals.

Now, Mr. Schue was having the brilliant idea to host a boys vs girls competition. Of course, Kurt hadn’t wanted to work with the boys. They were sure to exclude his musical talents and he doubted he could get them to agree to any of his costume suggestions.

This was hardly a challenge. It was bland and they had done it already.

Kurt was sitting in the back of the choir room pouting. Yes, pouting. Full on arms crossed, head down, and bottom lip puffed out. Until, Mr. Schue had an actual brilliant idea, Kurt’s suggestion of course, to spice things up.

The boys did not appreciate Kurt’s six hours of work putting two posters together. Even with the assignment to bring more feminine qualities into their performance, the boys ignored his input. So, when Puckerman suggested Kurt spy on the Warblers, he was thankful for a reason to leave. He packed up his projects and headed home to change.

When Mr. Schue found out who their competition was, Rachel and Kurt did some googling. He had seen the all-boys school uniform and was fairly sure he could replicate it with clothes he already had.

He pulled some looks from his closet. Once satisfied he looked up directions to Westerville.

Dalton was huge. It looked like a museum. How on earth was Kurt going to find their choir room? He hoped there were signs inside or a map.

As he walked down a spiral staircase much too pretty to be in a school, he decided to just ask for directions. He was going to get lost if he kept walking without help.

When the boy he stopped turned around, all Kurt could think was ‘I’d love to put my hands all over you.’ Which was a ridiculous thought to have because he didn’t know this boy and where had that even come from? Oh right, Teenage Dream was still playing in his head. Thanks, Katy.

If only his soulmate knew he was using this song to fantasize about running off into the sunset with another boy.

…

Blaine loved being in the spotlight. Wes would say it was because he didn’t get that kind of attention from his parents but that simply wasn’t true. Well, unless Cooper was around; he always pulled focus when it came to their parents. Older sibling privilege, he assumed.

But he was running late. He stayed behind in class to ask a question which turned into his teacher rambling. Didn’t he know the Warblers had a performance today in the senior commons and Blaine was their lead singer?

He was checking the time when someone stopped him on the stairs.

A beautiful boy. Unlike anyone Blaine had ever seen before. He almost missed his name because he was caught up in memorizing his face.

There was something said about being new, which Blaine doubted since he wasn’t in uniform, and Blaine mentioned a shortcut he knew of.

It wasn’t really a shortcut. More like the long way to the Senior Commons but less crowded. Everyone was making their way to the Warblers and Blaine wanted as much time alone with Kurt as he could get.

He wanted Kurt’s full attention. It was no wonder he instantly wanted to show off. Teenage Dream fit his vocals perfectly and Kurt was an excellent audience. In fact, Blaine was set on serenading him.

He had no way of knowing that exact song had been playing all day long in Kurt Hummel’s mind.

Afterward, Blaine lost himself in a group hug from the Warblers but Kurt’s beaming smile caught his eye. He pulled Wes and David aside, confirming his own suspicions that Kurt was spying on them first before convincing them to invite Kurt for coffee.

The four boys sat at a table. Kurt seemed very nervous now. Blaine wasn’t sure if it was because he had been caught or something else was going on. In the end, Blaine thought it best for just him and Kurt to have a conversation. Not at all because he wanted alone time with him.

This clearly wasn’t the time or place for romance.

Once they were alone the whole tale seemed to flow out of Kurt: the name calling, locker shoving, his biggest bully. Blaine could relate.

Sometimes he felt phantom pains in his right leg from Sadie Hawkins. At first, Kurt scoffed when Blaine began sympathizing. If he were Kurt, he might not believe himself.

Private schoolboy bullied? Blaine sure didn’t look like someone who lacked friends. It was fairly common knowledge that Dalton had a zero tolerance policy for harassment. So, he explained. As brief as he could about his own experience with public school bullies.

Kurt and he seemed to have more in common than a love for music.

He doesn't have any plans to see Kurt again though Blaine has plenty of ideas on how they could get together. Coffee at the Lima Bean. Old musicals were playing at the revival theater. Maybe another high school was putting on a play this weekend. All Blaine needed was a good enough message to ask Kurt out. He drafted plenty but none sent.

After school, Blaine knew Kurt might need an extra push. He was pretty sure classes at McKinley were done for the day.

He sent a single word. Less second-guessing that way.

Courage.

Then, he walked to the library to start writing an essay on Lord of the Flies for English.

However, he found himself unable to concentrate. Usually after a performance, Blaine had the song stuck in his head for at least a day or two afterward. In addition to humming in the weeks of rehearsals, of course. Instead, Blaine found himself thinking about Start Me Up by the Rolling Stones and oddly Livin’ On a Prayer. Both songs he thought better suited his father or Cooper’s tastes. It was a mashup of the two songs like his soulmate was hearing them simultaneously.

When he started thinking about his soulmate, there was a clear picture of someone. It didn’t take long for Blaine to bring up those blue eyes and the soft complexion of Kurt Hummel. Which was crazy thinking. He had no idea if Kurt was his soulmate.

Soulmates tended to be around the same age but just because Kurt was also in high school meant nothing. By that logic anyone at Dalton could be his soulmate too.

During his brief time with Kurt this week, Blaine heard no music from his mouth. In fact, Blaine had done all the singing. Even with half his brain saying he was nuts to think Kurt was his forever, Blaine couldn’t let the thought go.

…

Blaine’s text comes in in the midst of the girls’ performance. A wonderful mashup and excellent costumes. Tina had texted Kurt about the leather jacket idea early this week. He was very proud of how they managed to pull the looks together in such a short time. It was impressive.

Altogether, Kurt was feeling great. The boys had their rehearsal, apparently their performance was turning into an apology. Kurt wasn’t sure what they had done to Coach Beiste but apparently, she was quitting. He and Blaine were texting periodically now. No one knew it but Kurt was surely developing a huge crush on the Warbler boy.

Then, he confronted Karofsky. He didn’t want to feel the same regret Blaine did—no one messes with the Hummels.

It seemed like mere hours but in reality, it was days, Kurt was enrolled at Dalton and saying goodbye to the New Directions.

He was full on having a Vanessa leaving Troy moment here. Kurt Hummel has got to go his own way.

God was he nervous to start at a new school. In the middle of the school year too. Being the new kid was going to be hard but not as difficult as staying at McKinley would be.

When Kurt was greeted by Blaine’s smile outside the office on his first day, it made Kurt relax. At least he already had a friend here.

It isn’t until they’re walking down the hall together—Blaine insisted on escorting Kurt to his first class—that Kurt noticed Blaine was humming.

“Is that High School Musical?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, um, technically it’s the sequel.”

“What about us…” Blaine sang, “what about everything we’ve been through?”

“What about trust…you know I’ve never wanted to hurt you?”

Blaine chucked. “Cheesy but true. Such a good movie.”

“We should watch it sometime,” Kurt suggested.

Instantly, he wanted to take it back. He’s been told he can come on too strong. Especially around cute boys.

“I’d love too!” Blaine said. “I have it on DVD.”

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine again until their one shared class of the day right before lunch. He sits across the room from Blaine during history but next to him at the Warbler’s lunch table.

Most of the group has the same lunch so Kurt is introduced to them before his audition later this afternoon.

“Nervous?” Wes asked, “you shouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, from what Blaine's told us you're a great singer,” Trent added.

“He’s barely heard me sing,” Kurt replied, poking Blaine’s arm.

He only sang one line of a song to the other boy today.

“Well…” Blaine rubs his neck abashedly. “I might’ve watched some New Directions videos on YouTube.”

“Oh, I forgot Rachel uploaded those.” Kurt tunes to the other Warblers then, “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

After lunch, Blaine walks Kurt to class again. “Between you and me, you’re a shoo-in.”

“Really?” The Warblers were such an esteemed group. Not at all like the disorganized New Directions. They had also been a glee club for far longer.

“Really.”

***

Blaine has had High School Musical songs in his head all day. Whoever his soulmate is, at least he’s got good taste in Disney Channel original movies. Then as the Warblers were preparing for Kurt’s audition, the song switched. An Evita song.

His soulmate sure did love musicals. Blaine was rather happy about that. He could already picture them sitting on the couch cuddled under a fluffy blanket with any number of classic musicals laid out before them. Arguing over if it was too soon to rewatch Moulin Rouge and whose turn it was to make popcorn.

They’d be in a big city apartment. Somewhere where no one cared if they were gay. All anyone wanted to know was how they discovered they were soulmates. Their origin story.

From that point, the daydream grew fuzzy. Blaine couldn’t come up with that meet-cute story. It hadn’t happened yet and nothing his brain could come up with would ever match up with his future reality.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the choir room.

The room was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t every day the Warblers auditioned someone mid-semester. Of course, Kurt had special circumstances but the group was notorious for never breaking tradition.

Blaine tried to focus but it was difficult without Kurt at his side. Lately, he had been distracted whenever Kurt wasn’t around. All Blaine could hear, despite the loud room, was the song in his head.

I had to let it happen

I had to change

Then, Kurt walked in and music started to play. For a split second, Blaine thought he was imagining the words from “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” coming from Kurt’s lips. Surely he hadn’t chosen the same song as Blaine’s soulmate had in their head. He knew it couldn’t be his imagination when Trent leaned over and whispered to Blaine how much he loved this song.

Like lightning striking a tree, Blaine had a realization. Kurt Hummel was his soulmate.

Oh god, what was he going to do?

His skin was burning as if it was burned away like bark. He drooped in his seat desperate for water to put himself out with. To put a stop to the tingling sensation bubbling up under his skin.

All he wanted to do was reach out and touch Kurt. Some part of his brain was able to override that thought. He couldn’t ruin this audition for him. There was plenty of time to spend with Kurt after this, Blaine had all the time in the world to talk with his soulmate.

Soulmate.

Never did he think he would find his soulmate this soon. Gosh, they were only teenagers. They had so much life to live together. This was rare, special, to find your soulmate so quickly in life. Blaine would cherish it, he’d be thankful for this gift for rest of his days.

But how in the hell was he going to tell Kurt? It had to be romantic. Blaine always thought it would be when he finally came face to face with his soulmate, his one true love. There was so much work to be done and so little time to do it. Now that Blaine knew, he didn’t want to spend another day without Kurt knowing too.

He used to dream about running dramatically in slow motion towards each other and embracing just as it started to rain, which of course led to a fabulous first kiss in the sudden storm. But Blaine knew how unlikely that would be.

He’d just have to build a new fantasy, which he thought would be easy to do if Kurt was his so-called Prince Charming. Whatever happened was going to outweigh everything his imagination had come up with thus far.

First and foremost, he’d had to sit through a discussion of this audition, which he was barely able to pay attention to. All he wanted to do was walk up to Kurt, cup his face, and kiss him. After Kurt was finished, the council dismissed him. Blaine knew he’d find Kurt just outside the choir room because they had plans afterward but now he had no idea how he was going to sit through coffee with Kurt and not tell him.

“He’s very good,” Trent said, nudging Blaine.

He nodded in agreement. It seems most of the group concurred, Kurt was a good fit for them.

Kurt Hummel was the perfect fit for Blaine too. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

***

Kurt didn’t consider himself to be a good reader of social cues especially when his own emotions were involved. See, Finn Hudson and Sam Evans. Crushes on straight boys never ended well. With Blaine, he swore things would be different.

They were friends, classmates, and hopefully, soon they’d be fellow Warblers. Kurt was not going to mess this up. Even if Blaine was really cute and friendly and super kind and understanding. There was so much to love about Blaine, Kurt found it hard to find something he didn’t like.

He had found focusing on his dislikes of a person kept his feelings at bay. Like how messy Finn could be really shut down any romance fantasy Kurt had drawn up. Except, Blaine didn’t dye his hair like Sam, he was completely organized (Kurt had seen his dorm room; spotless), he was modest and genuine.

It made sense that everyone at Dalton wanted some of his attention. Blaine embodied Kurt’s idea of a gentleman and then some.

After his audition, Kurt sat outside the choir room waiting for his results. The council would discuss with the full group, release them, and regroup tomorrow with a vote. Kurt was waiting for Blaine to be dismissed because Blaine had promised to buy him a cup of coffee.

Some of the Warblers who were leaving had some pretty nice things to say about Kurt’s performance. Just general praise which soothes some of his initial nerves. Mostly, he just wanted Blaine to walk out with a big smile on his face. That boy couldn’t keep a secret. Kurt would know if he was in or not just by looking at his face.

Kurt was joined on his bench by a boy who introduced himself as Duncan.

“I was super nervous after my audition. I just got in at the beginning of this year so I know what you’re going through.”

Kurt felt his shoulders drop in relief. As much as Blaine tried to assure him the audition would be perfect, Kurt felt like he couldn’t relate much as the star of the glee club. Back at McKinley, Kurt rarely had center stage. Here, Blaine always had everyone’s attention.

“That’s actually great to hear,” Kurt said, with a slight chuckle.

“Seriously, Kurt, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m a little concerned they’ll kick me out just to have your voice,” Duncan teased.

They keep talking about what it’s like to be a new Warbler since Duncan is positive Kurt will be getting good news shortly. He offers up some pointers to get on the council’s good side.

“I loved your song choice by the way, so weird because Evita had been in my head all day.”

It feels like someone’s dropped an ice cube down his back. He sits up quickly.

Oh, Kurt thought, is this it?

“You did?” He must’ve heard wrong. There’s just no way.

“Yeah, I love that musical,” Duncan confirmed.

Could it be this easy? He wondered.

“We should hang out again soon,” Duncan told him, “I’d love to get to know you. Newbie Warblers gotta stick together.”

Kurt gives Duncan his number before the other boy wanders off. Before Kurt can get too deep into any fantasies of his soulmate, wondering if that soulmate has just left him or not, Blaine comes out from the choir room.

“Hey you,” Blaine greeted with a big smile.

“Are you allowed to give me any inclination?”

He shook his head but was still smiling wide which made Kurt feel like good news was in his near future like Duncan had said. Kurt was telling Blaine how long he had practiced the song over the weekend with Rachel and Duncan reassurances when Blaine blurted, “Duncan Samuels?”

“Yeah, we just met.”

Should he tell Blaine about them being soulmates or wait until he was sure?

But Blaine just nodded. Something was clearly bothering his friend. For now, Kurt was going to let it go because he was sure Blaine would come to him if he wanted to talk. He didn’t want to force it out of Blaine.

Kurt couldn’t even get Finn to talk to him during their warm milk chats at night. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull the information out of Blaine if he tried.

“Anyway,” Kurt said, continuing his previous line of thought, “Rachel has this whole stage setup in her dads’ basement.”

“I don’t find that hard to believe based on everything you’ve told me about her.”

After that comment, their coffee date is back on track, Kurt doesn’t bring up his potential soulmate meeting.

***

Duncan Samuels was his lifelong nemesis. As far as Blaine was considered his life began when he figured out Kurt was his soulmate and if Duncan was going to interfere with that they were now enemies. Since their coffee date yesterday, Blaine hasn’t heard a word about Duncan but he also had yet to see Kurt today. They only had one class together after lunch, which Blaine was on his way to now.

Kurt saved him a seat and delivered the news.

“Duncan and I are going for coffee today.”

Those words were devastating.

In normal circumstances, Blaine would’ve asked Kurt why he wasn’t going to rehearsal but of course Kurt wasn’t a Warbler…yet. Blaine knew the Warblers were going to announce Kurt’s membership at the end of day, which meant this was the last rehearsal Kurt wouldn’t attend.

So instead of a calmly said, normal statement, Blaine spent the next minute freaking out.

Duncan was the worst! He was going to steal Kurt away from him before Blaine ever got the chance. Well okay, the rational side of him thought, Kurt isn’t being stolen he’s going willingly.

“That’s nice,” he finally said.

There was no way for Blaine to stop Kurt and honestly no reason to try since Duncan posed no threat to Kurt. He didn’t need a protector. Blaine knew they were soulmates and he’d find a way to tell Kurt later on. At the end of it all, Kurt was his soulmate. He just knew it.

“Are you free when I get out of rehearsal?”

“For you?” Kurt asked, “of course, I’ll probably still be in the cafe.”

“I’ll come find you,” Blaine told him.

Still, all throughout Warbler rehearsal, Blaine’s attention was elsewhere. He needed to get out of here and meet up with Kurt. Wes knew it too because he pulled him aside at one point while David ushered the guys into a new arrangement.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, “I need you focused for competition.”

“I will be,” he vowed.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Blaine looked back at the other boys but they were already harmonizing.

“It’s Kurt.”

Wes smiled. “Don’t worry about him. He’s in, I can’t believe we have a countertenor on our team now. We’re going to wipe the floor at regionals.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wesley. McKinley already knows what a talent Kurt is, he won’t be a surprise to them,” Blaine reminded him.

“Ah, but they didn’t utilize his talent,” Wes said, “it’ll shock them to see Kurt in the spotlight.”

Wes patted Blaine’s back and guided him back to the group to finish up rehearsal.

Blaine couldn’t help but check his phone again before he tuned back into rehearsal. He knew Kurt was getting coffee and that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone.

One of the best things about Kurt was when you were with him everything else was put aside. Blaine was sure if things got really serious, Kurt would shut his phone off entirely to prove a point. Right now, it was annoying as hell. Blaine needed to see a reassuring text that Kurt wasn’t running off into the sunset with Duncan Samuels.

What if his phone was turned off because the two of them were standing at the altar? Everyone turns their phones off in church.

He really really needed to talk to him. Blaine didn’t want to be the type of soulmate that holds onto that information too long. It’s like he’s lying to himself not being with Kurt.

Once rehearsal was finally over, Blaine rushed over to the on-campus cafe where he knew Kurt would be. He had to be there.

When Blaine pushed his way through the door, he saw Kurt was sitting alone nursing what looked to be a cup of tea. When Blaine approached him he could tell it was Chamomile.

“Can I sit?”

Kurt nodded but didn’t say a word as Blaine hung his bag across the back of the chair and removed his blazer.

He expected a question about the Warblers, perhaps an inquiry about his status to become one but nothing came. Kurt wasn’t even drinking his tea.

“What’s wrong? Did Duncan say something to upset you?”

“I’m fine, Blaine,” Kurt said, “Duncan didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me as usual.”

Blaine didn’t understand.

“Am I that unlovable?”

“What?”

Kurt was the most kind, sincere person he knew and Blaine had only met him a few weeks ago. He was most certainly lovable considering Blaine fell for him in just under 3 weeks

“I can’t really blame him,” Kurt continued, “it’s not his fault we aren’t soulmates.”

“You thought he was your soulmate?”

Maybe telling Kurt wouldn’t be too difficult after all.

“It’s just he made this comment yesterday that made me think…but of course I got too ahead of myself again and really I should know by now,” Kurt mumbled the last bit, “nothing ever goes to plan.”

“You can say that again.”

This cafe wasn’t a romantic candlelit dinner. He didn’t have rose petals to scatter around. There was no champagne to toast. But he had the most important thing.

Blaine reached across the table to grab Kurt’s hand. “Think of a song.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Blaine said.

Kurt’s face was scrunched up in a “I’m confused but I’ll trust you” kind of way.

As soon as the song hit him, Blaine opened his mouth to sing, “this could be the start of something new…it feels so right to be here with you.”

“How did you—?”

Blaine smiled at him. “Pick another song.”

“Your cares and troubles are gone. They'll be no more from now on.”

His mouth opens slightly.

“Your turn,” Blaine said, “ I want you to sing what comes to mind.”

Wasn’t the best way to prove they were soulmates to test each other?

Blaine wanted Kurt to have his own moment of realization even if he engineered it. He didn’t want their “how-did-you-know” story to be him informing Kurt about their connection. Instead, he wanted to tell people about listening to Kurt’s Warbler audition and thinking how odd it was to know the song he was going to sing before it began. Kurt’s story would start with a laugh because he imagined someone other than Blaine as his soulmate the very same day.

And wasn’t that just so silly of him?

Rather than have Kurt just sing to him, Blaine harmonized with him. This was the proof. He’d sing everything Kurt could come up with and vice versa.

