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polarisbibliotheque · 7 months

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Dante & Vergil with their s/o hunting bloodthirsty mosquitoes (+Nero with Kyrie doing the same)

Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader; Nero x Kyrie Summary: Oh, summer. Heatwaves, short clothes, ice cream... And mosquitoes. A human hunting down a mosquito is one thing, but a half-demon? Well, those little hellish beings better be ready for it. Author's notes: You're probably thinking yours truly lost all her sanity, and you're probably right. It's the second day of spring here where I live and it's so freaking hot, the only thing I've been able to eat the last few days was ice cream. It's usually hot as hell here in Brazil, but not this time of the year - December/January/February are the most unbelievably hot months in my city. And, of course, the mosquitoes have to rise from hell itself to buzz in your ears while you try to sleep and suck your blood, ginving you terrible rashes in the morning. I killed four of them the past two days and yesterday, I had to enlist my sister to help hunt one of them down. This little fic might have something to do with that incident xD

I had to write something and laugh at all those goofs trying to be functional normal humans. That's it. It's all ridiculous fluff and laughs while melting from too much heat, hope you guys enjoy ^^

Dante

“Ya know, if ya clap those really fast, you might summon a demon.”

You just looked back at Dante with murder in your eyes.

The red devil stood by the stairs, having his arms crossed and leaning by the guardrail, that characteristic grin spreading across his lips.

You wanted to throw the flip flops in your hands right at his face – maybe that would get rid of that insufferable cocky smile.

Sometimes you understood Vergil in a soul level.

“If said demon decimates the freaking mosquito who’s been testing my sanity for the past hour, I’m all in.” You turned your eyes back to the ceiling, searching for that single little thing that took peace away from you that day.

The shop wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, that you had to admit, but the last couple of days were hotter than the layers of fire in Hell itself – Vergil would argue, but even he realized it wasn’t wise to discuss with you when you were melting faster than an ice cream on asphalt.

The heat, however, brought along the mosquito wave.

Hence why you were on the top of Dante’s desk, barefoot, sporting your peak summer style, flip flops ready to kill. Hearing Dante making fun of that situation wasn’t really aligned to your mood at that moment.

“Eh, already…?” Dante still had the smile plastered on his lips, casually approaching the desk. He was one to talk: given how hot it was, he was wearing only his pants, completely barefoot and shirtless – and even then, you questioned how he could walk around with those heavy, black pants without falling apart. “Thought these little fuckers would take a lot more time to appear.”

“Well, apparently they thought the same and figured a surprise attack would be more efficient.” You just heard his giggle as you kept on looking everywhere near the ceiling, round and round the desk. Dante rested his arms on it, casually looking up to watch you.

He couldn’t deny, it was funny. All that made him smile and relax: it was so mundane, so… Human. To think one day he’d be at his shop with his most beloved being in all dimensions, worrying about heatwaves and nagging mosquitoes; watching as you practically danced around on his desk, hunting mosquitoes with all the might in the world. As if you both didn’t hunt demons for a living.

As if life was just like that… Perfectly mundane.

“You give’em more credit than they deserve, babe.” Dante leaned his head in one of his hands, watching you with dreamy eyes. At the peak of your annoyance, you never thought the son of Sparda would look at you so lovingly – then again, he wasn’t an ordinary man.

“Oh, I don’t think so, hot stuff.” Your answer was mindless, making Dante open a huge, radiant smile, sparkling as much as his eyes. “Those things come directly from the layers of Hell, I’m certain of it.” You finally put your arms down, looking back at Dante and finding him with that unexpected expression. “What…?”

“You called me hot stuff, hot stuff.” He winked back, making you realize your ‘mistake’.

It wasn’t really a mistake. But Dante would definitely become even more insufferable with that.

“I blame the mosquitoes from Hell.” Your answer was ridiculous but sure, making Dante burst into laughs as he circled the table to sit on his big chair.

“That’d be a great name for a metal band. The Mosquitoes From Hell.” He laughed even more, resting his feet on a small spot on the table, making sure it wouldn’t interfere with your hunt.

“There you go. You, Verge and Nero can play together now.” You didn’t have much fun in your voice, going back to searching your nemesis in the air. Dante snorted a laugh, knowing you were joking – even if you were too focused to make it obvious.

“Dressed as vampires, it’d be perfect!”

But you couldn’t remain too serious around Dante for a long time. As soon as he added that, you closed your eyes, resting your wrists on your waist, letting out a sigh along a laugh. Imagining them all dressed as vampires, playing together as mosquitoes from Hell was too much – Dante now had your attention, beating the rogue mosquito you couldn’t find anymore.

You eyed him back, having a half smile on your lips. Dante was relaxed as he could be, his arms on the back of his head, helping him rest as he watched you with all the interest in the world.

