She filled the cup with her eighth coffee. It was the only thing she consumed now. She closed her eyes, taking a large sip, letting the bitter taste wash over her tongue and feeling a zing of energy rush through her from the caffeine. She took another sip, and another, again, again, again, until the cup was finished. Then she got up and got another cup of coffee from the dispenser.
"Are you sure you should be drinking so many of those? You're only twelve," Nurse Joy piped up cautiously, moving towards her.
(Y/N) Moon ran an unfriendly eye over her. "I'm paying," she grunted. Her voice was rusty and rough from years of disuse, but she was getting better at speaking now.
Nurse Joy hesitated, then returned to her station, still keeping an eye on (Y/N).
To be very honest, (Y/N) didn't blame her. She knew she looked a fright. But there was a policy in Pokémon Centers that they accepted anyone who needed a place to stay, besides straight-up felons. They legally couldn't turn (Y/N) away, even though she looked nearly as ugly as a Trubbish from a month of an unhealthy lifestyle and countless cups of coffee a day.
(Y/N)'s eyes were eerily bright and bloodshot, with livid bags under them. Her entire face sagged like a potato sack, and her olive skin was as oily as french fries. Her mouth drooped like a wilting flower. Her hair was matted and snarled, with bits of fluff and dirt and even coffee dregs tangled in it. Her clothes were the same she'd worn for a week straight and were stained and torn in several places.
Before Ryan died, (Y/N) had been shyly cute, pretty, even. Now she looked like a hag you'd see panhandling in the street every time you left the house.
Not that she cared. Frankly, the only thing she had cared about since Ryan died was her self-imposed isolation and Ryan himself.
(Y/N) poured the rest of her coffee into her mouth in a long brown stream. She abruptly got up, slapped a couple of notes down, and took two more cups of coffee to go.
Rooms at a Pokémon Center were always free, mostly because a large majority of the ten- and twelve-year-olds on their journeys couldn't afford to pay to stay. And providing a place to stay for them for a while on their journeys was the main reason the Pokémon Center provided rooms. (Y/N), however, had opted to rent a suite of deluxe rooms that cost a fortune weekly.
(Y/N) was burning through her savings as a Trainer at an alarming rate, especially as she wasn't earning anything anymore, what with her coffee addiction, reckless spending, and luxury accommodations. She hadn't battled—or even taken her other five Pokémon out—since that fateful day.
(Y/N) returned to her suite. There was really no point in her living in such expensive, lavish quarters, since she hardly ever went in them and didn't relish them when she did. But she was renting them anyway, just because they were the first rooms she had seen when she first entered the Pokémon Center and she didn't care about her money or herself enough to swap. Before—before Ryan's death—that is, she would have delighted in the pale pink satin sheets on the queen-sized bed, floral-designed lava lamp, ocean-themed pastels, and never-ending supply of cream and raspberry-filled milk chocolate squares on her rich cherry wood bedside table. Now, though, (Y/N) hardly noticed the extravagance. She stumbled over to the bedside table, picked up the chocolates, and flung them into the trash can, wasting them like she did every single painful day.
When Ryan first died, (Y/N) had descended into a depression. She had stayed in bed all day, not eating, not sleeping, hardly even washing. The only things she had done was breathe, remember, and cry. She had racked herself inside our.
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His Onyx ~ Gladion X Reader
FanfictionHe's dark. She's dramatic. He's angry. She's sad. He's explosive. She's cold. He's fiercely protective of everyone he loves. She doesn't want to be someone he loves. He's traumatized. She is, too. He battles. She wins. He loves. She rejects. But how...