“But baby, can't you see there's nothing else for me to do? I'm hopelessly devoted to you.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said. “We’re….”

He nodded.

Before Blaine even realized it, Kurt was out of his seat leaning towards him, they’re kissing. Kurt’s fingers are curved around his chin and his other hand is tickling the curls at the back of his neck. The tiny wisps of hair that always escape the gel by the late afternoon.

Blaine would happily keep his curls loose if it meant Kurt would keep his hands in his hair always. Especially, if it meant they’d never stop kissing.

Eventually, Kurt has to pull away. They’re still close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“Soulmates,” Blaine whispered.

It had been quiet while they kissed like everything else in the world just stopped. All the sounds of Dalton came rushing back all at once. The students in the halls, coffee orders being called out, and the shuffling of chairs as people came and went.

“When did you know?” Kurt asked, sitting down again.

Blaine pulled his seat around so they were closer and Kurt immediately reached for his hand.

***

3 months later.

Blaine hadn’t been upset to lose to McKinley at Regionals. How could he have been when he got to sing with his soulmate in front of a crowd? Their duet was so in sync and the crowd could tell. He doesn’t think he ever received such a loud applause.

Blaine had wanted to just be in that moment forever—staring into Kurt’s eyes hearing the words in his head just before they were said aloud, gripping his hand before pushing him into the spotlight to soak up the audience’s love.

No, Blaine was happy about Regionals. The Warblers had worked hard on the set; their second place trophy sat on the right corner of the council’s table at meetings now. What Blaine was concerned about was Kurt’s leaving.

His dorm room was empty now, the last suitcase zipped up. Blaine was sitting on his boyfriend’s mattress taking in the last moment that Kurt was a Dalton student.

“I’ll miss you too, you know, a lot,” Kurt said from the doorway.

“I know,” Blaine replied, “it’s just sad.”

Kurt took a seat next to him on the bed.

“I’ll sing to you.”

Blaine smiled. “Promise?”

“Everyday.” Kurt kissed his cheek.

They were going to be okay.

#klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #soulmate au #klaine #my fics

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zeldasayer · 4 years

Text

I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser

Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.

It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.

Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.

Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.

PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.

GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?

PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.

GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?

PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.

GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?

PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.

GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?

PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.

GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?

PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

GQ: How were you received in California?

PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.

GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?

PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.

GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.

GQ: Was that your first performance?

PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?

PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.

GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.

PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.

GQ: Do you miss traveling?

PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.

GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?

PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.

GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?

PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.

GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?

PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.

GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?

PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.

GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?

PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.

GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?

PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.

GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?

PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.

GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?

PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.

GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?

PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.

GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?

PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.

#pedro pascal #THANK YOU MY LOVE!#submission

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dropsofletters · 3 years

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how to lose someone in seven steps? | xiaojun

— summary: fencing his way through life, dejun knows too much about the sport but not enough about love. his sweet tongue conquers the romanticism of this century and puts it to shame—in love with everyone and everything. though, maybe that’s one thing to take to her advantage when trying to break his heart. making him fall for her shouldn’t be that difficult.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: xiao dejun x reader — genre: fencer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: angst ; fluff ; romance ; humor ; drama — word count: 10,584 — playlist: just friends – keshi ; i’m low on gas and you need a jacket – pierce the veil ; that xx – g dragon ; wi ing wi ing – hyuk oh ; lightweight – demi lovato ; better man – 5 seconds of summer ; love u – monsta x ; lucky strike – troye sivan — note: you should read the prologue before reading this route.

One day with a headache is usual; it comes with the stress of the heat of summer, the rambling of people around oneself, and with the overall activities of a busy schedule. The second day, she really starts pondering if the medicine she is taking for her headache is even doing any good—she reads the contents of the box filled with medicine, thinking of the doses, pondering on why it has worked on other occasions but it just doesn’t work now.

The third day she wakes up with a headache, she truly thinks she’s going to snap at the world. How dare they wake her up to the thumping inside her head? Words mingling together in thoughts that she can’t even comprehend.

But the reason of her headache goes past her room—it’s not the bright colors of her rented apartment that take her off guard, neither is it the scent of vanilla that she sprays on her bathroom every night and somehow makes its way into the bedroom, it’s because someone is calling her incessantly before the alarm even goes off. The perks of being an unemployed singer, however, fall on the fact that she doesn’t really have a schedule to start with.

Pushing her tiger blanket off her body, her fingertips reach for her phone. Out of the many contacts, this one surprises her the most—Shishi is the type of woman to write a text with shortened greetings, a simplistic reply and then, she’s off to her own world of anime shows and cosplaying. Much to her delight (or to her lack of understanding, thereof), Shishi is calling at six in the motherfucking morning.

If it’s Shishi, it must be an emergency.

She flops back onto her bed, pulling the covers up her face when she replies, phone to ear, “Good morning, Shishi, what are you doing up?”

“I haven’t slept.” Shishi is quick to reply, her soft voice coming in short spurts, and by the sip she hears soon after, Shishi’s companion for this morning is coffee. “I, uh, I was playing videogames, you know, and I was just thinking about what you said about breaking my ex’s heart four days ago.”

Oh, maybe that’s why she has had a headache the past three days. Alcohol had been her form of speech at that moment, when her hand grabbed Shishi’s phone with a picture of her and her ex-boyfriend, something Xiao…all she can remember now is that he is the supposed ‘Fencer Asshole’.

“Ah, Shishi…I think it was just a joke.” The feeling of her covers softening the stress on her cheeks has her closing her eyes. Just a few more hours of sleep before she has to worry about the world outside her cheap apartment. “I was drunk, Shishi. I…I don’t want to date any of my friends’ exes, no matter how attractive they are or how much they hurt them—”

Shishi lets out a groan that comes from the depths of her frustration. “But—you don’t get it. You’ve never been heartbroken. It’s…it’s the worst thing in the world.”

Opening her eyes, she stares at the harsh yellow walls of her bedroom. “Reason as to why you shouldn’t want to cause that upon someone else. It doesn’t make you a better person—”

For a moment, silence fills the air, and she thinks the call must’ve come to an end, just when she is about to slip her phone off her ear to cut the call, Shishi speaks again. “He played games with me,” She says, voice softer than what she gets to hear when she’s playing videogames. Shishi somehow lives believing that the stories she sees in manga and anime will become her reality. They never do. “Spent three months of my life last year kissing me, making me feel unique, having me going to every single one of his events only to say we were just friends after. I can’t deal with that.”

“And I’m so sorry, Shishi, but that just happens—”

“Please, you promised!” For a second, she thinks back to the time Shishi was truly heartbroken by Xiao Dejun. Locked in her room without being able to get out, weeping so silently that no one noticed—no one but her group of friends, arriving with her favorite meals, tickets to her favorite shows, and none of them got them out. Only on her own had she been able to break through the ties that held her to Dejun. “I was miserable for months. Sometimes, when I really think about it, I still feel like I can hear his voice. Please, I just need him to get a taste of his own medicine.”

The day she dies, she wants to believe she was a good person—she helped her friends, was there for her family, and did what she thought was good. At this moment in time, she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing—heartbreak is overrated yet huge on its own, but it’s what her friend wants. Revenge tastes sweet, and she hasn’t had anything to eat yet.

“Okay, I will.” She sighs deeply, her vocal cords hurting by the words she just said. “But I need some background on this dude. All I remember is your snotty voice when you were crying for him.”

Almost like the shows she watches, Shishi squeals in delight, slurping some more of her drink before speaking up. “Xiao Dejun, born in Dongguan, a famous fencer that went to the Olympics when he was sixteen. Ah, he doesn’t really enjoy coffee, he prefers tea. Loves dogs, has one, too. Sucker for musicals, has the prettiest eyes…” When she recites him that way, she wonders how in fucking hell Shishi got her heart broken by someone who loves musicals. To be quite honest, if someone asks you to watch CATS on a first date and your heart ends up in shambles, that’s on you. “But he always flirted with one of his trainers.”

“What was her na—?”

“Chenhao.”

“Oh…right.”

“Chenhao. She’s like the anime enemy of my love story,” Somehow, she wonders if Shishi sees the world the same way she does. Either way, she closes her eyes tightly, hoping for the headache to go away. “Tall, has short hair, I think she had a rose tattoo on her shoulder but it’s rarely seen. Hot as all fuck.”

“She sounds super hot.” She replies, only to earn a scoff from Shishi. “Baby, I’m just being honest. You’re hot in your own way, too, but if you were never something official—”

“Ah, ah, don’t go there!” Shishi conquers. “I just need you to be the Chenhao in this situation. Crush his heart. Make him regret it.”

You know, with the lack of gigs coming directly to her—an artist in the rising that doesn’t get past a thousand plays on Soundcloud, this sounds like a good distraction. A fencer, perhaps, is one of the things she would’ve never imagined herself ever dating or looking for, but it is what she gets. The kind of person she has to capture to have Shishi feeling good about herself again.

“What I do for you, Shishi. What I do for you…”

“And I love you for it!”

###

The world rotates in ways we don’t understand—one day, we’re saying we won’t do one thing and some months later, we’re living exactly what we never wanted to go through. It’s the cycle of life; reason as to why fashion gets old and renews itself perfectly, or why the songs we used to listen to years ago can’t seem to get out of our hearts, doesn’t matter if we still know the lyrics or not. With that in mind, entering the local fencing tournament with a ticket in between her fingers and an unpolished denim jacket across her shoulders isn’t something she would have imagined herself doing a week ago. Alas, life works in marvelous ways.

Most of the people by the bleachers are parents, clear in the way they dress, in their cheers and pamphlets that read children’s names. Her heart warms at the whooping from some people, wondering where that side of her life had gone to. You see, life hasn’t been so innocent to her the past few months—lack of employment, songs that speak about her turmoil of thoughts, blending into the hatred she feels for her decisions. A singer on tables in local bars, but never quite making it through. Never quite making an impression.

Instead, she sits down, watching the group of children in fencing uniforms, white and perfectly polished, holding the sabre with expertise, perhaps learning from someone much more knowledgeable. Not a lot of adults are on the center of the tournament, but she catches sight of someone kneeling to fix the sleeves of a kid’s uniform, taking off his mask to showcase his messed-up brown hair and his twinkling, smiling eyes. Her throat dries in recognition, though, he looks much more different from what Shishi had described.

Xiao Dejun is a fallen star at that moment—in his eyes, a universe. His fingers quickly work on the elongated fabric of that kid’s uniform, speaking to him with certainty, grinning in a way that would make anyone comfortable. When he gets back on his feet, taut and slim body in full display under that white uniform (still, leaving something to the imagination), he takes his sabre in between his hands, speaking with certainty.

The sabre glides across the air like a dance, a samba of sorts that romanticizes such unrecognized art. Her vision is filled only with him—with the way he hits his sabre with the kid’s, pulling his mask on his face with quick motions before pushing himself forward. When the kid manages to pinch his stomach, bending the sabre in the process, he can’t help but cheer loudly—heard over the chatter of people, followed by a high five from the kid, perhaps on ten years old at most.

Oh, youth tournament. When Shishi had spoken about a tournament, she thought Dejun would be the one competing, but as he makes his way towards the bleachers, right at the bottom of it, she can’t help but hit herself mentally.

Youth.

He’s not going to participate.

He’s training children in this competition.

No one is seated by his side, so her legs slide away from her seat to move closer to him before anyone could take the space beside him. Her converses hit the bleachers with certainty, excusing herself between the masses of parents to plop herself down next to Xiao Dejun. From up close, with his mask off, she can see a thin layer of seat falling on his forehead and on the perfectly styled bridge of his nose. His thick eyebrows frown together when he is concentrated, a memory of the kind of man he is. Too given to his job, perhaps, too given to this sport.

Competitive.

Meant for winning.

But she’s going to win over him.

“I’m guessing you know a lot about this.” She starts, leaning back and placing her backpack over her legs. Dejun finally looks away from the masses of children preparing themselves for the first portion of the tournament, giving a smile that transforms into a cackle. Anyone is a sucker for humor, you see.

“Well, ah, yes, of course.” Dejun points at his uniform, before crossing his arms over his chest. “I am guessing you don’t know much.”

“There’s always time for learning.” She extends her hand then, introducing herself with certainty as he looks into his eyes. They turn into half-moons at that moment, smiling with delight as he shakes her hand in a greeting. Oddly charming.

“Xiao Dejun. I’m a trainer for the local team.” He introduces himself and, oh, of course he sounds like he has his life together. It wouldn’t surprise her if someone like him had spent the entirety of his youth simply giving himself to his sport. “If you don’t know a thing about fencing, I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“A friend told me the tournament was going to be entertaining…” Her voice trails at that moment, remembering that she shouldn’t say much about Shishi. “And I happened to have free time.”

Naturally, a blush appears across his honey skin. Strawberry meeting the dulcet honey-tea. “What do you do?”

“I’m a singer.” Though, it’s rare for her to ever say that these days. “…Or, I try to be. You see, it’s harder than you think to find someone to listen to your music when you don’t have an artist name.”

“I think your name is nice for an artist.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Dejun conquers, nodding in a way that has her chuckling. Okay, so not only oddly charming—entirely so. “I would listen to your albums.”

She scoffs at his words. “Liar.”

“Ah, not a liar—” But he doesn’t deny it. Sweet-tooth meeting a dulcet mouth, embarking her in a trip for falling. It’s not a wonder that Shishi had been caught in his trap. “But if you want to learn something else apart from singing, I give classes every once in a while. You just have to sign up and all that.”

Looking at Dejun as he bends his knees and pushes the sabre forward, his face hidden behind a mask, somehow doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. If anything, it’s a way to get closer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Dejun stands up at that moment, running his hands over his thighs to clean them on the white fabric. “I have to leave now, though. I hope you enjoy the tournament.”

Her eyes rake over his figure, a big beam on her features. “Oh, I’ll make sure to do just that.”

If the parents are going crazy on the bleachers, Dejun is the equilibrium—the middle ground that gives everyone strength. Each kid seems to have him as an energizer, looking for his approval even though he’s not the oldest of the trainers. Dejun’s throat must hurt from how much he is cheering for them, clapping widely, taking the sport as an art, and it’s at this moment that she does see Xiao Dejun in a different light, somewhat an angel in between the bunch of shit he did to Shishi.

Yet, unlike hers, his world doesn’t stop. In hopes of talking to him after the tournament is over, she’s surprised to see the groups of parents clouding him with cameras and phones to take pictures of him with their children.

He doesn’t have time for her.

The heat of the summer afternoon pleads for her to take off her jacket, slipping it off and hanging it from her arm as she tries to call a cab. The holes of her graphic t-shirt (all out of style, of course) don’t do much to keep her fresh as she calls the usual number for her ride, only to remain waiting. None of the parents have gotten out to the tournament just yet, leaving her in solitude in the small street, only accompanied by the people in the Chinese restaurant in front of her, who are too occupied in working with their clients.

Though, something takes her off guard—the motorcycle that had passed by just mere minutes ago has passed by again, this time slower, checking out her spot in the sidewalk. She lowers the phone to look at the man with the dark glasses and horrendous, patchy hair. Something about him feels off, but before she could further intensify her discomfort, he rushes off in his motorcycle. But, he’s not too far away, she can still hear the roaring of the engine—

The door opens at that moment, welcoming the sight of Dejun in more comfortable clothing—his brown hair more brushed at this moment, sporting a white t-shirt and dark joggers, pressing his phone up to his ear. “Excuse me, I called a cab for you.” He tells her, grabbing her elbow and pulling her back the slightest. “Ah, I saw you leave on your own…but the neighborhood has been experiencing some robberies from a man in a motorcycle and I doubt you knew. Maybe, wait inside until the cab arrives, okay?”

When Dejun closes the glassed door in front of her, making sure to lock it, she spares one glance his way. He’s much too close, though he doesn’t notice it, his chest touching her shoulder by the time she says: “T—Thank you, I had no idea.”

“Today’s learning day for you, then.” Dejun plays around, giving her one of her infamous smiles, though, his eyes are the most impressive. Somehow, she can’t look away from them. “Ah…I still have to attend the parents. Are you okay with staying here alone?”

She’d rather stay a few minutes more with him, hear that deep tone in his voice that lingers with a smile most of the time. “It’s okay. Go with your fanbase.”

“It’s not a fanbase.” Dejun defends with an eye-roll, before walking backwards. “I hope to see you in my fencing classes one day.”

She shrugs her shoulders, knowing exactly how to keep him at the edge of his seat. “I’ll have to see. Maybe, maybe not.”

Someone calls Dejun’s name at that moment and the sunshine in his eyes stops looking at her, leaving her in darkness.

###

From: Elena Wang.

I still think this is the worst idea you’ve had to date.

Or that we, as a group, have collectively decided upon.

Literally.

Her shoes patter against the sidewalk, moving over to the same place in which the tournament had taken place in two weeks ago. Out of all the texts she expected to get at four in the afternoon on a Monday, Elena talking about how bad it is that they had bet to break someone’s heart wasn’t it. Her manager, however, should be texting her about the demos she had sent out over a month ago…and yet, she receives no response about that.

The air is turning fresher this time of the year, enough to move her flannel as she walks with lack of precision, turning her gaze to the group-chat she shares with her friends.

From: Shishi.

It’s not a bad idea at all.

I was heartbroken because of Dejun.

From: Elena Wang.

And what if she falls in love with Dejun?

He’s handsome.

And she hasn’t gotten laid in well over a year.

I’m sure she could see an average guy from afar and she would be interested.

From: Yifei.

Did Elena just call you a hoe absentmindedly?

Free pussy for everyone including Dejun.

To: Group-Chat.

I won’t fall for Dejun.

Come on.

I’m fine.

From: Yifei.

How did that song go?

I hypnotize you with this pussy…

Now you feel like you can fly.

Fly.

From: Shishi.

She won’t sleep with him.

It’s off the charts.

To: Group-Chat.

Right.

Off the charts.

From: Shishi.

Is that sarcasm in the form of a text?

Opening the door to the fencing area, she hears the swoosh of air that follows when it closes. The warmth is nicely welcomed, though the groups of people gathering by the middle make her nervous. Some around their age, some definitely younger—perhaps teens, if she’s exact—and all more interested in fencing than she is. One person stands out, however, in the middle as he gives instructions out as well as smiles. Those that she can’t get over and done with.

Dejun is quite a fit for the person she would’ve imagined would break her dating drought, but Shishi would absolutely kill her if she decided to get overly intimate with him. Well, that’s what her texts indicate when she checks her phone one last time before putting her bag down on the bleachers.

From: Shishi.

Right?

You won’t sleep with him.

It’s forbidden.

Even I didn’t sleep with him.

From: Yifei.

Let her get some!

God bless the day Jhené Aiko decided to say:

That dick make my soul smile.

That dick make me so proud.

From: Shishi.

She.

Can’t.

See.

His.

Dick.

To: Group-Chat.

Girls, what kind of woman do you take me for?

I’m not that easy to sleep with.

Besides, if Shishi says it’s off the charts, it’s off the charts.

From: Yifei.

No pussy fairy, then?

To: Group-Chat.

The pussy fairy died last year. Now, I can’t even kiss someone.

Or I could, if you just let me do my own damn thing and talk to Dejun.

With that, she locks her phone and puts it inside one of the pockets of her bag.

Dejun awakens a sunset inside of her when he smiles at her, perhaps, thrown to the world and she takes it in between her fingertips as hers. Though, someone else starts talking to her, short dark hair masking enigmatic features on their wake. The rose tattoo on her shoulder is barely covered by the sleeves of her uniform, walking over to her with another fencing outfit.

“You should get changed,” The seductive tone of her voice lingers with the scent of cigarettes, and it is at this moment that she meets Shishi’s biggest enemy: Chenhao. “I don’t know if this is your size or anything, but it’s the best I could find. The class has already started and you don’t want to miss Dejun’s first class.”