“C’mon. I’d be one hell of a vampire!” Once again, he had that smile on his lips – sprinkled with a little more happiness now that you were into it.

“You’d be the sexiest one for sure, Mr. it’s-too-hot-to-wear-shirts.” You pointed back at him with one of the flip flops still in your hand, making Dante smile even more – a little blushed, but that could be because of the heat. “Dante!”

Without thinking twice, he caught your hand and pulled you to him, making you both rock on the chair violently as you tried not to end up on the floor. But Dante was strong and used to a lot more difficult tricks, having you on his lap, both legs secured by one of his hands on his right side. You had to let go of the flip flops, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, as both of you laughed.

“A reckless vampire too!” You finally put some distance between your faces as you were finally settled, finding Dante’s blushed cheeks as he laughed while still looking at you with adoration in his eyes. “Well, well. You got my attention now, cowboy.”

If only Dante knew how much you loved seeing him like that – completely human, vulnerable, having fun, as if none of the heavy burdens from his past weighted on his soul anymore.

“I’m happy, then. I was feeling a little ignored, babe.” He chuckled back, still blushing. Whenever it was hot like that, Dante had a tendency to be as red as an apple – and you didn’t complain. In a certain way, it was cute. As cute as a half-demon son of Sparda could be.

“I’m never ignoring you, babe.” You murmured, brushing some of his stray white hair away from his eyes, giving room to those beautiful skies that always allowed you to see his soul. Dante would always allow you to see him like that. “You better be ready for some undivided attention.”

“Hmmm, I could use a little o’ that…”

You barely waited for Dante to finish his sentence, catching his lips in a slow kiss. Dante rested one of his hands on the back of your neck, after brushing some of your hair back.

It was hot as Hell, yes. But not even that would stop you from loving your red devil.

Only one thing ever could.

mmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEppppPPPPP!

“Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’…!” Dante immediately let go of your lips, having the peak of annoyance in his beautiful blue eyes. “Where’s that little shit?! Did you hear it too?!”

“That’s precisely what I’ve been through for the last hours, my beloved.” You had the most annoyed smile plastered on your lips, eyes closed as if you were trying to maintain yourself calm. “I told you. When you least expect it, that spawn from Hell will meep furiously in your ears, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Oh, there is.” Now Dante put you aside, taking your flip flops and climbing on the desk. “I’m gonna obliterate that lil’ bastard!”

“Now that I’d love to see.” Oh, how tables had turned. There you were, sitting on his big chair, arms crossed, cocky grin in your lips, watching that brick house of a man using his enhanced demonic senses to find the darn mosquito. “Who would’ve known. Good to deal with demonic pests and mundane pests.”

“Oh, look who’s bein’ all funny now!” Dante glanced you again, but he himself couldn’t refrain from laughing. “Guess I’m the full package, huh?”

“That just makes you hotter, if you wanna know.” You had a matter-of-fact tone, leaning back on the chair and resting your feet on the table. “Nothing like a man who can fight and love like Aragorn as well as cook some damn good potatoes and look after the house like Samwise Gamgee.”

“You know what they say, get yourself a man who can do both. Found ya!”

You could swear Dante’s voice had a tinge of his trigger distortion as the red devil finally found his foe flying around his head. Dante tried a few slaps, but the mosquito was too close for him to be able to kill it. Using the flip flops to fan it away from him, you both lost the mosquito for a while, remaining quiet. Dante used all of his senses to finally see it nearing the couch – with a deadly aim, he one-shot his pray with your flip flop, too fast and lethal for the thing to run away.

The mosquito was no more – its remains were glued on the sole of your flip flop in a stain of blood.

“That was so hot.” You were mesmerized and a little bit jealous of his abilities not only to hunt demons but now, to hunt mosquitos as well. Dante really was the whole package.

“I’m startin’ to question your definition of hot, babe.” Dante let out a good laugh, sitting on the edge of the desk, legs dangling by your side.

“Everything you do, basically.” You shrugged, getting up from the chair to be at least almost his size. Standing between his legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck, ruffling his soft white hair back in order to see his eyes – those eyes you loved so much, so vulnerable and loving towards you. “Thank you so much for saving my desperate human soul, hot stuff.”

“I’m always at your service, pretty eyes.” Dante’s answer was almost a murmur as he leaned to catch your lips with his one more time. “No interruptions this time.”

You laughed between his words and kisses, ready to spend the rest of the night loving him unconditionally.

That is. If you both didn’t hear another approaching MEEP into your ears.

“You gotta be kidding me.” You sighed, throwing your head back.

“Get all the shoes, babe. Those lil’ shits have no idea what they got themselves into.”