Chenhao quirks one of her thin eyebrows when she doesn’t take the uniform firsthand, but after some pondering, she takes it in between her hands. Damn, she’s actually as hot as Shishi described, if not more. Is it possible that she is the one dating Dejun? “I understand.” She says, already slipping into the uniform while talking to Chenhao. “You have high regards of him.”

“I do.” Chenhao complies, nodding at her words.

“Why?”

“He’s a nice fencer.” She starts, looking down at a folder in between her hands before clicking on her pen. “What is your name again?”

After saying it, her hands come behind her back to zip herself up. “…Is he a nice guy apart from a good fencer?”

“Too much of a nice guy.” Chenhao says. “You don’t know how many women we have had to talk to because he was just too nice to them. Some think he’s just flirty, I just think he doesn’t realize that not all people are going to want to be his friend.”

“I mean, he’s an adult, he probably notices—”

“He doesn’t.” Chenhao conquers, already pushing her towards the group of people. “But I can notice that you’re also one of those women that come here to get Dejun’s attention, but I’ll just turn my blind eye on it.”

“I’m not—”

“Hey, long time no see!”

When Dejun speaks and she smiles gleefully, all her excuses fall down as pure and futile lies.

“Dejun!” It’s ridiculous how her knees seem to give in, words filled with roses as she expects his mere attention to fall on her. Those two orbs—penetrating, piercing, become one with her. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was talking to my manager.”

Looking for a sabre, he places it in between her hands, his fingers coming in contact with hers with the softest touch. They’re calloused, if anything, come to learn most athletes don’t have the softest hands. “How did that go?”

“Well, horrible, you see.” She replies, well aware of the fact that— “My manager did not actually talk, but ignore my calls altogether. Texted me saying he hasn’t gotten any news.”

Dejun hisses at that, placing one hand on top of her shoulder as he leads her to the group of people. “Mhm, fencing can always help letting the steam off.”

“You know how to sell your business really well, you know?”

“…I’ve come to learn a thing or two.” Dejun, who grabs his sabre with more of a stronger grasp, though somewhat elegant in his approach, leans one leg forward. “I need you to take positions.” And she does, for something about the way he loves fencing just shows through. The love that knows no lies, no bleeding memories of a past that awes someone not to trust—he loves the sport so carelessly that he’d die for it. Would give his life out just for one moment with the sabre. “Always take into consideration, though, that fencing is about balance, elegance—it’s not about fighting, it’s about portraying art with your body.” Putting the sabre down, he clears his throat. “I’m Xiao Dejun, your instructor for today, and I will start going over the basic things about fencing. What it is, a part of its history, and then, we can move onto the actual sport on itself.”

When she was a student, there was always this one kid that prepared a little too magnificently, and while most people rotted in envy and rolled their eyes at said person’s presentation, she always found them to be…enchanting. To love something—not someone—enough for it to drive you to limits of yourself only to deliver something greater than what you have been taught shows strength. Perseverance is attractive at that moment when Dejun takes his time to instruct everyone how to properly stand when fencing, when putting on his mask and gliding the sabre as if it was part of his body.

But, she’s not that good at it.

At first, she doesn’t notice it—how to notice it when she’s working with people equally as bad as her? But when Dejun stands in front of her, sabre in hand, ready to take over the world, her breath gets caught in her throat, hard to swallow when he comes forward and forward, practically cornering her before the sabre bends onto her stomach.

“Don’t panic,” Dejun indicates. “That’s the first step. If you panic, you don’t act—and if you don’t act, you’re going to lose.”

She takes off her mask, then, a sigh ripping from the depths of her throat when she says: “Not everyone is born with talent like you, Dejun.”

Dejun chuckles at that, taking off his mask as well when he gives an answer. “I wasn’t born with talent for fencing. I just happened to make a mistake when I tried to get in the soccer team. Ended up signing myself up for fencing classes.”

Well, that’s surprising. “No way!”

“I did.” Dejun conquers. “You can’t imagine just how confused I was when I was given a sabre instead of a ball. But I made do.”

“Things happen for a reason.”

“They do.” Though, his eyes glide over her face, looking down at her lips momentarily before sweet laughter creeps up on him. Mhm, maybe he does think that destiny put her there.

Destiny is called Shishi Hong.

And it’s Dejun’s…ex…friend…

Ex friend with benefits?

Ex…friend that he liked?

Ex something.

“What are you doing on Friday?” She asks, lips coming together to wet themselves, and Dejun chuckles.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Dinner sounds nice.”

“Then, dinner it is.” Though, his sweetener ways come back when he quirks an eyebrow. “Did you just come here to ask me out on a date?”

If only he knew that she came here to shatter his heart. Instead to tell him just that, she smiles. “Maybe, maybe not. What’s the fun in telling you?”

Dejun puts his mask down, waving the sabre around her and making her stay on guard. “I have to get the answers out of you?”

“Not with a sabre.” She replies, a squeal on her voice when the sabre bends by her abdomen—again. Expected, honestly.

“How?”

A giggle rips from her throat then, shaking her head at his antics. “You’ll have to figure it out on our date, Dejun.”

“Damn it.” Dejun feigns anger, a pout on his lips when he adds: “Gotta give me your number after this, you know?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Though, she can feel a pair of piercing eyes on hers, different from Dejun’s—they freeze her in place when she realizes Chenhao is looking at her, somehow inspecting her situation. Perhaps, she knows her real intentions, those she has with the man that is being called over again, leaving with an apology as he helps another group of people.

Is she really doing this? Breaking someone’s heart just because of her friend?

###

Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby would be proud of her look right now.

The night has never looked better, but with a satin dress clinging to her curves—coming directly from Elena’s wardrobe—and a striped long coat over it, she feels enigmatic. Little does Dejun know when he picks her up in his car, neither too expensive not too new, that she’s laid out to be a seductress. Not to sleep with him, Shishi would have her head if that was the case, but to bathe in confidence and let him seek for more.

Jay, Bingbing’s husband, hides most of his tattoos underneath the burlesque suit he has to wear. Red, fitted to his body, with a bowtie that conceals the lines of tattoos that scatter from his chest. His curly black hair is moved away from his face thanks to a lot of gel, making the strands glisten under the harsh lights of the casino-themed restaurant. It’s a beautiful place, not to be misunderstood, with spacious tables that represent those of poker in Las Vegas, plates themed in ways that would be misunderstood by the public had not they placed food on top of them. People dress up to the nines, and Dejun, sadly, didn’t seem to get the memo.

Shit, she had forgotten to tell him to just dress elegantly.

Though, her eyes can’t help but go over to him—the simplicity of such a man with a gray sweater half-tucked inside a pair of black jeans, who takes her breath away when he pushes his brown hair away from his face with his hand and asks for a table for two. These days, men like him are hard to find. Neruda poems made person, with an ode to love.

“I didn’t know you were bringing a date today.” Jay says from his spot, tapping his finger against the screen to showcase the width of available tables. Not that many, but the one near the window calls out for her name, so she points at it.

“Well, it’s not usual for me to bring a date whatsoever.” She replies, somehow widening her eyes at Jay. She only hopes Bingbing had not told him about their little bet—

“Touché.” Jay jots something down on the notebook before clearing his throat. “Please, let me take your coats while you’re inside. You can come directly to me to grab them once you plan to leave.”

Something about Dejun makes her heart swirl. It shouldn’t, but it does. When a summer day arrives and she has her precious iced tea, the ice always stays at the bottom, and she looks for them, moves them, lets them be the circle of her life for one second or two, maybe a few minutes. It’s nothing interesting, but it’s necessary. Just like him when he lifts his lips in one of those smiles that make his eyes look even more beautiful, placing both hands on top of her shoulders.

“May I?” And really, Shishi would kill her if she read her thoughts. For one, his rosy lips look inviting, eyes asking her if she’d rather imagine him as a sinning angel or a pure devil. Off the charts, she tells herself, shaking her head in the process before recomposing herself.

“Of course,” Though, she almost forgets that she’s dressed to kill—better dressed than she has ever been on any date. Whatever. It’s not like she’s actually seducing him with a back-less dress, but when the fabric of her coat glides across her shoulders, down her arms, she spares one look at him. “I’ll be cold, though.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” He says, though he laughs loudly at his own antics, rubbing his hands against her arms. Resided deep in her heart, it hits her like a train-wreck—she loves the jittery feeling of being there with him. When her cheeks can’t stop blaring heat and her lips are constantly being moistened simply because she wants to talk to him. Is this, perhaps, her way of betraying Shishi?

Her heels click against the tiles as she walks behind Jay, Dejun right by her side, eager to maintain the conversation going. “I didn’t take you as a flirt.”

Dejun’s eyes welcome the light perfectly. Maybe, solar energy was created because of him. Inspired on him. “Some people say I am,” He drags her seat for her to take, making sure not to flash the entirety of the restaurant when sitting down. She crosses one leg over the other as she hears him speak, the man moving over to the seat across from her. “But I actually think I’m just too nice. I don’t mean to flirt.”

Her fingertips trail over the menu, looking at the prices and silently praying for them to gain a coupon or something. The things she does to go out with Dejun.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hold that thought.

It’s the things she does for Shishi, not for Dejun.

Oh, my fucking God—

“I happen to be the least flirty person I know.” She says, going back and forth on their conversation, only to hear Dejun scoff.

“You are flirty.”

If only he knew her group of friends, he wouldn’t say such thing. “I’m not!” Oh wait, he does know someone in her group of things—

Shishi.

When is the last time she replied to one of her texts?

Had she been too busy talking to Dejun to actually embark in a conversation with her friend?

“I know someone you flirt with that is very aware of your flirting.” Dejun replies, thanking the waitress that comes with a glass of water before lifting the menu up in the air. “I’m feeling lobster, what about you?”

She laughs at his antics. Dejun, though not the most well-paid person, happened to embark in a lot of expensive tastes when he was travelling around the world for fencing competitions. At the time, his sponsors would pay everything—but now, the blows go directly to his bank account. “You feel like losing all your money in just one meal?”

“My grandma used to say to eat as if it was the last time you were doing so.” Dejun instructs, the nostalgia in his voice lingering in depths that she doesn’t want to think about. “And I happen to like lobster a lot.”

“I’m having carbonara.” She says, looking over to the waitress when she gives her the menu back.

The woman places the menu against her hip, jotting it out the slightest. “Anything else?”

“I have to drive so cola for me.” Dejun initiates, pointing at her with his chin. “What do you want?”

If she’s wrecking the night, she better do it like a star. “Wine for me. Red.”

“Alright. I’ll have your meals out in a minute.” The waitress says, bowing deeply before moving over to the kitchen. She loses sight of her when she leans her weight back against the leather of the seat she has taken up on.

“So…”

“When are you singing something for me?” Dejun asks, placing his elbows over the table and looking at her directly in the eye. Though she’s on the verge of bankruptcy, she still lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“When you give me some inspiration, Dejun.”

“Me?” He asks in between a chuckle, using his thumb to point at himself.

“Do I know other Dejun?” She asks, biting on her nail softly as she leans forward as well, capturing his lips in one of her tracing gazes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why does she want to kiss him?

That wasn’t part of the deal—

But…to break his heart…she kind of has to have something with him.

Or is she just being selfish?

“You better not.”

Dejun is a feather that happened to fall in the ocean, and she’s the sailor that came across such thing, grasped it in her hands and now can’t get the fabric away from her fingertips. It clings to her in ways that she isn’t used to, but doesn’t hate at all. His words, the way he laughs, how he embarks in conversation without ever judging her—they meet in their differences, grow in their jokes, build something from the ground up respecting each other. It feels like talking to him goes by too quickly, the food disappearing even though she’s not that hungry. It’s that feeling of fitting with someone that she had heard about but had never lived through, and she absolutely hates it.

…To hide that she actually loves it.

A movie plays inside her head—not with the picture of kids and a house, but with the feeling of needing him to hold her. Everything he says connects him like a puzzle. Xiao Dejun started fencing when he was a child by accident, then it became the light of his eyes. His favorite person is his dad. He doesn’t prefer either tea or coffee, but if he has to choose, he loves tea. He wants to face all his fears even once in his life. He’s easily breakable. Though, he keeps it hidden, a secret that remains in between the two.

She keeps drinking and lets loose a little bit as well. Her dream of being a singer that started when she was twelve years old, watching one of those R&B singers on TV and then, needing to do something of the like. She learned how to play guitar and she does it averagely well, but nothing out of the ordinary. She’s careful—she doesn’t want to live regretting the things she has done, and when he asks if she’s ever regretted anything in her life, she shakes her head.

Never.

But now, she thinks she’s going to regret something—

Breaking his heart.

When the wine meets her head with a thump, she’s already out of the casino, dangling from Dejun’s shoulder as he holds her waist closely. His hand is warm, nice enough to leave her no choice but to daydream of that same hand roaming the entirety of her body. Perhaps, she has lit herself up in fire by drinking while he didn’t, but who cares about that?

No words come up to her mouth when Dejun leans her against the car to be able to open the passenger door, but she takes this time to inspect him. His messy hair, thick eyebrows, deep eyes—those lips, two sins asking for a taste. She needs a taste. Instead, she lets her hands wander, hovering over his waist before tugging at it, bringing him closer to look directly into his eyes.

He chuckles, playing with the strands of her hair to push them away from her face. “What’s up?”

“I want to do something…” She trails her voice, biting down on her bottom lip as she lets her utmost desire speak. She’s careful, of course, love is not what she wants—but somehow, she wants to relish on the feeling of him, having him underneath her to press kisses on his neck, make his world shake in the way that would settle her as a confident woman. It’s a promise to herself: sex. “Only if you want, though.”

Dejun must have caught up on what she said, his smile falling as he widens his eyes. “Something like w—what?”

“Like doing me.” She replies, heat catching up with her face, making Dejun chuckle as he shakes his head.

“I won’t do that. You’re drunk, first.” He instructs. “And secondly, I don’t have sex with people on the first date. Sorry.”

She tries to push herself away at that moment, embarrassment making a home out of her, but her back comes in contact with the door of the car. “O—Oh, shit, sorry, forget I even said that. I’m so stupid—”

Dejun shakes his head rapidly. “N—Not that I don’t want you! I just…I have a weird view of love, I guess. And sex, altogether.” Dejun takes the spot beside her, looking up at the sign that reads the name of the restaurant. “God, you’re so hot. I…I don’t know how I am capable to deny you, but I am doing it.”

Something ignites in her heart, nodding at what he says. “It’s okay.” She whispers. “What’s that view you have of love and sex?”

“That sex has erased love. Now love is the taboo.”

She chuckles at what he says, humming along. “You’re right.”

“I’m a romanticist, I guess.” Dejun instructs. “I’ve…I’ve grown with the idea of just…just having that foundation of feeling something before I get in the sheets with someone. Not that I don’t think it’s stupid sometimes—”

“It isn’t.” She cuts him short, opening the passenger’s door in the process. “Sex is overrated.”

“It is.”

“And I’m sorry for asking.”

“No, no—!” What he doesn’t know, however, is that she shouldn’t have even thought about it. Shishi comes up to her brain right at that moment. “Maybe, uh, maybe we can talk about our expectations on the subject on the second date?”

Before she could get inside the car, she quirks an eyebrow. “Second date?”

“Only if you want to…”

With a big smile on her face, she says: “Why wouldn’t I want to? It’s you we’re talking about, Dejun.”

###

Mondays have become the designated fencing day for the past month. Not that she has gotten any better—but it’s an excuse to see Dejun.

Just as she’s walking through the neighborhood, phone in hand (and she can hear Dejun cursing at her for doing this), she reads through the group-chat. Lately, she hasn’t been checking up much with her friends. Her manager has had her auditioning for a bunch of shows in hopes of getting in, to no avail, and along with that, she has tried to balance out her romantic life to spend more time with Dejun. Since…breaking his heart…could be easier if she gets to know him better.

Or it’s just one big excuse to get to know him.

From: Bingbing.

[Picture Attached]

Jay just sent me this because he had forgotten he had taken this picture.

Here we have Xiao Dejun using his pretty eyes on our designated heartbreaker.

The picture showcases her date from nearly three weeks ago. Dejun is seated across from her, cheek held up by his palm as he looks directly at her. Her lips are parted, speaking about something with wide hand movements, and she can’t help but laugh. His eyes settle on her with a twinkle she likes.

From: Shishi.

Hold up.

Why did you dress up hot?

Were you trying to get inside his pants?

Well…uh, how does one tell one of her best friends that she tried to when drunk, but that he gently denied because he just wasn’t ready?

To: Group-Chat.

Oh my God, Shishi, no.

From: Shishi.

Why did you dress up hot, then?

To: Group-Chat.

Because it’s a date…

If you were going to be all jealous over Dejun, why did you ask me to break his heart?

From: Shishi.

He looks very fucking happy right there.

Why did you offer to break Dejun’s heart?

Did you just think he was handsome and that you wanted to fuck him?

To: Group-Chat.

Calm down, Shishi.

You’re talking to me as if I’m some whore.

From: Shishi.

You have more of a body count than I do.

To: Group-Chat.

How do you even know that?

Stop making up bullshit.

Her ears blare up with heat at that, pushing her phone into the depths of her pocket before lifting her gaze. Shishi has some fucking nerve to talk to her that way. As if it wasn’t one of her grand ideas, even though she denied, to have her meeting up with Dejun. Whatever.

The air bites at her skin, going through her white t-shirt as she nears the fencing place. Instead, she’s welcomed by the sight of two people already outside. Not one of the students, but two of the instructors instead. Chenhao is leaning against the wall, cigarette in between her fingertips as Dejun talks closely to her. Chenhao is a bit taller than Dejun, one leg crossed over the other as he smirks down at her. His eyes inspect her features, taking the cigarette from her hand before stepping on it. Chenhao doesn’t seem phased, instead crossing her arms over her chest as if challenging.

Something creeps up inside her when Dejun talks to her softly, like a flower in the middle of a garden that he wants to see grow.

“Dejun! Chenhao!” She calls out at that moment, moving over to them to see Chenhao lifting her gaze and Dejun smiling as if he had not been caught strangely close to Chenhao. The woman in question breathes out her name before grinning.

“You still come to class; I see.” Chenhao spares one look at Dejun before shrugging. “Let’s see how much this lasts.” Before she could further question her sentence, Chenhao opens the door of the salon before entering, leaving a trail of smoke behind her.

“…What the hell does that mean?” She asks in a mere whisper, watching Dejun who shakes his head.

“I have no idea.” He replies, but she can call bullshit on that.

“I think you have a good idea of what she means.” She says, looking at the cigarette that lays lifelessly on the gray concrete. “What is it? Are Chenhao and you a thing or…?”

Dejun chuckles at her words, blowing a raspberry at the end. “Oh no,” He denies quickly. “She used to train with me for the Olympics, but she has been fucking it all up with her addiction to cigarettes. I need her to get back in the game.”

For a moment, she thinks about all the times she had helped her friends—and how they had helped her, too. Maybe, that is why she is here with him on the first place. “That’s good, but it’s her life. The only person that can change her is herself.”

Dejun stares off into the street, that restaurant in front of them one that they had never visited. The city fits him just as well as nature. Something about him is just universal. “Yeah, but I’ll try to change her until she goes back to the person she used to be. I believe in her.”

Now, she realizes that her heart is beating too rapidly—both in jealousy and in happiness, somehow. “So, that’s why a bunch of women fall in love for you, huh?”

“What?”

“That dreamy look…those eyes…” She whispers, a rasp in her tone. “That’s the tactic.”

“I have flirty eyes, I guess.” He answers, running his hand over her arm before catching her fingers with hers. “But, as of now, I only use them on one person.”

“And that would be…?”

“You.”

###

Once you see someone’s apartment, it’s over. That’s either for a hook-up, you’re on the friendzone, or simply because they’re comfortable enough with you to show you the place in which they are their truest selves.

Dejun’s place is different from hers. Where do they meet? They’re both a bit disorganized. Dejun scatters uniforms across his living room, the white walls contrasting what she normally sees him in—that bone colored fencing uniform that she has managed to learn how to love. By the right, a small kitchen remains almost spotless, if she doesn’t count the random snacks she sees around. She thinks she just saw crackers next to noodles, and if he’s having them together, she may sue him.