Of course, you both had other plans for that night – involving a lot of love, kisses and giggles between you, as time stopped and you could enjoy yourselves, even with that relentless heatwave. The night was spent, though, with you both viciously hunting mosquitoes, keeping scores, making bets between yourselves, drinking beer and eating the leftover cold pizza in the fridge.

It wasn’t what people would consider a perfect evening – but, whenever you were together, things were certainly a lot more entertaining. As you and Dante took refuge in his room, finally getting rid of all the mosquitoes, you lied tiredly in each other’s arms, laughing about your hunt that night, until you fell asleep without a single meep to wake you up.

And that, you would say, was perfect.

Vergil

“I need to enlist your help for a mission, my love.”

Vergil was immediately serious. It was funny how you could watch him change his demeanor – you once told Dante it was like when Marilyn Monroe put on her persona and suddenly people were aware she was there and Dante never allowed his brother to have a single moment of peace upon knowing that.

But it was true. It took some time, but Vergil slowly allowed his shoulders to rest relaxed whenever you were around. His eyebrows weren’t as harsh, his jaw wasn’t tensed all the time. You could see how his forehead remained smooth, how his long hands rested calmly somewhere instead of constantly gripping some invisible weapon. His breath turned slower and smoother, his focus allowing him to plunge completely into his beloved books instead of remaining always with a steady eye on his surroundings.

Whenever you were around, Vergil was safe – of that, he was sure. He had his moments of slipping up, of having his survival instincts make him suddenly tense up and remain vigilant. But you managed to bring a peace to him he never thought he would experience before – and Vergil always allowed himself to slowly, very slowly, relax again.

When you were serious, though, survival-mode Vergil came back to the surface: shoulders tensing, eyes turning into steely blocks of ice, hands closing in fists, gazing you intently while waiting for anything to suddenly appear so he could kill it with just a glare. It was his famous ‘dark aura’ as you called, and not even Dante had that – it was Vergil’s special power and it could make the bravest of demons run away with just a stare.

“What happened?” Vergil’s voice was cold and low, carrying not only all his worry, but his rage.

“The worst creature from Hell has ascended to test us.” You spoke solemnly but there was something quite not right with your tone. Nevertheless, Vergil was even more weary: he was ready to void-cut your way to Nero’s place so you could be safe while he dealt with whatever it was that decided to haunt you. “There’s a huge mosquito in the bedroom. I can’t work properly and, trust me, we will never get a good night of sleep with that thing buzzing around.”

“A… Mosquito…?” Now Vergil slowly crossed his arms, looking down at you. He still had his shoulders tense, jaw locked and stoic look in his eyes, but you knew those would water down after a while – the most important thing was the ‘dark aura’: as soon as he realized you were both safe and there was nothing to worry too much about, it vanished just like Marylin Monroe did whenever she didn’t want to be recognized.

It was impressive, really.

“Yes. And don’t you dare mock me.” You pointed right at him as soon as it seemed Vergil was ready to scold you for being foolish – something that looked quite similar to when he was about to go in a fight. “You can be my guest and try to sleep with the mosquitoes, I’ll sleep on the couch if I need too. But those things will not rob me of my sanity.”

“Hmmm. It’s been a while I don’t see one…” With those words, Vergil followed you to your shared bedroom, having just come out of his shower into that mess. “It makes sense. I believe they come out when the weather is hot, right…?”

“Oh, c’mon. You have to have these little things in Hell. It’s practically a mini-demon spawn with wings and tiny horns imbued in it to drive you crazy.” As soon as you finished your description, Vergil had to close his eyes and do his best to not snort a quick laugh – something he wasn’t really successful at. “You can’t possibly make me believe those weren’t made by the forces of evil to suck blood and endlessly annoy all living beings.”

“We have worst in Hell.” Vergil’s look at you was still strict, but his silver eyes had a tinge of care. He would never admit out loud – and he almost wouldn’t admit even to himself – but the way you talked, the way you eloquently described things to amuse not only him but yourself as well always seemed adorable to Vergil.

You, in the other hand, eyed him with notes of annoyance while resting your hands on your waist. You were the face of the summer that day, having seriously considered being only in your underwear during a few moments, completely out of not being able to tackle the sudden heatwave. Vergil had his dark pajama pants on, his torso covered by a white sleeveless shirt, completely barefoot and his hair slicked back – still wet from the almost cold shower he just took.

Whenever you questioned his heat resistance – afraid that he would die from the heatwave out of not wanting to show too much of his skin ‘like his stupid brother’ all the time – Vergil would just glare you and answer with ‘I’ve had worse”.