“Don’t tell me you eat crackers with noodles.”

Dejun closes the door behind him, putting down the packages of chips they had just bought for their movie night. “Noodles with crackers, with saltines, with chips. I once had them with chocolate cookies…but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Ew, Dejun!” She complains, swatting his arm softly as she takes a seat on the couch, pushing the uniform he had draped on the arm’s rest to the side, folding it carefully in the process. “I don’t know what’s more of a disaster, this living room or your stomach.”

“My mom didn’t raise a guy who is scared of eating.” Dejun implies, already opening a bag of extra spicy chips before lending it over to her. “You know what the fun thing about this snack is?”

“What?” Her voice lingers with happiness, something that always comes when being around Dejun.

“That we don’t know which ones are spicy and which ones are, well, not spicy.” He plops himself down to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder that she can’t help but take. Why is it that the air feels far more favorable when by his side? “And I’m betting you’re going to end up biting all the spicy ones.”

“Ha!” She replies, already looking for the remote to search for a movie. Something comedy, perhaps, she’s feeling like watching something of the like of dark comedy—maybe Horrible Bosses? “I’m betting I’m not. I’ve got wits, baby.”

“And looks, too.” She hears him say, soon after pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ll eat the spicy ones for you.”

“You’ll like them. That’s not fair.”

“And?”

“…Asshole.” She replies, well aware of the nickname Shishi always calls him—fencer asshole.

That couldn’t be more far from the truth.

It’s the comfort of being half on his body, laying her head on his chest and feeling his heart thump to the beat of a trap song, as if the bass is boosted and he goes from slow to quick. His lips wrap on big smiles, laughing like a maniac at the portions she loves the most, fingers raking over her hair, going through the portions that he knows she likes the most. She could fall asleep like this, with one of his hands resting on her hip, rubbing soothing circles over her jeans. This is not the type of imagery she’d show to her friends.

But who cares about her friends right at this moment?

What can she do when she says she’s cold, and Dejun drapes his jacket on top of the two of them, taking the arms to bring her closer by tightening them around his waist? The fabric tugs at the two of them uncomfortably, and she can’t stop laughing as they are face to face, looking into his precious eyes that create a rich brown mirror for her to look at herself into. It’s at this moment that she knows she wants Xiao Dejun, not only as a heartbreak, but as someone else—she wants to be able to be like this for as long as this romance is supposed to last.

She doesn’t want to break his heart.

“I thought you weren’t a flirt.” She tells him, her breath ghosting on top of his face, and his eyes trail down to look at her moving lips. It’s the kind of memory that will forever live in her brain—when she feels the most lightweight.

“I get by.” Dejun replies, leaning forward to peck her lips softly, delicately, as if he has all the time of the world, licking his lips before leaning forward again, reputing her in an adventure that she shouldn’t have taken place in, but she does. Her fingers thread through his locks, moving her body up until her legs rest in between his, chest pressed to his, body molding to his as if they were meant to be united. The sound that fills the air connects their lips in rhythmic motions, ones that she can’t get out of her head, breathing heavily against his lips.

Shishi said not to kiss him, not to let his hands roam as he touches her waist, her hips, her thighs, becomes one with the knowledge of what she likes and what she doesn’t. Shishi said not do this, to break his heart.

But at this very moment, it would be easier for Dejun to break her heart instead.

###

Though her manager, Hao, had been clear about her mini appearance at a café, she doesn’t feel less nervous. For once, she can say that cafés are the worst thing to ever be created—vintage, nostalgic, filled with teenagers who want to have as many Americanos as possible and adults that think the beige walls and white tables are their aesthetic. Croissants, coffee and cream, someone with tea that she can’t quite recognize, and a guitar that weights heavily on her lap.

The seat she is on is uncomfortable, trying to tune her guitar before she starts singing. Her manager sits along with Bingbing and Shishi, both having brought themselves here even when it clashed with their work hours—they needed to bring support, but all they did was stare at her as her hands shook. It’s been a while since she has truly sung in front of people, full sets, and live above all.

She needs to gain some confidence, but she doesn’t. The guitar strums uncomfortably and she hears someone coughing when she leans into the microphone. She closes her eyes tightly, trying to remember the love songs she has written for the past two months. Memories of Dejun, of the sand in between her fingers, the songs they have shared together, of the smell of cigarettes that never comes from him but from Chenhao instead. Things she dreams about with him, for him, all drowning her away from the nervousness that keeps her on surface.

And she lets go.

“Welcome, I’m going to be singing for the next two hours—” She says, instructing her name into the microphone before sending a smile towards her manager. “You can ask for some songs later on, if I know it, I will sing it. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.”

She thinks she has it together—this is only part of her dream. Someday, she will get discovered, she tries to convince herself, but the moment her song starts in a major tune, E, then C, she loses it all. Her fingers continue playing, but when she parts her lips, the note comes out flat, as if her vibratos hadn’t been practiced…or if she didn’t know how to hold her tone at all.

The song goes on for another two minutes, far from what she wanted but somehow, not bad for those listening. Only when she hears the door of the café opening, she opens her eyes, welcoming the stance of the man that enters the café. Cladded in a striped shirt and light jeans, Dejun crosses his arms over his chest to wave his hand softly, smiling at her before leaning against the wall next to the entrance door.

And with all those creamy colors and the smile on his face—the smile of his eyes that she has never managed to understand, she finally gets to sing again.

It’s weird how he brings all these emotions up on her, how he has become such a comfortable feeling for her, far enough for her to concentrate only on him for the first hour, only stopping to take a drink of her tea and warm up her vocal cords. It’s at that moment that she sees two people nearing her, and she expects one of them to be Dejun, but when she feels a pair of skinny arms wrap around her, the smell of bleach coming from someone’s hair, she knows it’s Shishi.

Her beloved Shishi.

And her beloved Dejun.

What a shame she can’t have both.

Jewels shine in his eyes when she pulls away, recognition overtaking him when Shishi says: “Oh fuck, I’m so proud of you!” And the excitement of her voice is welcomed by a shy smile from her, capturing Dejun’s glance as he lifts his eyebrows, mouthing a ‘we’ll talk later’ to her.

“Shishi—”

“We have to go work right now,” Bingbing says, fixing the bag on her shoulder. “But you’re killing it, babe. For real.”

“Thanks…”

Though, she can’t say much as they slip away from the café, Dejun taking careful steps forward, as if pondering to get near her, not even cutting the situation short when he reaches her, frowning deeply when he asks: “You know Shishi? You’re friends with her?”

“Ah…” She rubs the back of her neck, taking another sip from her Styrofoam cup. She could say the truth—or a distorted version of it, but instead, she opts to look him straight in the eyes. She doesn’t want to miss any of them. Shishi once said he was egotistical, that he played with a bunch of women all at once; games that she would never understand, but she’d rather play this game than not play it at all. “I—I know Bingbing, I don’t exactly—I don’t consider myself close to Shishi.”

“We…uh, she had a crush on me for the longest time and was a bit obsessive about it.”

Now, she knows. Now, she finally sees that they were just friends…and maybe, she misunderstood everything. “I had no idea.”

“You sure?”

With the straightest face, she fixes the strap of her guitar, strumming a chord before nodding. “Of course, baby, why would I lie to you?”

But she does it straight to his face, singing all those songs that mean the truth but knowing one thing—

She has to lose one. Either Shishi or Dejun.

###

Dejun shakes her autumn does to its leaves, softly, making her fall more and more for him in the days they meet and finally, in the first night they shared. It takes Dejun almost three months for him to feel fully comfortable—for the romantic in him to clad him away from the clothing that covers him, for his breaths to mingle with hers as they become one, hands placed on top of her head, lips wanting nothing more than to connect with hers. It is as though every sound that leaves him is music for her, and maybe, they’re the inspiration for the album she will once have.

When she goes to sleep, she goes with a visual in mind—Dejun, laying on her bed, with one hand behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest, the taut muscles from his days and nights of training leaving nothing to the imagination. Her lips connect to the mole on his forehead, speaking softly against his skin about the beauty of him. She doesn’t think she will ever forget it.

But the night clashes into sleep, awakening her only when she hears the loud rustle of the sheets, accompanied by the harsh sound of someone mumbling to themselves. Cuss after cuss after cuss. When she opens her eyes, groggily at first, she realizes that half of the covers have draped away from her, leaving her bare to the world, but the man in front of her doesn’t care, holding her phone in her hand as he puts on his pair of jeans.

She doesn’t know why her heart skips a beat—she doesn’t talk to other men romantically, but somehow, she knows there are secrets on that phone that she doesn’t want Dejun to see. How in the world did he manage to figure out her password?

“What are you doing with my phone?” She asks, barely audible as she pulls the covers farther up her chest, covering herself up as Dejun finally looks at her. “Dejun, why were you looking through my phone?”

“I saw your password the first time we met, accidentally. I figured it was the same.” Though, he throws the phone on the bed, close enough for her to grab and unlock it. What he was looking at hits her like a train—he was reading through her group-chat, months and months worth of information displayed in front of her eyes. “And I wasn’t going to do it, but Shishi kept calling you this morning and I answered, yeah, sorry, I answered your fucking phone but Shishi was even more surprised to hear I was staying the night at your place.”

Fuck. Shishi must be fucking devastated. “Dejun—”

“So, Shishi said—” He puts his shirt on before sighing. “Shishi fucking said that she didn’t know we were still seeing each other, considering that you told her that you had broken things with me…and for someone who said she wasn’t that close to Shishi, that sounded awfully like friendship.”

“Dejun…” Her voice breaks, even worse than when she’s nervous and she’s about to sing. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, it wasn’t what I thought. I thought that you actually liked me, that I was finally having a good thing for once—”

“But I do like you!”

Dejun, out of anger, grabs one of the cushions they had dropped on the floor last night and tosses it to the wall behind her, thumping loudly until it falls, making her lamp almost fall for the floor had she not grabbed it. “Stop fucking lying! Shishi said that you were supposed to break my heart. She didn’t know how, and supposedly, you told her you had done it already, so I looked through your phone and much to my surprise, all I see are details about our dates, about how in love you have me—”

All an act, she thought it was. She wanted to keep both her friendship, her pride and her relationship with Dejun. It backfired, heavily, enough to take her breath away. “Dejun, baby, I’m so sorry. Just—When I started doing this, I thought you were an asshole. Shishi said you broke her heart to pieces and I wanted to do it for my friend—”

“Then, why didn’t you fucking tell me?” Dejun asks, shaking his head after, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process. “No. How fucking immature do you have to be make a bet like that? Love isn’t a fucking game.”

“W—Well, I was told it was for you.”

“I’m just nice to people, sorry. I never played with Shishi. That’s called being selective—talking to people and seeing if they’re your fit or not. I’m not obligated to shit.” His voice is venom when she looks through the masses of messages, how she aspired to make everyone believe she didn’t like him, but—

“Dejun, I’m so into you. Please, please, just believe me in this one.” Tears stream down her face at that moment, standing up with her blanket tightened across her body. “Dejun, I’m so sorry.”

“Congratulations.” Dejun whispers, opening the door to her room and having her follow closely. She almost trips a bunch of times, the blankets becoming one with her feet as she moves. “You broke someone’s heart. You were fucking right. It was that easy.”

“Dejun!”

When the entrance door closes right at her face, her fist comes in contact with the surface. In reality, she had to lose someone…

What a shame it was the person she loved.

To: Group-Chat.

I broke someone’s heart.

Mine.

#xiaojun scenarios #xiaojun #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #how to lose someone in seven steps?

83 notes · View notes

lizacstuff · 3 years

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Hi! Your thoughts on the epi? How emotional was the ending? I also loved that the stories came full circle (Apollo and the little prince). With how much they were discussing the strawberry allergy, I knew it was a matter of time before an allergic reaction emergency would occur. Serkan is not perfect but honestly who's parents are? I'm glad he got the reassurance he needed from both Eda and Kiraz. I'm also glad the truth about Aydan and Kemal's five year relationship is out to Serkan.

My apologies in taking so long to answer this, but LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. For me, this was a very gentle, but very enjoyable episode of television. I think you'd have to go back to season one episodes 4,5,6 to find three episodes in a row that were as good as 43, 44, 45 (coincidentally episode 4,5,6 of the 2nd season). How delightful that cliffhangers in season 2 are emotional plot points for our dynamic duo, instead of the nonsense like falling off of boats or getting caught by a gunman while playing detective, or non-stop, third-party psycho trauma like we endured during 29-38.

The ending was very emotional! As you say, it was always a matter of time before the strawberry allergy played a role, they've mentioned it too many times this season for it not too. Here it played two roles, first putting Kiraz's life in danger thus cementing their burgeoning family unit AND being the genetic tie between three previously hidden generations. Potent stuff.

I was thrilled by all the domestic Edser in this episode. Outdoors, kitchen, living room, bedroom, kid's room, we got it all! I just loved the family time, and the sexual tension and the way they grew closer throughout the episode. I saw some criticism that they made no progress in this episode, but I disagree with that. Just because they didn't make out or have sex, doesn't mean they didn't progress. In this episode they went from being on opposite sides of a custody battle to agreeing to buy a car together, travel together, work together, not to mention having a romantic dinner together.

So buckets of progress was made, however, more on that later, first the supporting characters...

(more under the cut)

What a relief to have both Eda and Serkan treating Aydan and Ayfer as the meddling interlopers they are! Serkan wordless, furious glares were delicious, seriously I don't know how AA had the courage to stay in the house with him looking at them like that, he couldn't have been less welcoming. And Eda actually questioning her aunt about why she was there was a surprise. Of course Ayfer continues to be super punchable. I really, really wanted to hit her right in the face when she gloated over Kiraz calling him Serkan Bolat. Seriously, bitch? You know that's your grandniece, right? And you know that she must have some issues about her dad being absent from her life (which you are partially responsible for) so the fact that you're gloating that a man who was prevented from knowing he had a daughter (again, partially your fault) and a girl who was prevented from having a father (again, you bear some blame) have an emotional barrier in their relationship is beyond shitty. What happened to her personally that made her such a cynical asshole?

Aydan on the other hand is still annoying but she has her own problems, lmao. I'm dying because early in the day the episode aired, I said to both @echoapothecary and @melly326 that it was a shame that the show had decided to waste the potential of Sinan's resemblance to Kerem. I have been hoping they would do the Serkan father storyline since the moment the character was introduced, but the day I give up hope for it is the day it happens! I legit had no expectations that there was even a chance it could still happen.

Personally I'm excited, It's nice that the writers gave Aydan some cover, she didn't lie, she simply didn't remember they had hot baby-making sex back when she was having problems with Alptekin. Imagine what might have happened had she remembered at the time. If Aydan had come clean and left Alptekin, Serkan never would have been sent away, Aydan would have had the support she needed when Alp died and Serkan would have grown up loved. I hope Alptekin suspected the truth, because it would go a long way in explaining why he was such a shit-stain to Serkan his whole life.

It was obvious what direction the story was going from the conversation between Kemal and Aydan when he told her they'd "you know'd" that night, but I still let out a squeal when he revealed his strawberry allergy. Three generations of aversion to frangeria. Google tells me that severe strawberry allergy is rare so this really is an obvious flag they've been waving in front of everyone.

The story also dovetails nicely with Serkan's own journey with surprise fatherhood. We know he hasn't taken to Kemal, has been suspicious of him, however hopefully his own experience being kept out of his daughter's life will make him sympathetic to his newly found father.

Engin and Piril... were there. I can't tell you how much I don't care about Engin's out-of-the blue catering business, or Piril's suspicions. However, I did enjoy the 3 way family phone call, once again Can comes through with the right bit of info for Kiraz, he's definitely the most useful member of that family.

Pina and Kerem were also... in the episode. I did giggle when Asst Kerem admitted he was stunned into silence by Serkan's charisma. Tell me about it.

As for Melo, she stole the show among the supporting characters. Her heartbreak was palpable, but WHYYYYYYY did she have to fall for such a no-personality sad sack? Seriously, even drunk that guy is boring. Also why is he lurking outside Eda's house like a creeper, staring in windows? What does it take to get through to him? Serkan and Eda are following a court order and living together, they are in the process of making their first lunch together, you, sir, are not needed at their home for their first meal as a family. GIVE THEM SOME SPACE!

I really don't get what Melo sees in him. However her crush gave us the funny scenes with the mug turning red and also the heartfelt friendship scene with Eda. It's about time Eda is shown taking an interest in her life, it was really lovely how Melo got over the awkwardness of telling her and Eda was supportive and kind. Also hopefully it made Eda aware of the problems associated with not drawing hard boundaries for someone she knows has feelings for her. Draw the boundary, Eda.

As for Eda, she was a bit softer this episode, you could see Serkan getting to her. One of my favorite things about the episode was how Serkan was subtly planning their life together as a family, and Eda being swept away with the tide and going along with it. (gif set here) Family car? check. Family trip to Italy? Check. Sharing an office and working together at Art Life again? Check. Answering questions and giving preferences about one specific house Serkan is designing? Check.

This is significant because no matter that Eda still (understandably) needs time to forgive Serkan and to trust him with her (and Kiraz's) heart again, deep down she knows it's inevitable. She knows they're inevitable. There's no reason to seriously fight the inroads he's making into their life, because she knows he's going to succeed. In the deep recesses of her mind, she knows she's going to forgive him, and that they're going to be together, not just as co-parents to Kiraz, but as a very much in-love couple. However, she still needs a little time to get there. And that's okay. You don't erase five years of loneliness and heartbreak in a few days, nor should you try to. There's no reason for her to rush to let him back in her bed or into her heart, there's time for her to heal and for him to prove she can trust that he won't leave her again, even for noble reasons.

The bet was a clever way to extend their time living together. And I liked the detail that she was secretly so pleased to have him there, and still so attracted to him, but she knew she couldn't let him know because then it would be game over. He'd settle in and never leave. Not that I think she wants him to leave, she doesn't and that's what scares her. She clearly wants him, and wants him there, she got melty every time she looked at him with Kiraz, but she can hardly be blamed for needing to take it slow. That being said, while putting Kiraz to bed, I loved how Eda's plan to put Serkan on the hot seat completely backfired on her. Hee hee. She decided to tell Kiraz that they're being honest and to ask whatever she wants (that could have gone really wrong, by the way, if she asked if Daddy had really been in space) but daddy's-girl Kiraz immediately turns it back on Eda and wants to know if she loves Serkan Bolat and then sets them up in the same room. Good girl, Kiraz!

I immensely enjoyed the tension of Eda and Serkan sharing a room and sparring about which side they have to sleep on and OF COURSE they can only sleep facing one another. And OF COURSE Serkan migrated to the bed in the middle of the night. Funny how these two keep waking up all wrapped up in one another, almost like... they not only gravitate to one another, they also calm and comfort one another.

Once again, every scene between Edser and Kiraz was gold. I can't say enough how tiresome I usually find children on screen, but here I'm just delighted by her precociousness. Even her making a giant mess in the kitchen was endearing. As I said, I loved how much domestic Edser we got this episode. Them running around the kitchen with their daughter, having a flour fight? Pure delight. And I swear Maya Basol looks more like a mixture of Hande and Kerem than their own child would. It's simply uncanny.

Beyond their domestic scenes, it was lovely to see them both just falling back into a spot where their lives were intertwined. Loved Serkan driving her to work at the hotel, and then driving her home again when she quit. Not to mention how supportive he was, I'm not sure how she didn't either jump him right then and there or start crying in relief, when he was telling her she has the talent to be doing bigger more prestigious jobs and now that he was here to help she could do it. Eda's had support in raising Kiraz from Ayfer and Melo, but they really don't understand her career. Serkan understands. He is the life partner she's been missing.

Eda and Serkan seem to be on the same page as far as their families interference, being annoyed at both Ayfer and Aydan, I'm glad to see neither trying to defend mother/aunt to the other. Eda also seemed annoyed by Serkan moving his office to her house for the day, and she made several inferences, as she's been doing, about him putting work first. This is completely understandable, IMO. He left her on their wedding day for work, and he used "work is the most important thing to me" as the reason both times he broke her heart. Yes, after the fact, she found out that there were other, much bigger reasons and work was just the excuse, however that doesn't erase her deep-seated, pavlovian-like response she has to him seeming to prioritize work. She lived five years, raising their child alone, thinking he loved work more than her. It's completely natural that she's holding onto that for a bit. And it's okay if he needs to prove to her that he can prioritize her and Kiraz over work before she lets it go completely. I get it.

As I said, I enjoyed Serkan trying to trap her with the mood mug, that's the kind of gentle friction and comedy I'm here for. Of course he does catch her later on the phone admitting that she loves that he's there and it's game, set, match. For Serkan. I think we're all glad he won that bet. However, him removing his bed on the floor was a bold move and he pretty much deserved her locking him out after he did it. I read a lot ridiculous discourse on this, and my response is: you're taking this show too seriously again. This is a romcom move, it was done for comedy, and I promise you Serkan is able to fend for himself. If he didn't want to be kicked out, he shouldn't have tried to force his way into her bed again. Waaaaay presumptuous, man.

Buuuuut... how did Serkan get off the balcony? I don't know, but as I said he can fend for himself. Dude probably spent the night on the living room couch. Serkan's sneezing was cute, but being cold doesn't give you a cold. Maybe it's an allergy from too much time outdoors, lol. LOVED Serkan smoothly convincing Eda to come back to the office. If he'd approached that directly, it might have been a weeks long endeavor to get her to make ArtLife her office, but Serkan building the play school was genius! He never wastes time, that guy. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but this was impressive.

It warmed my heart how they fell so easily into working side by side. Casual conversations about what they were working on, and, you know, randomly deciding to go on a family trip to Italy with your estranged lover, as you do. Which all led to one of my favorite scenes... dinner! They got back to honest, open communication and it was lovely. Thankfully, Eda stopped letting him think she was running off to spend time with Burak and I adored Serkan coming clean and allowing himself to be vulnerable in admitting that he'd made the dinner for them and that he'd been upset when she didn't show. That's how you make progress. Just beautiful.

As for the "we need to all tell the truth" scene, that was silly, but if it gave us Aydan's secret being revealed I'm a-okay with it. About time! Buba was once again annoying and it was cathartic for Serkan to be able to tell him he doesn't like him. Same, Serkan. Seriously, can he and Ayfer fall in love and move to the country to run an Alpaca farm or something? The hospital scene was very poignant, I wrote more about it here. Now what I need is for Eda and Serkan to walk out of that hospital room and, out of relief, fall into the tightest hug. Crossing fingers!

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Sen Cal Kapimi #edser #sckask #edser discussion #sck episode discussion #sckedit #you knock on my door #asklizac

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liibrii · 3 years

Text

Yours, tonight

continuation of Forbidden

timeskip!Akagi x fem!reader

Genre: the legendary and there was only one bed. a true classic. y'all know already how this is gonna end. smut with very little plot. explicit, 18+

Warnings: badly written smut, other than that none.

wc: 2.6k

a/n: writing this fic made me realise how awkward all synonyms for boobs sound. this is my first smut so ya know. keep that in mind when casting judgement. as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

'Winds of fate are cruel. They blow and turn your life around and always hit where it hurts most.' Whoever said those words must have had about as much luck as you.

“Gather round!! Arata, what did I say about vendin' machines?!“ Akagi calls out.

Of all the teachers it has to be Akagi you got partnered up with for this field trip. He doesn't seem to mind nearly as much as you do. His carefree smile is as wide and bright as always.

His completely normal acting around you stings, mainly because your cheeks heat up every time he's around. Ever since he kissed you all those weeks ago you feel like a teenager with the biggest crush in his presence and to be completely honest; it’s embarrassing.

Students head for their rooms and after you finish helping them settle down you finally head to yours. The door clicks open when you slide your room card and you shuffle awkwardly through it. When you enter and see who your roommate is you drop the bag.

“Oh,“ is all you manage to utter.

Seeing you makes all colour drain from Akagi's face.

“I, I think I got the wrong room,“ you say after a few very uncomfortable moments of silence.

You didn't. Slight panic starts to take over. No, no, this can't be happening. You doubt you can stand to spend three nights in the same room as him without doing something incredibly foolish.

You hurry down to the reception but no matter how hard you try to convince the lady you need one more room you return empty handed.

“So I guess we're stuck together,“ nervously chuckles Akagi.

You want to punch someone. Preferably whoever messed up the number of teachers coming on this trip. The room is so small it's hard to stay out of each other's personal space. After seeing there is only one bed you're on the verge of grabbing a pillow and sleeping in the hallway.

“I'll sleep on the floor,“ offers Akagi.

“Where exactly?“ you ask with more irritation in your voice than intended. “There's barely enough space for our bags.“

You end up dividing the bed with some sheets and extra pillows. Akagi jokes it's almost like building a pillow fort. If you weren't a sack of irritated nerves you'd laugh and agree.

You take much longer preparing for bed than you need. Despite being exhausted you aren't looking forward to climbing under covers. Being so close to Akagi is nerve wracking. Even with blankets and pillows between you you still smell his shampoo.

“Hey, y/n, whaddaja think, should we give kids more free time tomorrow?”

How can he be so calm? “What's the plan like?”

“Museum in Nara.“

“Maybe... I mean, majority of them won't find it very exciting anyway. How much longer are we talking?“

Akagi shrugs. “An hour.“

You think it over. “Sounds good,“ you agree. “Let them run wild in the park with the deer. At least we won't have to worry they'd run in the street.“

“They could get attacked by the deer though,“ chuckles Akagi.

“But it won't be our fault.“

He looks over at you. “I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one here.“ You roll your eyes. “Well Arata will like it. Did ya know he wants to be a zookeeper?“

You readjust the pillow to make yourself comfortable. “No, no I didn't.“

Akagi tells you about the career plans students have told him about. A warmth spreads through you, thinking how nice it is to hear they trust Akagi with their dreams.

“-He’d known he wants to be a university professor since he was 7! Can ya believe? When I was his age I wanted to join circus. What?“ he looks over at you when you fail to hold back a giggle.

“Nothing.“ The picture of Akagi in circus is just too funny. And kind of adorable. “What did you want to be? Clown?“

“Knife thrower.“ His face lights up when you laugh again.

“Let me guess, your parents disapproved so you had to choose a different career?“

“Found another love when I started playin' volleyball. Before high school I even wanted to go pro.“

“Why didn't you?“

He shrugs. “Wasn't good enough. What about ya?“

You have to think a little. It has been a long time since you've thought about your childhood dreams.

His eyes trail over your face when you speak. “Mhm, can see ya.“ He pauses. “Kind of.“

You smack him with a pillow. “What's that supposed to mean?!“

With Akagi's laughter echoing in the room you can't stop a smile creeping on your face. You turn away and burry your face in the pillow. “Goodnight Akagi.“

He turns the lights off. “Night.“

The next morning you wake up before alarm rings. Akagi's still deep asleep, tightly hugging a pillow. In the faint morning sun coming through the window he looks so peaceful. And kind of cute. Despite the snoring. You get ready and leave the room before he wakes.

During the day you try your best to keep your distance but your efforts do nothing to stop Akagi from circling and annoying you throughout the day. In the crowd at the museum he sticks close, his hand grazing yours when you pass each other. When the time for a break comes and you head outside he trips you just so he can catch you in his arms. For heaven's sake, he's being more childish than the students you're supposed to be looking after.

For the third time that day you grab his hand before he manages to tickle you. “Stop that.“

“Stop what?“ he innocently asks but the grin on his face is anything but innocent.

You glance around, making sure students have already scattered throughout the park. You step away from Akagi seeing one of your teacher colleagues is still nearby. Luckily her back is turned. “We could get in trouble.“

“Over what?“ The innocent look in his eyes could as well belong to a toddler asking for candy. “Besides, I like trouble,“ he winks before walking away.

By the time you return to your accommodation it's already evening. Just the thought of being in the same room as Akagi makes your heart pound. He leaves the room when you take a shower, saying he'll check up on the students in the mean time, and you're thankful for this little act of mercy.

You're not sure how much of his teasing you can take before you wipe away that mischievous grin of his. With a slap or a kiss, you have yet to decide.

You make yourself comfortable on the bed. You pay a lot more attention to the schedule for tomorrow than usual. Mostly because it's Akagi's turn to shower and you're trying to keep inappropriate thoughts out of your mind.

At least he has the decency to come out wearing a shirt. He dries his hair with a towel and stretches his neck. “These pillows are just so weird, dontcha think? It's been hurtin' the entire day.“

You don't look up from the schedule. “Maybe you just don't know how to sleep.“ He playfully smacks you with a towel. “Come here,“ you pat the mattress beside you.

Akagi sits down. When your fingers touch his neck he freezes for a mere second before relaxing. You press the sore muscles of his shoulders, running your fingers to the back of his neck.

“You have so many knots,“ you notice.

He chuckles. “First field trip. It's more stressful than I expected.“

You rub circles down his back and focus on the particularly stubborn knot just below his left shoulder. The muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt are pliant beneath your fingers.

He hums contently and leans closer into your touch before freezing and sitting up straight as if he just remembered there's a line he's not allowed to cross. His smell is intoxicating. You move back to massaging his neck. Tips of his hair is still wet from the shower.

“Better?“ Something is telling you you're on thin ice.

Akagi turns to face you. Brilliant smile on his face makes your heart skip a beat. “Much better. Thanks!“

Only now you become aware of just how close he's sitting. You can feel the warmth radiating form his body. Ah, fuck should've listened to that small voice telling you this was a bad idea.

You kiss him.

When you pull away he's beaming. Before you can speak he pulls you into another kiss, his hands slowly move up and down your back. “Knew ya wouldn't be able to resist for long,“ he smirks.

You’ve crossed the line already. So what damage would it be taking one more step? You climb in his lap and run your fingers through his damp hair. His lips feel perfect against yours. You can’t seem to get enough. One more, you tell yourself, just one more. When he pulls away you drag your teeth along his jaw, just testing the waters. He carefully lowers you on the bed and moves to plant sloppy kisses on your neck. His hands roam down your sides and slip under your shirt, making you shiver.

Akagi gently nips at the skin under your ear. “Stop, no marks.“

He plants a soft kiss on the reddening patch. “Sorry,“ he murmurs.

“We could get in trouble.“

In response he grinds against you. “Told ya I like trouble.“

He slides his tongue past your lips. His touch makes your head spin and a knee pressing to your core isn't helping. It’s embarrassing how eagerly you grind against him.

“Listen,“ he pants, “I know we shouldn't...“ You put your hand on his flushed cheek then brush your lips against his again. “I want ya,“ he mumbles against your lips, “I want ya so bad. Even if it's just tonight.“

Your stomach flips. “Just tonight,“ you breathe.

When you kiss him deeper and drag your tongue against his he trembles. You fiddle with the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head. Without a warning he pins you underneath him, grinding his already noticeable bulge against your throbbing core. The moan he draws from you is almost shameful. Not that you care since you're far too preoccupied with helping him get you out of your clothes.

The way his eyes darken at the sight of your naked body makes you flush even harder and you bashfully try to cover yourself. He grabs your wrists. “Hey. What are ya tryin' to hide for love?“

His hands wander over your arms. He trails kisses down between your breasts and nips at the skin of your abdomen. When you squeal and playfully smack his head away he grins wider and presses a soft kiss over your naval before moving lower.

He takes his time kissing and nipping at the skin of your tights. As good as it feels you wish he'd just fuck you already.

The way his eyes glisten when he drags his fingers between your wet folds sets you on fire. You can barely hold back a whimper which only becomes harder when he parts them and latches on your clit. He's sloppy, his tongue lapping in quick circles, his fingers digging into the flesh of your tights. You buck hips against him wanting more. “Michi.“ His name is a whimpering plea.

Fingers replace his tongue, rubbing soothing circles that only make the knot in your stomach tighter. “I got ya love. Just relax and enjoy.“

He sinks his teeth into your inner tight, making you yelp in surprise, then laps his tongue over it in soothing circles. You know it will leave a mark. His fingers slide from your clit to your entrance, slowly sliding one finger inside. He observes every shift of your body. He returns to giving attention to your swollen bud and it isn't long before you feel orgasm building. You grab on the sheets. His pumping fingers graze your sweet spot just enough to make you see stars. It's hard holding back moans as the waves of pleasure wash over you. When your orgasm hits you clamp a hand over your mouth, trembling and clenching around his fingers.

He presses soft kisses all over your body while you come down from your high. “Ready?“ he asks once you've caught your breath. You nod.

He climbs off to grab a packet of condoms from his bag.

“Did you bring them with you?“ you half joke.

“Nah. Bought them yesterday. Just in case,“ he winks.

You can't help but laugh. His hair is a mess and the blush on his face makes him even more adorable than usual.

He lets you put the condom on and digs his fingers in your shoulder when you slowly stroke him. You peck his parted lips. He’s panting and you almost can’t believe the lust in his hooded eyes is all for you. He pushes you on your back and lines himself up with your entrance. He holds your hand while he slowly pushes in you, giving you all the time to adjust to his length.

A string of breathy curses fall from his lips. “Fuck y/n yer so hot, fuck, finally-“

The way he fits inside you makes your head spin and the fast, relentless pace he picks up isn't helping either. He leaves messy, wet open mouth kisses down your neck and chest. “Slow down Michi, slow down.“ Slow down, this is the only night we got.

“Shh,“ he presses his hand over your lips, “we can't have them hear ya, right?“ He kisses your forehead and slows so you can catch your breath. His hand slips in yours, pinning it above your head, fingers tightly intertwined with his. His lips brush over your cheek. His skin burns against yours. Each of his slow thrusts pulls a moan from you that gets muffled by his hand.

Akagi stops and sits back on his heels. He's covered with a sheen of sweat, his chest heaving. He runs his hand through the mess you've made of his hair in an attempt to compose himself. His fingers brush over your nipples, down your stomach. Then he hooks his arm under your leg and gently pushes it towards your torso. He moves the hand from your lips to cup your flushed face. “Be good and quiet for me, yeah?” His finger brushes over your lower lip and you nod.

The new position makes him reach even deeper. You clasp shaking hands over your mouth when he hits your sweet spot. He notices your reaction, thrusting again and again in the exact same spot. His fingers find their way back to your clit, rubbing frantic circles and it isn't long before the pool of heat in your abdomen bursts. Akagi's fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as he thrusts faster, helping you through your high.

His lips meet yours again, hungry and almost desperate. In the darkness of the night they muffle his whimpers as he comes closer and closer to the edge, you feel him shudder and inhale sharply every time you clench around him. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, picking up a much faster pace.

Your nails dig in his back, he's reaching so deep and it feels like heaven and you don't want him to stop. A thrust more and he comes, biting your shoulder to hide his loud moan.

For a moment there's only the sound of your panting. Akagi lifts himself on shaking arms to kiss you. Softly. On your lips and your cheek. He caresses your jaw, peppering kisses all over your face.

“One more?“ you murmur.

He kisses your nose. “I was hopin' you'd ask.“

Just tonight, you think to yourself, just tonight he's yours.

#akagi x reader #akagi smut #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #akagi michinari x reader #inarizaki x reader #akagi michinari smut #inarizaki smut #libri scribbles #akagi michinari #spicy

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nozomijoestar · 3 years

Text

I used to have this story exclusively on my Ao3 but since I deleted that last December its taken me months to feel any rhythm of comfort uploading writing online again be it original or not; so I’m finally planning to reupload stuff I saved that isn’t already tagged here

Originally written under ‘Start and Start Again’ for She-Ra Fluff Bang 2020 and my first standalone novella length thing at 10k

The journey of Catra’s ever changing life begins with one step forward

It started as a bump on her stomach. A mild thing no bigger than her fist. Yet it stuck out the way the crown piece of a treasure hoard shines. Catra stumbled backwards; gripped the sink to keep her balance. She stared deeper into the full length mirror. The bump remained, had it gotten taller in this light? It was smooth to the touch or rather as smooth as fur could be. The softness of her was something to take great pride in. Anyone who assumed her messy were proven dead wrong. Now wasn't the time for petty thinking however.

Catra sank to the floor still clutching her stomach. She felt it join as part of her, this new thing, and if she strained her ears she just knew it had a heartbeat. A child. Adora's- no their child. She has to swallow to not shout 'Holy Shit!!!' at the top of her lungs. Instead it makes her bite her lip until blood trickles. Catra winces then recovers; she stands and runs water to splash on her face. The woman staring back in the vanity mirror is smiling under the wet bangs sticking to her forehead; smiling like an idiot now disheveled. She pivots and bolts out the bathroom yelling.

"Hey Adora! Adora come over here!"

"Catra? What's going on this early?"

She dashed around the sofa through the living room to find Adora rubbing her eyes and slinking out of bed. She heard her mumble already about waking ahead of schedule; it made her try not to roll her eyes. Of course she'd fixate on that right out of sleep. Before she let her get in another word Catra stopped in front of her. She grabbed Adora's hand and pressed it to her stomach. A lopsided grin was all she could muster for a reply. It took a few seconds, then Adora's eyes went wide. She saw her stare at the bump with such reverence Catra felt tears fall.

"You're...we're..."

"I know."

Adora pulled her down into a hug so tight Catra had to tap her to ease it.

"I'm gonna be a parent...Catra you're gonna be a parent! It's, it's real. It's actually happening."

"Told ya it'd work out."

Then Adora sucked in a huge breath and went rigid gawking at the ground.

"Oh my god I'm gonna be someone's mom. I dunno the first thing about babies! Catra who do we even ask-"

"Um, all of Bright Moon and our friends? They already know we're trying did'ja think they'd ditch us now?"

"No! No of course not. It's just this is actually happening. What if I mess it up already and something goes wrong o-or they come and don't like me- can babies think their mom is lame before they're born? What if-"

"Adora. Do you still want a baby?"

"Yes. More than anything. Sorry I know I'm being-"

"Hey. That's all you need; someone like you is gonna do fine. So stop or you'll give yourself a heart attack before the kid's even here."

Catra sat beside her and rubbed circles on her back. A sigh filled the room when Adora leaned her head on Catra's shoulder. She planted a kiss in her hair and wrapped an arm around her.

"...I wouldn't have my kid with someone I knew'd be shit at it. Or to me. You're you Adora, I didn't choose anyone else."

"I know I know. We're nothing like Sha-"

For an instant something stops Adora as if she's been gagged. Her eyes go wide again haunted by the sinister. She tries speaking only to make a strangled sound. They exchanged a look of understanding no one should have. A look of indescribable pain. Shared pain. Adora strains to start a third time when Catra finishes it.

"Nothing like Shadow Weaver. And we never will be. You can kill me if I do."

"I wouldn't go that far but...me too."

Wordlessly she let Adora slide against her and rest on her chest. Catra purred as she traced her claws along Adora's arm. Her tail coiled around Adora's waist when she bent to kiss her cheek. A hum is all she gets in reply; its more than enough.

"We're better people now, aren't we?" She asks.

"We'll always be better if we try. You're right I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Catra?"

She saw the eyes staring up fill with worry like it held the same value as water. Like it was something born in Adora's hands and for all their years since childhood it may well have been. Like it paired perfect with the tension stiffening her face. A face that deserved only to finally be soft forever. Catra whispered already knowing she wouldn't cure anything. It was too late of course; shame was her birthright too.

"I'm happy. I'm so happy right now I can't put it into words even for you. But that doesn't change what I've done. Who I was before this, before this version of us...back when we woke up everyday wondering if that'd be the last time."

"Catra no."

"I hurt you, Adora. I keep saying it because it's never going away ok? I hurt you, I hurt Sparkles and Arrow-Boy, Scorpia...Entrapta. The entire damn planet can bite me in the ass someday and I'd understand. The Horde destroyed. This being the happiest time of my life doesn't erase that."

"Catra-"

"What if I get frustrated and relapse? What if it's not even something I do it runs in families and I'm ruining them right now by being their mother because being a failure is just destiny?!"