You knew he was talking about Hell. In a way, Vergil was quite different than everyone else because of all the things he got used to or desensitized in Hell – heat was only one of them. Vergil could go days without eating, without sleeping, he could endure a lot of pain and dismiss lethal wounds to keep on fighting, and so on… But his sense of taste was also a lot more sensitive, specially regarding sweet foods, as well as his sense of smell – when it came to delightful scents Vergil could notice them a mile away but he could also feel sick from being overwhelmed after a while; with foul scents, though, he had a higher tolerance, getting used to them after only a few seconds. Soft textures and lullabies could also get him by surprise, making him always wonder if there was something hidden behind those.

You could make a list of things that Vergil reacted differently or had been desensitized after his long time in Hell – and the heatwave from that day was certainly one of the items in your list.

“Well… Where is it?”

“It was on the ceiling. I climbed up on the bed trying to reach it, but it’s too far away for me.” You sighed, looking back at him. “I don’t know where it is now. We’ll have to hunt it.”

“You are aware that climbing furniture is very dangerous, right?” Vergil spoke slowly, in the same rhythm his steps casually walked around the bedroom.

“Oh, yes. I hunt demons for a living, but climbing a bed to kill a mosquito is going to be my downfall.” Having your flip flops already on your hands, you couldn’t refrain from answering him with sarcasm.

“Even Achilles had his blind spots.” And as much as you hated it, you had to recognize when Vergil was right. “It will take too long to find it this way. It’s easier if we allow it to come to us.”

“Hmmm… That’s a very good idea, hadn’t thought of that before.” You stopped by his side, both of you observing the room with smart eyes.

“You once mentioned they are attracted to breathing.” Vergil looked back at you, making you nod in return. With that confirmation, he started breathing heavily in order to attract the mosquito.

“Good idea. I’m going to turn off the lights too, they seem to leave wherever they are in search for another light source.”

Vergil just agreed with his head as you turned off the lights and stopped by his side, both of you breathing heavily, trying to lure your prey out of its hiding spot.

In all his life, after all he had done, all he sacrificed and all the souls he destroyed – including his own – Vergil never thought he would be doing something so… Ordinary. Stupid even. There were you, in the dark, breathing weirdly to attract a simple mosquito in order to give you some peace of mind.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even if a little bit. If he could wish for something, he would wish for ordinary days with you for the rest of his life. Dealing with broken showers in the bathroom, fixing a leaking sink in the kitchen, having all the lights go out and depend only on candles, sit by your side reading thousands of recipes trying to understand why a pie backfired in the oven… All painfully mundane things, but so human. So heartwarming to the soul.

It was a kind of peace Vergil knew he did not deserve after all his actions – after all the blood he had shed. But it was something for him to hope for; and human hearts always kept hope inside even if it was an unlikely sort of hope, right?

As you turned on the lights once more, you and Vergil remained with your breathing technique – but none of you could see even a wing of the mosquito. After a few seconds, you had to look at each other.

“We look quite ridiculous, don’t we…?” With your question, not even Vergil could keep serious – both of you started laughing, shaking your heads in unison.

“We can always wait and see if it appears again.”

But as soon as Vergil let those words out of his lips, both of you picked up the characteristic buzzing of a mosquito around the room. Turning your heads immediately, you could see how Vergil had his hunting glare on: carefully scanning his surroundings, the mosquito wouldn’t escape the vicious Dark Slayer.

“Over there!” You threw one of your flip flops towards it, missing for just a little bit.

The shoe was followed by a small, bright blue summoned sword – and that one didn’t miss.

“Wow. Who would’ve guessed, summoned swords have domestic purposes as well.”

“They are very useful for a great number of things.” Vergil shook his head, letting out a breathy small laugh. But then, his hunting eyes were back. “Did you hear that…?”

“What…?” You froze in place, glancing around the bedroom, trying to listen to what he had picked up. Vergil took one of his fingers to his lips, signaling for you to listen carefully right after, making you focus even more.

Those things didn’t happen all the time – but they would be as unexpected as a shooting star crossing the sky. All of a sudden, catching you by surprise, Vergil’s hands rested on your hips, his lips planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Ah!” But of course. Even if Vergil was careful and didn’t do things as suddenly – or as aggressively – as his twin brother when it came to surprises, you did get startled, tripping on your own feet as he kissed you. “Verge!”

“Y/n! Be careful!” Vergil tried to hold you as best as he could. Your hands entangled, one of his arms trying to embrace your waist and pull you back to him. He lost his balance, though, tripping alongside you and trying to stop whatever was happening – as long as you didn’t get hurt, it would be alright for him.

As unexpected as his kiss was, you both ended up falling on the bed – which, at least, was a fluffy fall. Until, that is, a loud crack resonated through the room. Vergil still held you tight in his arms, your fingers intertwined as you felt the bed giving in under your weight.

When all went silent, you and Vergil both exchanged looks, still trying to understand what happened.