"Enough."

The hands holding her head were firm as Adora moved to tangle them in her hair. She lowered her fully onto her lap; let herself purr with a breath in. Her eyes closed, tears fell. Adora's thumb wiped them away. It was so gentle Catra couldn't help a sob. She let everything pour out, let herself be wracked by hiccups; not one received judgement. She sat raw, bare in a place where dignity came innate not earned and knew herself still the invader. The conqueror. An aide to desolation.

The knotted feeling in her throat overpowered the new life under Adora's touch. Her stomach tingled at the caress; did their child want to scold her too?

In the end Adora's voice, that better half, guided her to reason.

"You're allowed to feel bad, remember? Like Perfuma said? I cant stop you no matter how much it hurts to hear. You're allowed to have bad days; but you're not allowed to give up. And you're not allowed to stop improving."

She let herself be pushed gently onto their bed; settled into the wholeness of their bodies resting together like they were made for nothing else. Adora is warm, her chest is safe, and her blonde hair falls across Catra better than a curtain. She purrs and purrs in her arms unable to stop, to entertain the thought for stopping. Hands wander the length of her then settle on her hips. Adora's thumb circles her fur until she wraps her tail along that forearm. They kiss and by god Catra will never get over the bliss it brings. How do you get over a free fall?

In silence she lets herself be tucked further against her; their legs entangle just as a feeling indescribable bursts from deep within. Something Catra knows she's understood for as long as she could remember that refuses to emerge in glimpses anymore. Only Adora can hope to know it in equal measure. She wants to wish that more than she's ever wanted at all. She swallows before meeting Adora's eyes. Adora has the briefest second for confusion when Catra's impulse strikes in her softest voice.

"It's like you know me better than I know myself."

Adora's face went wide then slid into the chuckle they know means contentment.

"Because you let me in."

And let her in she continued to do. For every day she grew bigger not a feasible moment did she spend alone. If she hungered the kitchen stocks ran dry, when she rested Bright Moon went still. Whenever she yowled or groaned there came Adora to massage her, Bow to shoo away prying eyes, Glimmer to order so many extra pillows for their room she thought there'd finally be something to suffocate her worse than herself.

She sat at the center of the castle gardens in the sun. Seven months had turned the seasons hot into mild into cold that'd kept her tucked in Adora's embrace, now turned again another leaf into Spring. Her back ached under a pressure fanning up her spine and centered on her swollen belly. Catra stifled a groan. Adora sat slumped over the table sound asleep opposite her. The gentle snores rumbling from her chest punctuated the bird calls like a bad note cutting a song. Catra laughed as soft as possible. Maybe their kid would pick it up from the get-go.

The ice in her drink clinked as she sipped. That's when she heard another step through the grass. She glanced at a hedge over her glass brim.

"Quit screwing around before someone else sees you."

"Ohhh Kitten you still don't know the meaning of fun do you?"

"Shhh. Adora's asleep. Thought you'd be quieter too. Must be sooo hard going soft."

A guard emerged from the shadows in white armor. The crescent standard of Bright Moon on the chest liquified then twisted into darkness. It bent and spread until a new figure emerged. Double Trouble shook out the unshaven half of their blond undercut. They stretched into a saunter across the paving stones.

Their high heels made that grating 'click clack' noise she'd once waited for in the Fright Zone. On reflex she glanced at Adora; she was still asleep, now drooling. The nasal pitch Double Trouble called a voice went lower even as their words dripped sass. Catra wished it'd never change, if you dragged the thought out of her.

"I'm surprised you've kept that tongue of yours looking like that. What a nasty little bite from an expecting mother."

"Oh really? What a tired act from a spy about to be washed out in peacetime. Hey don't sit there!"

"No darling you made the bed now lie in it for that one. This table is more than enough for a party."

They smirked at each other and knew there was nothing to forgive. Double Trouble gave Adora a once over look; their eyes lingered on Catra's stomach. They crossed their legs and arms with that flair Catra secretly imitated in the mirror. She went back to drinking.

"Seems like you two tied the knot finally. So sorry I had to miss that event, the stage called me. Color me not shocked to have seen this coming a mile away."

"...What's that mean?"

"It means darling there are countless women throughout the universe who'd kill for your position. Wife of She-Ra and now adding to this little litter you two are starting? Honey you're the most envied yet admired woman anywhere."

"Yeah well I'll believe it when I see it. That many people couldn't like me unless there was something to take."

"Dear, would you look at me?"

She did and found them filing their nails. Typical. They continued.

"Are we friends?"

A pause. Catra twiddled her thumbs. They looked her dead in the eyes now.

"Yeah."

"And her over there, what is she to you?"

"I...Adora is part of my everything."

"Why?"

"What'd you mean why?"

She stopped herself and startled; her eyes widened toward something distant, somewhere within. There from her memory stood Adora, begging her to turn rebel, Adora catching her before a drop to certain death, Adora laughing as they held hands like children again through dark tunnels. Adora overturning an empire millions strong to save her on nothing more than her heart. Adora crying always crying but never stopping.

Foolish and lovely Adora who promised her in infinite ways she was worth it.

Double Trouble grinned into a sound of contentment. They put their filer away and stared expectantly but not without care.

"I take it you know. Now tell me this and be honest- what about Glimmer and Bow? What about all these other princesses and their kingdoms? How do they treat you?"

"They're...they're kind to me. Every time we were off planet letting Adora do her thing, seeing people hold magic for the first time...putting up with my crap before this baby and...helping."

"Oh dearest me that sounds like dare I say, friendship!"' They gasped in mock surprise and laid a hand on their chest.

Catra shot them a scowl; it didn't last.

"Shut up before Adora gets up and misses another hour of sleep. Do you have any idea how she's been? I don't think she's even running on anything anymore like, everyday."

"Taking care of you I'd assume. Go on am I right?" Double Trouble asked (with a wiggle of their eyebrows of course) as if they were on the verge of a delicious secret. For all Catra knew they probably did and could eat those.

"Don't read my damn mind." She replied resting her chin on her palm.

"Darling, Catra, enough moping. Having to kick you in the rear like this when you of all people are making kittens is a bad look. Times have changed; you're not that hollow eyed puppet I knocked sense into back with the Horde. Be free, live a little, throw your kid wild birthday parties. And for the love of theatre get some better stylists for the two of you. I won't stand for a child who's moms aren't looking fabulous."

The whirlwind of gestures their hands made came to a stop. They stared yet again with that expectation bearing down on her. Catra read their eyes. It came from a good place; a place deep, deep past the snark. A veil of doubt that'd anchored in her fell away. Everyone had been kind no- was being kind. The cruelest thing they could do was throw a pregnant woman out to fend for herself and that was seven months too late. 'Or early. Weren't you found in a box? Weren't you out with the trash once time was up?'

She shuddered. No, it wasn't like that anymore, it had no right to be. No power over her; no power over her family. Catra grit her teeth and fangs flashed. She wouldn't let it. Without thinking a growl rumbled through her. Double Trouble clicked their tongue.

"Stress is extra bad for you right now Kitten. Just try to keep stepping out of that head of yours and see what's around for a change."

At last they stood and made to leave; Catra almost reached to stop them, then thought better. What more was there to add? They'd seen her for an open book. Instead she swallowed hard. The voice that called out to them bled sincerity.

"Thank you."

"Pay me back by making good choices darling."

Two weeks later she wriggles her toes on a beach in Mystacor. The sky shifts from twilight to orange dusk. She just knows she's counted the exact same number of clouds the past hour. The air is so clean it's her only barrier from passing out; every breath jolts energy beneath her aches. Adora's footsteps are easy to read when her ears perk. She wraps her tail around her at the feel of them sitting together.

Adora hums before reaching to stroke her belly. The kiss on her cheek is simple yet her blood dances in excitement. Their fingers lace together on the sand. It grounds them. Catra knows Bow is carrying something by the slightest drag in his gait; Glimmer (if you asked her Catra still had the right to call her Sparkles, Queen shit and everything aside) followed behind. The four of them were a crowd that made anything happen.

As if on cue the baby kicked. Whatever the others blathered about faded from her mind into white noise. Beside her time stopped for Adora too; this kid was already making them predictable. The wonder Catra watched spread across her face stayed fresh as ever. Glimmer and Bow went silent. She felt their eyes trace over, heard their breath hitch. She smiled.

"Can I feel it this time?"

"Glimmer you always ask that. Save room for Uncle Bow, who just so happens to have something I know they'll love!"

"My Aunt helped." Glimmer added behind a hand though Bow could hear her.

"Yes she did but only the clothes; these were all me. See for yourselves."

He revealed a set of dolls from a sack. Each were handwoven and stitched so well if she didn't know Bow she'd guess a machine's handiwork. Her breath hitched. Their likenesses were posed under his movements as Glimmer clapped with a giggle. Adora gasped, covered her mouth while her eyes watered. Big ol' softie her Adora was; yet she fought her own tears. The doll with her face wore a grin between cockiness and charm. The smarmy, ruthless, torn glare of her past self morphed on the silk in her minds eye. Its fangs were bared and its sneer cruel.

Catra shuddered and recoiled until she nearly toppled onto the sand. Her bug eyed stare at the thing matched her heaving chest. Nausea that chased a prickling sensation washed over her like a wave; a force of nature. Several deep breaths gave her some composure but the world continued to blur in a haze. Her heartbeat thrummed in her throat and hearing faded and-

And then Adora filled her vision; Adora held her tight until finally she went still. She felt her cheek cupped and fingers massaging through her hair. Though it had regrown thick as a mane despite reaching her shoulders Adora's nails found her scalp. Of course they would; she purred into the embrace and bit her lip to swallow a cry.

'Just try to keep stepping out of that head of yours and see what's around for a change.'

She blinked; the world popped back into place. They stared at her with faces on a scale from terror to worry; as if there were much difference. Bow's pleas about what was wrong stopped the instant her eyes dared linger on her doll again. He looked down and understood; away it went into the sack.

It wasn't the sentiment that upset her. He knew why. Words returned slow when he took her hand.

"I love it Bow, thanks, really; it's sweet of you. I'm sorry I...y'know. Need to keep working on myself."

"Hey don't apologize for that it's alright. I should be the one saying sorry; I didn't think it was still this bad for you."

"Whatever keeps bugging you we're here ok? No shaming, Horde Scum." Glimmer added with a smile that continued to forgive her more than Catra deserved in her opinion.

But if her own words couldn't be trusted, had she been shown forgiveness after all?

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Adora, always there to cut to the point. She found her voice.

"When I saw myself it's like realizing my kid's gonna idolize me. They're gonna grow up having me everywhere if I'm really with them or not. They might even say they wanna be like their mom. Makes a feeling come over me...who I was tries to tell me they'll find nothing to be proud of."

"Oh Catra. We can't not let you feel that way but what matters is you've changed. You keep changing everyday; look at you now! You're committed to motherhood for one, you and Adora are amazing together, you helped me with so much paperwork- c'mon Bow tell her."

Glimmer nudged Bow until he nudged back; he gave Catra a stare that pierced her doubts. She'd rarely seen anyone who captured the sensation of light poking through clouds. He deserved to be called a sun. She swallowed hard again. God, this baby had her emotional.

"You've come a long way. We chose and keep choosing to help. I know it's hard but don't let whats in your head overpower that. We care. You're not gonna go back to being who you were. If you do, we'd stop you because we want to."

"But, everything with Angella-"

Fuck she mentioned it. Why? She just had to bring it up didn't she? 'Do you enjoy shooting yourself in the foot?...' A squeeze on her arm brought her mind to a halt. Damn, Adora may as well have a license in reading her mood. Glimmer sighed from a deep breath. She watched her face knit into something between grief and acceptance.

Everyone went silent, hinged themselves on whatever Glimmer said next. When she spoke her voice came thoughtful yet blunt.

"My mother is gone. Because of you or not she's not here and wallowing in anger and self pity isn't going to bring her back. I'm sure if she saw me still doing it she'd be upset. I've had the years I needed for that; the Catra in front of me isn't the same who pulled the switch."

Glimmer put a hand on Catra's shoulder and smiled when it was welcome. Their eyes met and she saw Bow nod. Glimmer continued in her queenly voice this time; gone were any hints she spent hours practicing, her mother's strength rang clear.

"Don't discredit our choice to forgive. Trust us to stay honest with you and care. Trust yourself like I know you can. Now, let's rate how cheesy my Aunt's baby clothes look!"

Catra's senses returned as if popping back into existence. Just like that they jumped into the next discussion, the next joke, the next tease. She sat with no one but herself to blame; no one but herself for guilt to feast on. Was that it? Was she still trapped in time? How simple it'd been to get an answer for once, yet beside it came more than she understood. The baby kicked again. She sighed and touched her stomach.

"Sorry you've got an overthinking Mama kid."

Adora nudged her. She turned to find that contagious smile to reel her in.

"Hey they're right y'know. Everything is gonna be ok, I promise."

Promises sacred as they were didn't lessen the pain. Her vision blurred at another stab of pain, another push as her entire body pulsed. Her lower back had it the worst; every ounce of pain coursed from that white hot center until Catra was sure she'd been reduced to jelly, if she could ever see straight again. Another scream tore her throat. Her body arched.

The hiss Adora shot out as Catra's claws dug into her hand registered faintly. She could hear Entrapta babbling some science jargon. Scorpia's frantic voice came beside Entrapta's assembly of rumbling tech no doubt worried over everything; that still didn't help an entire baby kicking out of her. Didn't anyone get that? Now wasn't the time for anything other than whatever got this tiny person out.

Catra screamed and shook and writhed and no matter how many times Entrapta said push it blurred together. She let her head loll sideways in exhaustion. Adora stared at her seized by panic that could do nothing but watch, and hated it. It scratched at the unfocused rage gathering around her like storm clouds. Whatever she said fell hazy on Catra's ears because not a moment behind Catra yelled,

"Next time you're doing this; when this is over I'm kicking your ass AdorAHHGGUUHHH!!!"

Several deep breaths and pushes later a wail robbed anything she could say. Every voice stopped, every head turned and every ear strained. It came again. A high pitched wail echoed through the room. A baby's first cry. There was no time then; no past nor future only the moments for each cry hurled into the world. She watched a shape writhe in Entrapta's arms at the foot of the bed. A flash of metal later and the umbilical cord was cut.

Everything remained a blur...then Entrapta handed her a squirming bundle. The baby rested against her easier than breathing. It was just, so right; one of the most right things Catra ever knew. Their fur matched her tan orange down to the slightly darker stripes. The hair is all Catra; she'd recognize that messy brown anywhere. It's when they blink at her for the first time, that's when Adora's blue eyes stare back.

Their hands are curled into fists and they fuss under her gaze. They blink once, twice, Catra finds herself counting everything. A purr deep enough to rattle them took her by surprise. At last her claws retracted from Adora's skin; she cradled their child between measured breaths. The instant she's released Adora doesn't waste a second coming closer.

They look at each other then their child then back again. Tears are the first thing they feel together followed by Adora's lopsided grin.

"Still wanna kick my ass?"

"Shut up and get in here dummy."

Catra's voice is hoarse but that doesn't lessen the spark in their kiss. Fingers tangle in Catra's sweaty hair and she's breathless when they pull away. There's a moment of silence until Entrapta gets the drop on them. Of course she does, she's Entrapta. They can spy the glint off her tape recorder.

"Just to confirm the baby is healthy at seven pounds eight ounces, a length of twenty centimeters, tail included, and a sex of male. Now the real question is have either of you chosen a name?"

The thick tendril of Entrapta's hair holding her recorder wiggles closer. Catra snarled on impulse and fought to not snap her teeth too.

"Don't hold that thing so close to Finn's face. The sound or whatever's gonna hurt his ears."

"Finn? You want to call him Finn? I thought you still weren't sure about any names." Adora said with the slightest confusion.

"Yeah I was but...I dunno it just feels right. Doesn't he look like a Finn? Hey Scorpia come over here! Does he or does he not look like a Finn?"

If it was possible for scorpions to move like they wanted to break the sound barrier without actually doing so, that was how Scorpia rushed over. Honestly Catra would laugh if she weren't cradling her son as if guarding her trove. Those enormous pincers are enough to shadow Finn's head as he attempts to swat one. Instead Adora gave him a finger to cling on. The tears streaking from Scorpia's eyes dripped waterfalls down her chin.

"Wildcat you're asking me what he looks like? Oh of course he's a Finn, look at that handsome little face and that tiny nose! And his hair! Catra that one is all you oh that stuff is gonna break so many combs I tell ya. He's even got his claws already; you guys have a mama's boy on your hands gosh. I remember when Flora hatched, ah good times..."

"Scorpia..."

"Huh? Oh sorry Wildcat yeah he's definitely a Finn! What'd ya think Adora? Entrapta?"

"Hmm...Baby Log Day, well day of birth. Catra has asked me if her newborn resembles a 'Finn'. As the only knowledge I'm aware of regarding this relates to fish, I will say yes. Fish and their fins are something cats enjoy and thus it is logical."

The line of stares fixed on her made Entrapta press her recorder.

"Addendum, it is also very cool."

"Adora?" Catra called.

Every stare turned toward her awaiting a verdict. Finn gurgled and squirmed when she met his stare. There fell a moment of purest silence.

"Yeah. Finn is a good name. We'll get him ready to propel through life."

There was an echoing 'thwack' when Catra smacked Adora's hair poof; Adora's giggling poured out even as Glimmer, Bow, and every Princess they knew finally appeared. Catra's bed was rushed by a crowd acting like they'd never seen an infant. Then again, no one had seen anyone of Catra's race all her life. Not that she'd asked around.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't come sooner! The meeting ran into overtime but we're here now. Where's the baby?"

Glimmer moved through the parting crowd as she spoke; her body radiated energy while her eyes scanned around. She and Bow must've shared the same mind because they were the first to study Finn. Their jaws dropped.

"So. Darned. Cute. Those ears." Bow said. His eyes practically sparkled with joy.

Glimmer looked at Catra, then Adora with a face that fought a hold on restraint.

"You guys can hold him. Just don't crowd his space." Catra said smiling.

Those were the words that released whatever collective breath everyone held. Finn was passed around the room leaving praise and awe in his wake. Everyone had their own opinions; so much so that the buzz of their chatting built Catra's headache right as Finn was finally returned. Frosta was yelling about how to shape a commemorative ice sculpture; Perfuma created several bouquets now burying Adora. Bow, Entrapta, and Scorpia stood putting their heads together discussing proper baby nutrition over the next year.

When she checked Finn his face grew red then wrinkled and that's when it hit. A full strength wail. The kind of cry to break noise into silence and validate Catra's agitation. Something resembling peace slid over the tension settling in the air. Adora managed to roll out of the flowers before looking at Catra. A nod in response is all she needs to wrangle everyone away. When the door closes for the last time only the three of them remain.

Finn continued crying though nowhere as intense. Catra took a deep breath, then she held the infant face down, tucked his arms across his chest, and finished by holding his bottom. She had to give herself credit; not a single mistake, Perfuma may as well have done it for her. The cries quieted immediately and ceased when she gently rocked him. In a minute he lay snuggled on her chest. Sleep made his eyes fight to stay open though he soon lost.

"He curls up just like you."

"Yeah. We'll see if he keeps the whole castle awake with your snoring." Catra replied chuckling.

Adora is beside her in seconds with that lopsided grin. The bed gets crowded bearing the three of them but it'll manage.

"I'm not an awful snorer ok; everyone's gonna survive when they sleep. They've done it this long."

"So you admit it's a problem."

"No! Anyway that's not important look at his chubby cheeks. That's all him."

"Babe, I think that's something every baby has. Did you forget all seven of Scorpia's kids, or even Bow and Glimmer's daughter?"

"Of course not but you're not looking at them. We made those. They're perfect and adorable as much as the rest of him."

Adora stroked Finn's hair and nestled against Catra's side. Together they yawned then laughed.

"Tired?"

"I gave birth Adora of course I am."