It didn’t take too much to remember your bed was a little wobbly – because of Vergil’s recurrent nightmares, you had a couple accidents with the Yamato, chipping at the bed and having to fix it until you had time to buy a sturdier one. With the weight of the both of you falling on it, the bed couldn’t take it anymore and cracked in pieces.

“I blame the mosquito.” You whispered silently, making Vergil immediately bury his head on your neck.

You could hear a muffled laugh – not loud, but comfortable, as he would always be around you. Resting one of your hands on his wet hair, you smiled as you felt his shoulders finally relax, his jaw losing the tension as Vergil kissed your neck.

“We will look for a new bed tomorrow morning.” He sighed, still wondering if all of that was one of Mundus’ illusions before he woke up once more in Hell, having his soul broken even further.

If it was, Vergil closed his eyes and wished for it to last a little longer this time.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a while.” You ran your fingers through his hair, making Vergil lean his weight on his arms in order to look into your eyes. There was nothing in there that could point to Mundus’ tricks – your eyes were filled with adoration and a slight tinge of melancholy, a mixture particular to you that always made him secretly breathless and completely vulnerable. “As long as you’re around, anything works for me.”

Vergil always found something quite interesting when you were around. All his life, he believed there were words for everything – and all could be expressed through prose, through a painting of words into a masterpiece. Upon meeting you, though, he realized some things had no words in any languages he knew that could express what he wanted to say – the only thing he could do was to kiss you back with all the admiration that stirred inside his chest.

Indeed, sleeping on the couch was far from perfect. But having your head safe and sound on his chest while he played with your hair, with you listening to his heartbeat as you always enjoyed to do…Vergil thought not even Heaven could be more perfect than that – and he asked whatever could listen to allow him to live such an ordinary, human life for as long as he could.

Because as long as you were around, anything worked for him.

Nero

“Hey, Kyrie…? I was thinking maybe we can move those shelves from the bedroom to the…”

If there was a thing Nero used to do quite often, that thing would be already talking without even making sure the other person was listening. Usually while still walking towards them, screaming in the distance, barely paying attention to said person.

He seriously questioned why he and Kyrie decided to clean and solve all the little issues in their house on the hottest day of the year – but then again, it was a sudden heatwave and no one was expecting it. Nevertheless, his white tank top was already drenched in sweat, his pair of jeans definitely too hot for that day and he was doing something he never did in his life: working barefoot.

Having a piece of furniture he was tinkering with in his hands, he approached the living room so he could tell Kyrie his brilliant idea of moving the shelves to the garage – decluttering the bedroom and having more storage where they actually needed. As he looked up, though, Nero most definitely didn’t expect that sight.

Kyrie was wearing the shortest pair of shorts she could find at home – flimsy, delicate, from her pajamas – and a sports bra. That’s it. Her hair was tied in a bun, while she had a spatula on one of her hands, completely barefoot on top of the kitchen counter island. Her skin glistening with sweat, while she viciously looked for something.

Nero didn’t want to blush. He wasn’t going to blush. He pursed his lips and did his best to control all of his feelings – after all, he could control his devil trigger, controlling blushing because of seeing that goddess of a woman right on their kitchen wearing almost nothing and being absolutely gorgeous shouldn’t be harder, right…? Right…?! It shouldn’t. Nero wasn’t…

He was blushing. Like a bell pepper.

“Oh, Nero! I didn’t listen to what you said, I’m sorry…!” Kyrie was a little startled upon seeing him – and she certainly took the blushing as his response to how hot the day was rather than anything else.

“What… Did you know climbing furniture is dangerous?!” After the initial shock, though, Nero’s protective instincts towards his loved ones had to kick in. Approaching the island in a hurry, he had his hands on his waist, but ready to get Kyrie out of there.

“Oh, I do, don’t treat me like a child.” Even though her answer was annoyed, Kyrie dismissed his comment with a sigh and a slight smile: she would never complain about how protective Nero was towards her. She would always appreciate that. “But I’m trying to solve a problem on my own.”

“Well, the only problem I see here is you on top of the counter, beautiful.” Nero rested his hands on the cold stone, slightly considering laying down on it to get rid of the heat. Maybe standing on it wasn’t that bad, but he would never endorse such dangerous behavior on her side. “C’mon. Lemme help you down.”

“Hey! I’m doing some hunting, I won’t climb down now!” Kyrie now had her hands on her waist, finally looking down at Nero and finding his always attentive but loving aquamarine eyes. She could never get angry at those eyes, he definitely was her soft spot. “I’ve been doing this for the past half-hour. It’s ok, Nero.”

“Wait, what? Huntin’? What’s the matter?!” It was like she flipped a switch in Nero. Suddenly, there was the devil hunter, always aware of his surroundings, ready to sucker-punch any clueless demon that appeared in front of him. All of this got amplified with the fact that Kyrie was around and he would be damned if anyone even thought about touching her in his presence.

She had to giggle. It was almost a natural response even. Nero could have all the pose he wanted – he could be the troublesome punk with a dirty mouth and short-tempered behavior all he wanted – but Kyrie could always see the man he was underneath all that. In his aquamarine eyes, Kyrie has ever seen a sweet man, gentle, worried about his friends, loyal and caring, ready to sacrifice everything and anything for his loved ones. The punk attitude could fool everyone else but her.

And Kyrie had to admit, Nero looked as cute as a badass demon hunter could be when she saw everything that was under his short-tempered answers, ready to get into a fight – the love, the care and the immediate instinct to protect at all costs.

He looked up at her, clueless for a few moments. Kyrie would always look like a little angel in Nero’s eyes, with a giggle resembling little silver bells on a golden morning. Her cheeks slightly blushing, her beautiful hair starting to fall over her face, her rose-pink lips so delicate as her warm brown eyes watched him with care.

“It’s nothing like that, silly…” Her voice was always soft, so different than everything else Nero had always heard. Since the beginning, he was always used to being treated harshly or with indifference, but Kyrie was the first one to offer him comfort and love. He always thought falling for her was inevitable, as they were meant to be from the moment their eyes crossed for the first time. “I’m having mosquito problems.”

“Mosquito problems…?” And suddenly, all that wave of adrenaline washed off his body. Nero could be calmer, it wasn’t anything to be horribly worried at. Leaning over the kitchen counter, he smiled up at his little angel. “All that ‘cause of a lil’ mosquito…?”

“Oh, don’t downplay it like that!” Kyrie pretended to be mad, lightly slapping one of his arms with the spatula. As Nero giggled, she started looking around again. “I’ve been on that for the past half-hour. I’ve been trying to catch it but it’s too fast!”

“We can always try some pesticide.” As soon as Nero suggested, Kyrie glanced at him.

“Nero. Last time we tried pesticide, you almost died from the smell. We had to ask Dante to sleep at the shop, remember?” Of course, he didn’t. Nero had probably erased that memory out of his head, but Kyrie would forever be there to remind him: out of the two, he was the most sensitive with strong chemical smells, specially cleaning products and pesticides, given his demonic heritage. Nero would never want to admit it out loud, but it was true.

“Oh… Yeah.” As always, Nero would do his best to change subjects – thanking the heatwave for the first time for serving as a perfect cover for his blushing. “But ya know, killin’ it with a spatula isn’t the best thing in the world. Actually, killin’ it isn’t like you at all.”

“Well, I get rashes every time they bite me. I must be allergic to something.” Kyrie sighed, finally approaching Nero on the counter. He stepped back for a bit and she put the spatula away, sitting in front of him, legs hanging from the counter. “And you were sort of allergic too when we were kids.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember… Got some pretty nasty itches all over my arms.” Nero let out a quick laugh, unconsciously resting his hands on Kyrie’s thighs. She was warmer than usual – not as much as him though – and her skin was soft, slightly damp. As a reflex, he lightly caressed her tights with his thumbs while talking – and Kyrie thanked the heatwave for hiding the real reason she was blushing at that moment. “You’re right, I’ll give ya that. Mosquitoes aren’t allowed in this house.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was a small whisper, Kyrie still trying to control her heartbeat. She wasn’t half-demon like Nero though, and her human heart would always follow her own feelings instead of whatever her mind was trying to control. “Do you think you can help me with it?”

“I can always help you with anything, princess.” His aquamarine eyes sparkled with care as Nero leaned forward to place a very not rushed at all kiss on her angel lips. Kyrie cradled his face with both of her hands, smiling into his lips – Nero always tasted honey-sweet to her, no matter the situation. “Alright, angel, time to deal with your mosquito. Where’s the lil’ bastard?”

“It was flying around the ceiling. I managed to slap it a couple of times but, as you said, spatulas aren’t that efficient.” She let go of him, watching lovingly as Nero got a couple of shoes he had left in the kitchen while cleaning the bedroom floor. “What are you going to do with so many shoes…?”

“Well, I got a trick up my sleeve.” With a wink, Nero’s ice blue trigger claws appeared behind his back like a set of wings, catching one shoe in each of its hands. Kyrie couldn’t stop laughing. “Ya know, demons have their domestic uses, we can be pretty handy at home.”

“That was awful, Nico would love it!” Kyrie couldn’t stop laughing and giggling as Nero climbed on the kitchen counter, armed with two pairs of shoes.

He wasn’t lying: his trigger could be very helpful when doing chores. That was how he always did whatever he needed to do around the house in half of the time: Nero literally had control over another set of hands to help.