"Heh, sorry. Nighty night you two."

She's long learned Adora's penchant for sleeping hard enough to make the dead jealous. How exactly she can turn it on and off yet thrash restlessly, still waking up then tackling an entire day? After years Catra might never know and, some days, didn't care to anymore. It simply was. That was Adora, always rushing to do everything, solve every problem, take every blow. No matter how much their loved ones- no matter how many times Catra told her otherwise some piece stayed. It was like an infection molded into Adora's skin.

God did Catra still hate it. If Finn inherited that...

Her body ached worse than getting dragged by rope. She would know; Glimmer had been the one pulling after all. In those days of war and violence whipped into a storm this feeling was nothing new. Yet it was. Now there came a new tired setting on her bones. The tired from achieving something bigger than herself yet selfish in origin. Well, maybe the selfish part hadn't changed.

Maybe she really can be good not just do good. Adora began to snore as Catra let sleep claim her.

When Finn turns one year old Catra has settled into the race of parenthood. There's feeding time, nap time, diaper changing, the once a week checkups, and making a fool of herself so Finn laughs. One day passes with the funneled energy of several; no longer can she rise with the sun into a cage of rumination. Finn dictates her snapping awake on whims as random as the harried sleep itself.

She can't mope she just can't, he won't let her. He needs her and for the first time even beyond Adora, Catra accepts it. Not hesitating or doubting or anything else. Not the painstaking slip and climb over struggle after struggle until she and Adora were finally level. Finn right now is only a creature of needs; without her...she doesn't want to think further. There is finally someone for whom she can only give at the very beginning. The stress is worth it, it's not about her faults.

Perfuma notices of course. The way she walks ever eager into their meetings, even with eye-bags, stands far more confident than the hesitation that made her drag her feet. From the stares she gets now it's as if persecution and guilt lie only in her shadow. At least, that's what she thinks Perfuma means when one meeting she says,

"You look radiant Catra! Have you been keeping up with your personal letters?"

The morning light shines behind Perfuma making her hair resemble a glow. Combined with her chipper voice and pristine skincare (Seriously how did she keep up with seven kids at her heels?) Catra would be getting a headache right now. The old her would think Perfuma above her wielding such composure, such carefree grace. The her of the present instead replies weary but smiling.

"I have. For real this time too. No more skipping days."

"Oh lovely, I'm glad you're coming around. Self reflection and forgiveness can be so liberating; never forget you're allowing yourself space and patience. Walk with me."

She's heard those words enough to make her head spin, but now they land in her heart. A warmth seeps in the way she thinks Perfuma always intended. If she had to reflect now as they pass Scorpia's gardens, she wouldn't call messy hair, tired eyes, and what might be clothes from two days ago radiant. Perfuma probably wasn't being literal.

The trails of Perfuma's green shawl (Seemingly more fluttery today than usual; like butterfly wings if she had to compare) stop inside a wide room. Catra knows which pillow to sit on and in seconds Perfuma is across her. Their eyes meet then close before performing a basic breathing exercise. One breath in and Catra gathers her worries, one pause, on the exhale her body relaxes.

Her eyes open and find Perfuma doing the same. The ear to ear smile on her face still unnerves Catra like a pinprick; it's strange to be so happy in a world built on entropy. Catra's allowed that hesitation, right? No she's being an idiot again; she's seen Perfuma a mess, back when Scorpia and all her people contorted under Horde Prime's marching orders, under the chips once burrowed in their flesh.

Regardless she'd never given up then. She hadn't been Catra running away the minute she projected doubt on Adora. She shook her head and sighed. This was getting nowhere. Of course for her part Perfuma sat in silence, waiting for as much time as Catra needed. She smiled shyly at that.

"Sorry got lost in reflecting I guess."

"It's alright Catra that's what we're here for. Do you want to share your thoughts?"

"I think you already know after this long." Catra licked her lips nervously.

"I don't mind listening."

A long pause. She read nothing but openness in Perfuma's eyes.

"You know I've said before I was jealous of you, unnerved even. How could anyone stay so happy when the world hurts? Well now I think I understand. There's no point in dwelling on my pain. Sure I can feel it, acknowledge it, but it'll pass again. Letting it control me when it's something I'll carry forever is exhausting. All I've done then is hurt myself when for once no one else wants to. That's what Finn's made me realize."

She finished with a sigh and slackened shoulders; a woman spent at last of a pointless barrier. Isolation was no longer a badge of honor; it never had been. Perfuma wore genuine surprise like she'd heard something profound, not Catra stating the obvious. When Perfuma next spoke the words poured out afraid to stop. Afraid, Catra senses, that Catra will bolt away in embarrassment.

"I'm proud of you that's the most you've shared all at once yet. And it sounds like it truly means self-love. You're allowing vulnerability and have accepted a truth. We are all works in progress."

"Thanks. I guess I have." The tears flowing down Catra's face make her voice wobble.

"Would you like a hug?"

With a nod Catra opened her arms and wept into Perfuma's dress; she wept the choked yet earnest sobs of a child. She felt a hand pat her hair.

"What happened when you were a child, it's not your fault."

There comes a pause where Catra stiffens then pulls back but not away. Her watery eyes glisten under the light while the rest of her trembles. Her lips quiver wanting to fight a new sob on instinct; it makes her teeth grit. None of it is hostile, Catra stares at Perfuma who again brings down the axe on the final barrier tainting her heart. Despite herself the words are out; Shadow Weaver installed that defense mechanism in her, denial.

"It is...it is."

"It's not your fault."

"But it is! I deserved it because I couldn't fight back!"

"It's not your fault."

"It...I...did."

Catra's face scrunched under the weight of the lie. She gets a solemn head shake in response. The sick sensation in her chest crumbles and her body feels no stronger than jelly. This time she clings back in Perfuma's embrace. She wails. Perfuma's reassurance pierces the scared girl inside gentle as sunshine.

"It's not your fault."

When the flood within her passes they mulled over tea. The silence now settled almost as comfortable as being with Adora. If Catra thought harder on it though, maybe silences themselves didn't need Adora to be good. Maybe the truth is Adora isn't the only bond to believe in; the others have waited on Catra long enough. She feels a pang of guilt at that. It flickers then dies when she hears the question,

"How are you and Finn? You mentioned him earlier."

"Kinda speaks for itself just looking at me y'think? But uh, sorry. It's been great; busy every second and sometimes I wanna tear my hair out but...in the end I really do like being a mom. It's not just about loving Finn and having him with Adora either. It's also like...I dunno..."

"Like starting over; a second chance?"

"Yeah...yeah I think it is." Catra smiled.

"The advice I can give for that is don't forget you're still guiding him. Parenting with compassion and trust will help you both, but he must find himself and make his choices."

She had nothing to add other than slight alarm. Then the weight behind the words settled, planted seeds in her thoughts. She stared out the window drinking her tea; her mind drifted and for once the peace of it wasn't strange.

When Finn is two years old he shivers in her arms. The storm sent another sheet of rain beating against the castle. Grey covers the window glass and another lightening flash dimly illuminates the room. In the span of a blink it's gone; Finn mewled stuffing part of Catra's shirt in his mouth. Her hand ran through his hair. That seemed to relax his hold.

He looked up at her with Adora's wide blue eyes and for an instant Catra remembers being six, Adora's blanket her only comfort on nights like this.

"It's a thunderstorm Finn. I know it sounds scary but it'll pass ok? It always has before. You were too little to remember."

"Where's Mommy?"

She hears the fear getting ahold of him; she answers a touch too fast. It takes everything in her hoping he didn't notice.

"With Auntie Glimmer remember? They're meeting about adult stuff. We have to wait."

"I want her here."

"I know Finn, I know. She's coming. You're ok with me. Nothing bad will happen. Mommy's coming soon."

He nodded and though he whimpered he concentrated on Catra alone. At the next roar of thunder however he stiffened with his tail gone frizzy. The door opened bringing a stripe of light and Adora's unmistakable silhouette. Immediately Finn sprang out of Catra's arms to tackle Adora's legs. Catra hears her gasp then laugh softly as she kneels.

"Mommy! Be She-Ra!"

"Hey there to you too Finn. Why do you want She-Ra out?"

"Make bad sounds go away."

"It's the weather, I don't control that. Weren't you safe with Mama? Look she's waiting for us and I bet she stayed the whole time."

"But I want Mama and Mommy..."

Catra left bed and kneeled beside Adora. She ruffled Finn's hair; his tears were gone with a swipe of her thumb. Adora held his hands smiling while Catra went on.

"It's ok to be scared. We won't leave you not ever."

"Even when one of us isn't here with you, remember we love you. Think real hard about us when you're scared and all the bad stuff will go away."

Finn sniffled, swallowed, fumbled to speak those words they knew were sacred.

"You promise?"

"Yes." They reply together.

More thunder cracks the air signaling another swell of hissing rain. She watched as he froze squeezing his eyes shut. His hands balled into fists; he didn't flinch or cry when the storm gentled again. Now he stood trembling but no less brave. The warmth spreading through Catra was mirrored in the indescribable pride on Adora's face. She reached for her hand and it was held.

"Like that?" Finn asked, staring at them as if everything hinges on this moment.

"Just like that."

Catra kisses his forehead; it's no time at all until they hug him close. His heartbeat calms under their embrace and she purrs; it's always as hard as the day he was born. The purr she feels back widens her eyes then-

"Mama why're you crying?"

"She's happy you did it, right Catra?"

"Yeah...I'm happy Finn."

She shivers at Adora's kiss on her cheek. The touch of her breath tickling when she whispers almost makes Catra purr, for a reason neither can say aloud. She wraps her tail around Adora's wrist and listens.

"I'll get him to bed ok. Won't be long."

Catra mumbles her reply against her lips,

"I know."

They kiss and though it's a second before Adora pulls away, Catra knows peace.

At three years old Finn runs through the halls whooping and hollering. The stuffed bear glides through the air in his grasp. She knows Mr. Snuggles will need a wash when the day's done. Cupping her hands around her mouth she gently calls after.

"Don't run so fast you'll trip. Watch where you're going."

"Yeah Mama I know!"

Of course the thud she expected comes not an instant later. Even if he landed on carpet her blood pounds in panic; she sprints light on her feet toward his side. No second is wasted righting him from laying flat on his belly. She checks his arms, his legs, his face, the back of his head is fine too. He holds his wrist looking down ashamed.

"My head hurts."

"It's alright we'll get some medicine before seeing Mommy. Next time watch out ok? I might not have been here to help."

He nodded but still won't meet her eyes. Her expression falls. She sits with her hand giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze; her tail twitched nervously. Finn is silent. Far more than if he acted up or felt too embarrassed. The air itself feels heavier as if to breathe means starting a count down before down becomes up and left is right. Her voice shakes ever so slightly. Was this because of her?

"Finn? What's wrong? Does it hurt real bad?"

"Auncle Dee Tee told me something that made me feel funny. Flora and Angella said boys get hurt a lot when they play. B-But I like girl games with them too! When I fell I remembered what Auncle Dee Tee said."

"That's just silly there aren't 'boy' and 'girl' games. Just games. What'd Auncle say?"

"They said that too. They said nobody has to be a girl or boy if they don't want to. They said a big word like 'nuhncun-foming' I think."

She hears footsteps round the corner, a walk she could pick out anywhere. Adora stops then assesses; she wastes no time coming to them. Immediately her face is knit in worry and concentration. Catra knows that look better than herself. The look of a soldier, of years honed as a commanding officer, the look her fantasies once replicated dreaming of their conquest of Etheria...it's never appeared serene as it does now.

It reminds her not for the last time she's not alone.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt Finn? I knew I heard something bump on my way over."

"He tripped and fell but it's not serious. I checked already. He just has a headache."

"Good. C'mon let's go get medi-"

"Adora wait. He had something important he was saying. Finn? Can you tell Mommy what you told me?"

His expression finally lights up again; courage gathered when he stands straighter and stares at them firm.

"When I fell I remembered what Auncle told me. They said some people don't feel like they're just a boy or girl. My girl friends said boys fall a lot playing; I like their girl stuff where we don't fall a lot too! I wanna...I wanna be like Auncle. Auncle sounds like me."

They sat and the silence turned to awe. They glanced at one another then at Finn, who stood in utmost seriousness. Double Trouble's words floated to the surface of Catra's memories. She had to step outside her own head right? Well this time the world did it well enough for her. Adora as usual is the first to make a move.

"What do you want us to call you?"

"I'm Finn! I don't wanna be a boy or a girl I wanna be both! I wanna do everything I like as me. Can I be 'nunhcuhnfoming' too?"

To their surprise they chuckle as Finn looks on, conviction dropping into worry. Catra grinned and pulled Finn into a hug.

"You can be whatever you want kid including nonconforming. We're not gonna say no to anything like that."

"Do you want us to still call you 'He'?" Adora said in a tone that announces she's not worrying herself sick for once.

"Nuh uh! Auncle uses 'They'."

"Then that's what we'll use too. Thanks for telling us Finn."

Finn, they, beam from ear to ear. They picked up and dusted off Mr. Snuggles holding him close. They purr echoing through the hall; by instinct Catra joins in while Adora plants kisses all over Finn's cheeks.

"Does your head still hurt?"

"A little..."

"Let's go make it better then."

Finn is four when their troublemaking streak starts to shine. They let Adora chase them through the back gardens at a sprint. It's an unspoken dare to crown who's faster and watching from the sidelines, Catra doesn't need to guess it's Finn. Like what she imagined of any child of hers Finn scampers up a tree next. They wave a toy and blow a raspberry down at Adora who's panting for dear life. Her poor fool never stood a chance.

Adora stands hunched over, her finger raised to call a time out. She's still gathering her breath when Catra hears her force out words as she walks toward them both.

"Ok give Mommy a break for...five minutes...or forever. Ugh."

"You're too slow so I win!"

They watch as Finn sticks their tongue out again. Catra kneels to pat Adora's shoulder. She plants a kiss in her hair and grins.

"Hate to say it but I told you they'd beat you. Give it up Adora."

"I'll never...understand...how you two...do it...so unfair."

"Only She-Ra can win a race with me Mommy. If you're She-Ra it's really hard to keep up."

Still wheezing Adora glanced at Catra in defeat. A shrug is all she gets in response. Finn sits on a branch above them swinging their legs, the embodiment of confidence. Then they do something that throws off even Catra; they hang from their perch by the tail. Upside down Finn pays no heed to their gaping Mama and instead teases Adora with another raspberry. She falls on her ass yelping.

A choked giggle left Catra before rising to laughter. By the time she's full on snorting she rolls in the grass; upside down Adora scowls at them both but it's all in fun. The way she sees her blush makes her nerves go fluttery. She doesn't need to be told when their eyes meet and Catra knows it's mutual. Before anything can come of it Finn lands on the ground effortlessly.

She watches them tug Adora's sleeve; the fake modesty and flattering lilt they're piling on too thick gives them away. The fact that they can hold the performance this well is far more a Catra thing than Adora. She feels hesitant pride bubble within her. Could she have that knowing where it came from?

"Mommy my toy got stuck up there, can She-Ra get it? Because she's faster and stuff."

"Finn I can't keep transforming all week."

"Pleeease? It's the last day today; you said I could ask sometimes."

"Damnni-uh I mean I remember. Fine but only because you asked nicely."

Catra doesn't need to be an Entrapta-level genius to hear the unspoken, 'And because I totally lost too.' Finn definitely hears it by the satisfaction in their grin. With a resigned sigh Adora straightened and stretched out a hand. From the bottom of her lungs she bellowed,

"For the Honor of Greyskull!"

A blinding light engulfed Adora from the outline of a golden sword. Catra still had no idea where it always came from. It was of course magic however; you never had to question that kind of thing. She figured that was why it felt comforting, familiar, compared to hard numbers. Most of all, she muses as the light dims, magic embodies everything Adora has been long before the sword.

The light leaves dissolving into rainbow trails. They outline She-Ra's massive form towering at eight feet. Her arms are almost as thick as the tree branches themselves when she begins to climb. Finn watched with their jaw hanging and eyes wide. Their fists rest against their teeth as if every transformation will be the last each time; the anticipation mixed with joy is almost palpable when it infects Catra.

She nudges them while Adora gets tangled in leaves. Finn's rapture breaks and they flash her a knowing smile.

"You love being sneaky huh?"

"She-Ra is cool!"

They look up together and find Adora fumbling not to fall. Though She-Ra carries a noble poise Adora is very much the one nervously sweating. Catra grinned.

"She's very cool."

Adora successfully lands without a scratch; the toy rocket is the size of a river stone in She-Ra's large hand. In an instant it's back to scale when She-Ra is dismissed, a gold afterglow outlining Adora. It hits Catra then that Finn has grown at level with Adora's waist. When did that happen over the years?

"One missing toy rescued from an evil tree. It won't be eating any more any time soon."

"Thanks Mommy. No more She-Ra for a little bit."

"Right. Mommy needs breaks just like She-Ra does too."

Catra takes Adora's hand and wraps her tail around her. Her purr is soft though outmatched by the gentle kiss she gives her wife. She glanced at Finn who waits expectantly; the toy is already forgotten in favor of another game. Catra chuckles.

"Ok Finn you've had enough of bossing Mommy. This time I'll race you home."

"Loser has to give up dessert!"

"Sure kid. Ready set go!"

Like a bullet Catra sprints down the low hill; she barely hears Finn's call above the wind. In seconds they're right behind and she finds herself laughing carefree into the dusk.

Finn is five when their fur becomes their first taste of responsibility. Their tail is a mess of frizz most mornings; their thick hair resembles a mop fighting against every tame comb they own. Catra does her best to guide them, but she hasn't been five in twenty years. The memories since remain dark and pressed under the claws of greater horrors. Had she ever had time to brush herself seriously then? Not a relevant question; this isn't the time for self grieving.

Finn fusses, tries again, then scowls. They look at her with a plea in their eyes. Catra blinks then finds them slumping shoulders and lips quivering. Their hair seems messier than before for every wrong stroke. It takes her longer than she'd like to notice the budding tears.

"Hey it's ok we'll keep trying. It's hard at first but you can do it."

"Bet it's easy for you Mama."

"Why's that?"

"Because you never get messy. Your hair is always pretty."

Catra beckons and they come within her reach. She wipes their tears, smoothes their tangles best she can. They stare into her eyes with that intensity only they can muster.

"I used to be worse than you. When I was your age I had no one helping me."

"Not even Mommy?"

Catra laughed quiet and gentle, always gentle.

"She tried but she was as small as you. And we know Mommy doesn't look the same; she didn't know how. Do you know how old I was when I learned to keep my hair pretty? Really got good at it?"

Finn shook their head. She could sense the sadness give way to curiosity, to a rising hope.

"I was already a grown up. Wayyy bigger than you y'know? If it took me so long there's no rush. You keep trying until it works ok."

"Ok..."

"Let's start over. Just watch me first."

Time passes in a haze enough for her to learn Finn took after her old temper; step by patient step her hands once drenched in the blood of another life calm them to retry. They break for lunch and laugh together, their mistakes now harmless behind them. This, Catra has learned, is completion.

Princess Prom makes everyone nervous and excited equally. She watches Finn, taller than most other ten year olds, adjust their tie. She smiles remembering how many they'd tried on that morning without complaint. How when the right one came along they'd strutted prideful for her and Adora's opinion. They fidget flexing their hand and rocking on their heels. She can't blame them; the announcer's droning speech packs more formality than Catra thought was possible.

Put simply, it's boring, and they both fight a yawn. Adora doesn't notice them tap their feet together, one leading the other following, until another six minutes that pass like hours. She shushes them but when another minute crawls by she joins in. The three of them form a jagged rhythm while holding back giggles.

When the solemnity is done away with and the dance floor opens they lose Finn to their friends. She sends them off with a cheek kiss and Adora's blessing to have fun, then they're alone. They whisk themselves to the snack bar; she watches Adora gorge on tiny food like she's taken Entrapta's appetite for herself. Smirking as she leans against the table she knows Adora can feel her gaze.

"Alright Princess charge your battery any more and I'll dance by myself."