As Nero used all his enhanced senses to find the mosquito and start hunting it with four relentless shoes, Kyrie watched him with what one would think it was too much admiration in her eyes for such a trivial thing. Even though it was mundane, it wasn’t trivial to her: nothing was trivial when it came to spending time with someone she loved, especially Nero.

When others would see a half-demon creature, Kyrie would see the human she loved so much. And not only that – they started dating when they were teens, yes, they grew up together and soon that young love matured over time – Kyrie didn’t see her boyfriend, but a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and who would be such a great husband and father.

Nero would deny if she ever told him that, of course. But Kyrie could see how he played with the children, how he scolded them in such a fatherly way when needed, how he always seemed to have so much patience even if he hid it under a short-tempered demeanor. Nero would make the best dad jokes, he would build the best pillow forts, he would stay awake into the night to care for his children when they would get sick… Kyrie could make a list of things Nero would certainly do as a father – and would excel at it.

“C’mon… Where did it… A-ha! Found it! No escape now!”

She was brought up from her thoughts as soon as Nero exclaimed those words, all four pieces of shoes ready to attack. The mosquito had nowhere to go: he threw one shoe, calculated the route the mosquito would fly over, and threw the other three in a row – faster than she could even think about it. The mosquito was caught in the second shoe, but, if that hadn’t happened, it would had found certain death in the other shoes.

“Job done, princess! Your nights will be peaceful and mosquito-less again!” Nero’s trigger hands disappeared as he bowed to Kyrie – who just laughed and applauded as he did so.

“Thank you so much, brave knight!” She had to joke around. Nero had this thing of calling her princess ever since they were teens – and he never knew how much her heart jumped inside of her chest every time he did that. To counter it and be able to hide how much she loved him in Fortuna, Kyrie would always call him something like that back as a joke, so the elders would think they were just playing. It sort of became their thing after a while – and she quite enjoyed it. “I think it’s my turn to repay you.”

“Eh, no need…” With a sigh, Nero sat by Kyrie’s side on the counter, legs dangling from it as well. He was a lot taller than her, but not even his feet couldn’t reach the floor from where they were sitting. “I’ll do it a thousand times if I have to.”

Looking at her, Nero allowed a caring smile to fill not only his lips but his eyes as well. While so many people saw only fire and rage, Kyrie had the privilege of seeing love and vulnerability inside that aquamarine sea.

Placing one of her hands on his cheek, Kyrie pulled Nero for a kiss – soft, long and calm. Nero was taken aback for a few seconds before melting into it, placing his hands on her hips and finding her soft skin. It seemed like a bolt of lightning went up their spines as Nero caressed her sides and ran his hand on her silky, slightly damp back.

“Oh, what were you saying about the bedroom before…?” Her question was a whisper as Kyrie parted the kiss – both of them blushing and vaguely breathless.

“Nothin’ that matters. The shelves can wait.” Nero dismissed it quickly, pulling her back to a kiss – both of them laughing between each other’s lips.

The house was a mess as they were cleaning everything: the kitchen and the bedroom seemed like they were torn apart, with clothes and shoes lying everywhere, books finding temporary solace somewhere else, and everything looking like it was turned upside down.

Spending time with each other, though, was a bigger priority. They would order some pizza and sleep on the couch under a light bedsheet so they wouldn’t get caught by surprise in case Nico decided to visit all of a sudden in the morning – but they wouldn’t pass the opportunity of loving each other.

As the night settled, they rested on the couch, Nero cradling Kyrie safely in his arms, as they talked the night away, always blushing from being so intimate with each other – that would never change, no matter how many years had gone by.

While watching Kyrie giggling from one of his stupid jokes, looking like an angel resting her head on his chest, Nero blushed even more while laughing alongside her and playing with her hair. He would always be a fool for her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get a glass of cold water for you?” Kyrie whispered into the night, the humming of the fan they found in the back of the garage making the weather a little bit more bearable. “You look like a tomato, dear.”

“Oh, it’s ok. It’s chillier now, my temperature will go down soon.” Nero smiled back at her, wondering how Kyrie could be so radiant. No supernatural creature could top that. “No need to worry, angel. Thank you.”

Obviously, he would never say he was blushing because of her - having only one thing in his mind… Thank whatever forces that be for that heatwave.