"Noa faish wahit fo me!" Adora forced out through a mouthful.

"Hey easy there. What's that translate to?"

Adora swallows hard and snorts at her.

"I said no fair wait for me. Now you're getting payback."

"Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try."

Before she can register it a cupcake is smashed into her mouth. She can hear Adora laughing even when Catra serves one back in retaliation. By the time they've wasted three cupcakes they don't hear Scorpia saunter over. They nearly tumble face first into her serving tray.

"Whoa slow down guys! Party just started to get so worked up. You two sure love having fun."

"Sorry Scorpia didn't see you there. Catra wants to hurry and dance; I want to savor what Entrapta had prepared tonight."

Catra stuck out her tongue and laughed when Adora elbowed her side in jest. When they look over Scorpia has forgone food entirely. She stares at them, her eyes glistening from would be tears.

"You guys are just adorable did you know that?"

"You remind us all the time." Catra replied and wrapped an arm around Adora.

"Actually uh, on second thought, I've got icing down my dress. Excuse me ladies."

Adora gives her a peck of a kiss before disappearing. Catra watched her go spellbound by the soft lights cast on everyone. Adora's outline is dreamlike, Catra can hear her breath hitch. Then far too suddenly she's gone. It's funny, she no longer feels the pain that once tore through her fast as lightening. Maybe parting no longer means goodbye. She knows she always knew.

"Y'know Wildcat I gotta say I've never seen you look this happy. Well happier than that time in the Crimson Wastes. Oh or when Finn was born. It's nice."

"Heh. We're in the same boat then. I can't even tell when it started."

"Wanna know how I can tell this time?"

The intensity in Scorpia's tone made Catra straighten. She stopped trying to eat another cupcake and met her gaze.

"It's the eyes. They're so clear these days. They're empty, not in a bad way. Like...it's like you can take on anything. You've got resolve but it's not angry."

"Calm?"

"Yeah. Calm and whole. That's some strength even I don't think I have yet. Your eyes can see through anything."

"Geez way to praise a girl. I think I get it though. Adora's been saying something similar. Glimmer, Bow, Perfuma...everyone brings it up somehow. They act like I'm supposed to know just haven't told them." Catra smiles around a bite of her snack. It was achingly sweet yet she closed her eyes and tasted the love put in.

"Of course they see it too. Every truly strong person is kind."

Catra's eyes widen. For a moment she moves as if to speak then instead smiles, content. Her heart feels light as a feather.

She spots Adora returning through the crowd. Everyone parts reverently for the savior of the galaxy; to Catra it's another homecoming. They don't need the titles or praise; at last having each other, having themselves, is enough.

Scorpia takes her leave just as Adora emerges. The teasing look she wore before is replaced by excitement; the kind that simply is because it can be. Without prompting she offered Catra her hand. She's seen this scene countless times in as many settings. She takes it.

"Ready for that dance I owe you?"

It happens in an instant; Catra reads her eyes. They're calm, resolved, kind. Her reflection stares back within their clarity. She smiles. She hopes Finn will have those eyes someday.

"Always am."

#my writing #spop #catradora #glimbow #scorfuma #finn spop

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shadowhuntertrash · 4 years

Text

Bad Day

Matthew woke with a start. He was sweating and shaking and all too aware of his quick breaths. Damn. Matthew thought, shaking his head, trying to shake away the nightmare. He had this dream at least three times a week, most of the time around five.

It always started the same, he was at a park with his mother and father. They were having a good day, it was Matthew’s birthday and he had decided he wanted to go outside. They would be sitting there on a bench and then the scene would switch and he’d be at the Shadowmarket with the faerie who sold him the poison.

The faerie would give him an evil look and then the scene would switch again and he would see Charlotte trembling and sweating in her bed. Tessa was next to her and Charlotte was crying. His father would usher him out and tell him about the child Charlotte was bearing.

Then the dream would morph one more time and he would be standing in a room with blood everywhere and Charlotte and Henry sobbing. He would sit there and watch for a minute before Charlotte’s head shot up and she glared at him. “This is your fault! All of this! Look what you’ve done! Get out, leave! I never want to see you again!” Matthew would try to talk to her but before he could say anything she would slap him.

That’s when he woke up.

Matthew sat in his bed shaking and running his hand over his face before glancing at the clock. It was six in the morning. He decided to not go back to sleep and got up to go shower. He stood under the hot watch and tried to keep his eyes open, every time they closed he would be back in the room with his parents sobbing and his mother’s face looking at him with disgust and hate.

Matthew shook his head again and stepped out of the shower grabbing a towel and drying himself off slowly. He always moved slowly after those dreams. It gave him more time to put on his mask. He always wore it, the happy carefree mask that hid his darkest secrets.

Once Matthew was dressed and ready for the day it was eight in the morning. He trudged downstairs and heard voices from the kitchen. “I just don’t know what to do with him Henry.” It was his mother and father. He grimaced and continued walking. “All he does is drink and party. He has to know that he has quite a reputation, mustn't he? I just don’t know what to do.” Matthew froze, were they talking about him?

“Darling, it’ll be okay. He’ll grow up soon. Don’t you remember Will when he was that age? He was just as bad and he has turned out to be a great man. Matthew will grow up, he just hasn’t had to yet.” Matthew felt a pang in his gut. He always knew his mother looked down on him. How could she not? She was the Consul and he was her problematic son. He knew that she thought lowly of him but his father?

That hurt so much more than he ever dreamed. He had always loved his father so much, he would watch over him and help him in any way he could. He was aware that he had a drinking problem and he knew that he had a reputation for partying but surely his father didn’t hate him for that?

“I know he’ll grow up but he needs to do it soon. I can’t be the Consul with a son like him. Everyone already questions having a woman in the position, but a woman who can’t even control her own son? Everyone looks down on me for it Henry. He needs to stop messing around and step up.” Matthew felt the words hit his heart like daggers. He heard his father sigh.

“He will Lottie don’t worry.” Matthew turned on his heel abruptly. After the dream he had he needed to get out. He couldn’t listen to this, not right now.

He had just gotten in the carriage when Charles stepped in and shoving him over. “Where are you going so early Charles?” Matthew said through clenched teeth. He did not want to deal with Charles right now. Charles huffed and looked at him as if he was nothing but dirt.

“I’m going to a meeting as important people do, and what about you? Going to another bloody downworlder party?” Matthew looked away scowling. He wasn’t going to a party, he was going to see James. He knew Charles hated him and thought of him as nothing but it still wasn’t great hearing it from his own mouth.

“Sod off Charles, I’m going to Jamie’s.” Charles wrinkled his nose. “I do wish you had never befriended him. He’s an awful lot of trouble and honestly you don’t need any help in that department.” Matthew froze all he could see was red. He tried to calm himself down but his brother kept going.

“The only thing he’s good at is getting into the shadow world and that’s not even on purpose. He doesn’t have his mother’s warlock powers nor does he have his dad’s bravery. He doesn’t even have his parents' charm. He needs to grow up just as much as you do. But then again the worthless ones always find each other don’t they brother.”

Matthew couldn’t help himself. He punched Charles in the nose. He heard the sickening crunch when it broke which was accompanied by Charles’ groan as his hand shot up to his face. Charles took his hand away from his face and punched Matthew right back. Matthew felt the pain blooming right under his eye and his only regret was that he was going to have a large bruise.

Both boys were fuming and Matthew knew he needed to get out before they did something they would both regret. He stumbled out of the carriage as the driver slowed to see what was going on.

He started walking to the Institute. It was about a thirty minute walk from his house so he knew he would get a chance to calm down. Today was not his day and all he wanted to do was go see his parabatai.

Honestly he would’ve been fine if Charles had just been talking about him but he had never been good at controlling himself when people said bad things about Jamie. Charles seemed to know that and use it every chance he got.

Matthew put a hand to his eye and winced. It hurt like hell and his head was throbbing. He silently cursed Charles and walked faster. It only took him 20 minutes to get to the Institute and when he walked in there were several shadowhunters in the entryway. Matthew was going to ignore them and go find James but he was distracted when he caught his name.

“It’s a shame that he’s a bastard child. His parents were so great but it’s common knowledge that Henry can’t have kids and Charlotte wanted more. I mean Gabriel owed Charlotte a lot from when he was younger and have you seen his hideous wife? He would surely need something more than her.” Matthew balled his hands into fists and tried to slow his breathing.

“Poor kid no one will want him now. I mean he doesn’t even look like his father and they intend for everyone to believe them?” Matthew was shaking when Will opened the door and ushered the other shadowhunters inside.

Will spotted him and smiled warmly. “James is in the-” He cut off abruptly and frowned walking over to Matthew quickly. “Math what happened to your face?” He said tilting Matthew’s face up so he could get a better look at his eye. Matthew just shook his head and gave him a charming smile.

“Nothing to worry about Mr. Herondale just a little bruise.” Will frowns and shakes his head. “Matthew, I know you aren’t going to talk to me but please tell James how you got that. He’s in the library.” Matthew looked down and nodded with a soft smile. “Yes sir.”

Will patted Matthew’s head and walked hesitantly into the room where the rest of the shadowhunters had gathered. Matthew let out his breath and tried to still his trembling form. It didn’t do much so he gave up and walked to the library.

The library was quiet and Matthew headed over to where he knew James would be. When he got there he climbed on the window seat and put his head in James’ lap. James was reading Great Expectations and the only form of acknowledgement he gave Matthew was readjusting so his book was propped up on Matthew’s head.

Matthew sighed and let the quiet overtake him. His thoughts went back to his parents as he went over the day again in his head.

It was his own fault his parents didn’t like him, his own fault that they wanted him to change. He was a drunk who was useless at politics who liked to have fun but they didn’t know the half of it. They didn’t know he was a murder who drank to forget. They didn’t know he slept around because he didn’t think he deserved anything better than a one night stand. He could deal with other people hating him because no one hated him more than himself.

He knew he was a monster. He knew that he had no right to be alive when his sister wasn’t. He wished with all his heart that his sister was here instead of him. If he ever got the chance he would switch their places in a heartbeat.

It was times like this that Matthew wished him and Charles were close because maybe he would tell Charles what happened. He didn’t really think he would even if they were close but at least Charles wouldn’t be so awful to him. Maybe then he would protect Matthew from all the cruel words instead of joining in.

But only good people deserve good things. That’s why his brother hated him. Because he wasn’t a good person. He was a god awful person and he didn’t understand how anyone could like him. He didn’t understand why James chose to agree to be parabatai. Maybe he did it out of pity or maybe he did it because he didn’t want to have lied to his dad.

All of his friends were so good, how could any of them want him around. He didn’t deserve the way they treated him. He never had even before everything happened.

Matthew thought of all the rumors he’d heard, not only about his parentage but about his reputation as well. Many people thought he did it to spite his mother because he didn’t love her. No one knew it was the opposite. No one understood what he did, let alone why he did it. No one cared enough to find out either.

Matthew was so stuck in his head that he didn’t realize when he started crying. He didn’t respond to James’ anxious questioning either. James ran his hands through Matthew’s hair and repeated his name, a little louder each time.

By the sixth time James had said it, growing more anxious each time, Matthew had jolted back to reality. He sat up quickly trying to rid of the tears that were flowing but to no avail. Matthew balled his hands into fists and pushed them into his eyes trying to stem the flow of tears forgetting about his bruised eye.

Matthew gasped and quickly took his hand away. James finally saw his bruised face and gasped as well. “Bloody hell Math, what happened?” He asked frantically kneeling in front of Matthew and holding his hands down with one of his own using his free hand to tilt his chin down so he could see Matthew’s eye.

Matthew let out a slightly hysterical laugh and shook his head. “You know you’re just like your dad.” Matthew mumbled looking away from James who frowned and pulled out his stele. “Matthew look at me.” Matthew turned his head further away. He couldn’t stop his tears and they were flowing faster now.

James sighed and brought his chin back so he could look Matthew in his eyes. “Math, what happened?” Matthew shook his head, tears coming impossibly faster. He didn’t deserve James’ concern. He felt a sob in his throat and closed his eyes tightly. He shouldn’t let James see him like this. This was weak; he shouldn’t let anyone’s words get to him. He deserved them anyway.

James was having none of his silence though and put both his hands on Matthew’s shoulders shaking him gently. “Matthew Fairchild look at me right now.” Matthew opened his eyes hesitantly and saw a fire burning in James’ gold eyes. Golden fire meeting green hills.

“Who did that to you.” Matthew broke then. He didn’t bother holding back his tears as he let his head fall on James’ collarbone. James put his arms around Matthew immediately, frowning. Matthew never cried, and when he did it was uncontrollable like this. James rubbed his back and muttered soothing words in his ear.

“You’re okay, Math. You’re with me in the library. No one else is here, it’s just us. You can talk to me, I’m not going to make you, well I need to know how you got that bruise but I won’t make you talk to me about anything else.” Matthew only sobbed harder at that. James’ frown deepened and he shifted them so he was leaning against the window and Matthew was on his lap straddling him.

Most people would see this as intimate, and it was, but not in the way other people thought it. This was the best way to calm Matthew down, James knew that better than anyone. Matthew was the kind of person who needed to be touched or held when he was upset and James knew that he felt safe when James held him like this.

James could feel his shirt getting wet but he didn’t care. All he cared about was what had upset his parabatai so much. He rubbed soothing circles on Matthew’s back and Matthew took stuttering breaths trying to calm himself. James put Matthew’s hand on his back and took exaggerated breaths feeling encouraged as Matthew tried to match them.

“You’re doing great Math, just breathe.” Matthew nodded against him and a few minutes later he was breathing normally again and the tears had slowed, not stopped, but slowed. James pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Matthew’s. Matthew’s eyes were still closed but James kept his open trying to read his best friend’s face.

“Math, can you tell me what happened now?” Matthew let out a bitter laugh. “I punched Charles.” He said, his voice thick from the tears. James looked at Matthew and shook his head. “That’s not what I asked.” James said, slightly confused. Matthew shrugged and moved backwards before settling his head against James’s chest again. “He retaliated.”

James felt his eyes widen. “Charles did that?” He questioned bringing Matthew’s face back up to look at his eye again. It was in the middle of turning black. James scowled and glared at the bruise. “I’ll kill him.” Matthew rolled his eyes and hugged James resting his head on James shoulder. James wrapped his arms around Matthew, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Did you not hear what I said? I punched him first. I was asking for it.” James made a noise of exasperation. “Okay then what did he do that made you punch him?” Matthew tensed and James started rubbing circles in his back, staying quiet until Matthew relaxed. “He was just talking crap about stuff he knows nothing about.” Matthew said quietly. James sighed, he knew what that meant.

“You don’t have to protect me from everyone Math. I can protect myself.” Matthew scoffed and shook his head but James could hear the small smile in his voice. “Says the guy who told me he was going to kill my brother.” James rolled his eyes, his own smile playing at his lips. “I’m not the one with a black eye.”

Matthew laughed softly and tucked his arms into James’ chest. Something James knew he did when he got cold. James pushed Matthew off of him slightly and Matthew pulled away with a poorly masked hurt expression. James grabbed his hand and shook his head.

“You’re cold, I’m just getting a blanket and we can move to the couch.” Matthew nods standing up walking to the couch. He let’s James sit down first so he can slot himself between James’ legs. James is on his back half propped up on the arm of the couch and Matthew lays down on his stomach propping his chin up on James’ chest.

James runs his hands through Matthew’s hair again feeling the silky strands. Matthew sighed content for the first time that day. He didn’t understand why James constantly looked after him but he would always appreciate it more than James could ever know. Matthew closes his eyes feeling the calming effect of James running his fingers through Matthew’s hair.

Matthew turned so his cheek was on James’ chest. James’ chest was hard but Matthew had always found it comfortable. He’d always considered James his home, his safe place. So this was typically how they ended up when one of them was upset.

“Hey Math do you feel like talking or do you want to talk about this later? And don’t say later and think we won’t do it because I’ve had enough of giving you space. We need to talk.” James wasn’t looking at him but Matthew felt as if he could see his soul. All his secrets, his heart, his mind.

Matthew shuddered, he wasn’t ready to tell James his secret. He couldn’t bare to lose his best friend, his soul, his parabatai. Not today.

“Jamie, do the rumors ever bother you?” James looked down at me in concern but I don’t meet his eyes. “Math is that what this is about?” Matthew shakes his head slowly and raises up again so his chin is resting on James. Matthew looks everywhere but James’ eyes.

“I just had a long day.” James frowns at him. “Math it’s ten in the morning.” Matthew closes his eyes tightly. “I’m well aware Jamie thank you.” James let out a huff of annoyance. “Okay then tell me about your day.” Matthew starts to shake his head but James groans and cuts him off. “No, you don’t get to deflect or say you don’t want to talk. I’m your parabatai Math, I can tell when something is wrong. Hell I can feel it.”

Matthew lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” James frowns, “Nightmares again?” Matthew nods slowly. They had shared a room many times and James was well aware of Matthew’s nightmares. Matthew had told him however, that they had stopped when in reality they had only gotten worse.

“Okay, what happened after.” James said Matthew is simultaneously glad and annoyed that James knows him well enough to know that wasn’t the only thing that happened.

“I showered and went to get breakfast but my parents were talking.” James’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “About what?” Matthew looked down again his cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“They were talking about me. My reputation as a drunk partier. They were talking about how I need to grow up. My mother said I’m ruining her career and Jamie they’re right. Don’t.” Matthew said when he saw James open his mouth to protest. James gave him a hard look but stopped talking. “They are right because people already give my mom bloody hell for being a woman and then I ruin it for her further. I make a mess of everything my own parents hate me. I mess up everything and I can’t stop.”

James is looking at Matthew with a contemplative expression and stays quiet for a few minutes. Matthew shuffles around a bit, the silence building his anxiety. “Math you don’t really believe that right? You do know that’s not true?” Matthew looked away, frowning and James forced his head back. “Math none of that is true. You have to believe me. None of that is true.”

Matthew shook his head sadly and smiled at James. “Jamie I will never stop loving you for seeing the best in people but your being daft. I know I’m your parabatai but it’s okay to agree with them.” James look as if Matthew had struck him across the face.

“Matthew Fairchild when have I ever led you to believe I thought anything they said was true? Do you believe I should die for being a demon’s grandchild?” James was looking at Matthew furiously and Matthew ducked his head. He was not used to being the target of that look. “James you know I don’t believe that.” James huffed, “Then what in Raziel’s name led you to believe I would?”

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows, James wasn’t listening. “Because James you were born this way it’s not something you can change and you constantly prove yourself worthy. James, I do this to myself. Everything they whisper about me aside from me being a bastard child is true. I am a drunk. I do sleep around. Jamie all of that is true.” James flinched and Matthew let out an exasperated sigh.

“Jamie I’m not trying to upset you.” Matthew makes a move to get up but James tightens his hold around Matthew’s waist. “Where could you possibly be going Matthew.” James said his golden eyes boring into Matthew’s emerald ones. Matthew sighed and collapsed back onto James too tired to fight.

“I’m being a burden so I’m leaving so if you would kindly let me go.” Matthew said, moving to get up again. James frowned and pulled Matthew back to his chest with both arms. “Math please don’t go. We don’t have to talk anymore but please don’t go.” Matthew buried his face in James’ neck in response.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Matthew turned his head, pressing his cheek against James’ chest. “Read to me?” Matthew asked quietly, staring at the fire he just realized was burning. James ran his fingers through Matthew’s hair and grabbed his copy of Great Expectations and started reading aloud from where he left off.

As James read, Matthew found himself nodding off. Right before Matthew lost consciousness he heard James’ gentle voice in his ear as James brushed some hair away that had fallen in his face. “I’ll get you to believe me one day Math I promise. And when you want to talk about why you’re always upset I’ll be here.”

Matthew fell asleep then, and for the first time in seven days, he didn’t have a single nightmare.

#matthew fairchild #matthew and james #james herondale #heronstairs #parabatai #bad day #charlotte fairchild #henry fairchild #charles fairchild #will herondale #rumors #the last hours

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