#devil may cry #dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfic #devil may cry imagine #dmc imagine #vergil sparda #dante sparda #nero sparda #dante x reader #vergil x reader #nero x kyrie #dmc kyrie #dmc nero #nerokiri #that's it that's the fic for today #melting in the heat #and killing mosquitoes with your loved ones #I don't condone climbing furniture as well #be careful people!!#and care for yourselves during heatwaves like that #it can literally be a killer #alsoooo I missed writing sugary nerokiri I LOVE THEM #and Vergil laughing for the FIRST TIME #and I don't even have anything else to say about Dante 'cause that man is amazing #but half of Dante/so and Nero/Kyrie relationship is 100% based on Rick and Evie from The Mummy #may the gods bless this family of himbos #(Verge is a himbo too but a different flavour of himbo I didn't forget him)

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seeingivy · 10 months

Text

the ensemble cast

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: eren being possessive for no reason, cherry + coke slushies, reader gets criticized online, good old teasing, reader mentions feeling anxious/having anxiety

an: lalalalalallalala lights camera action babes pls enjoy :D

previous part linked here

The set that Attack on Titan is filming on was originally from a previously scrapped project. Three weeks ago, when you and Eren first moved in, the two of you had pilfered from the leftover set dressings and props to see what you could find.

That’s where you find the tandem bike. The breaks don’t work that well, and the seat in the back is really uncomfortable, but it works well for you and Eren’s purposes, which is running away from set on lunch breaks to get slushies at the convenience store two blocks down.

As Hange said, you and Eren wouldn’t really have to do any method acting to become best friends. He’s literally the only other person on set besides Levi and Hange, who are usually too busy workshopping the set and the scripts to talk to you.

You guys eat breakfast together, go to class, and spend hours talking at night when you’re both too bored to do anything else.

You’re both leaning against the bike, two straws poked into the extra large slushie that you and Eren got. The cashier, Michael, gives you guys the slushie for free, but only one since he’s “not made of money.”

Hence, sharing. You guys always split the slushie in half - the right side is Coke for you, and the left is Cherry for Eren. It always swirls together halfway through when it starts melting, which is when you and Eren start playing with the straws - smacking yours into Eren’s and vice versa.

“Do you think it’ll be weird when everyone comes tomorrow, Eren?”

“Maybe a little bit. There’s a lot of them coming. And we’re used to having the place to ourselves.”

Tomorrow is the first official day of filming.

You and Eren have been filming scenes for the past three weeks. But tomorrow, the rest of the ensemble cast arrives, and you start really filming. And you can’t even lie - some part of the entire ordeal fills you up with anxiety.

Because the rest of the cast knows know each other already. Because they’re better actors than you. Because you’re kind of a fraud.

Eren mentioned that most of the people on the ensemble cast were great people because they were part of his class when he went to the SHWA. Meaning he already knew them. Meaning they all knew each other - that they had spent two years going to boarding school together and socializing within the same cohort.

Eren has already co-starred with Mikasa, and he and Jean used to do cameos on a different show together. He used to room with Reiner when he lived at the SHWA, and they’re all still really close.

Eren said it was kind of like a cult at times, how the industry seemed to function in that way. You just think he’s trying to make you feel better for being the sore thumb of the group.

But even beyond just meeting the cast, this entire week is a big deal. The ensemble cast is supposed to attend a panel that WIT hosts every year to answer questions and play the teaser trailer. Hange and Levi are panicking because first impressions can mean everything to a start-up show like this.

Eren tells you that there’s really big advertising company called the Elms that posts reviews of shows before they come out. They have no connections in the fields since they’re advertisers, but their opinions and reviews are basically written law once posted.

They’re the industry equivalent of a Michelin Star.

That’s why the pressure is on for this week - for the cast to get along, for us to finish filming and taking pictures for the promo, and to do great at the panel at the end of the week.

There’s so much to mess up you can’t even fixate on what to worry abo-

“Y/N. Stop it.”

You look over to find Eren glaring at you, shuffling his straw through the bottom of the ice at the cup. His lips and tongue are tinted pink from the drink, his expression annoyed.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking so hard. They’ll all like you, even if you didn’t go to SHWA.”

“I don’t know. I feel like you’ll all have inside jokes without me or something and leave me out. I don’t want to feel like a loser.”

He takes the cup from your hand, now empty, and swishes it into the trash can a few feet away from you. And then his ice-cold hand is in yours, squeezing.

You learn quickly that Eren isn’t the best with his words, but he’s always touching you in some way when a situation like this arises. He squeezed your shoulder when you forgot to bring your harness to set, delaying the entire crew for twenty minutes. And when you didn’t do so well on the French test you had last week, he put his hand in your hair but didn’t really say anything.

If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t work. But it’s Eren, and for some reason, it just does. It’s almost comforting now that you can rely on his hands to be on yours whenever you feel awkward.

“You’re not a loser, Y/N. And if someone thinks you’re a loser, I’ll just tell them they’re wrong about you.”

“Okay.”

“Plus. When they see us act, they’ll change their minds. You’re electric on the screen.”

Eren yanks the tandem bike off of the stand and pulls you up by the hand, the two of you lazily biking back to set. You try to ignore Eren’s comment and how it makes your entire body buzz.

You and Eren make ramen every morning. Because Levi said that the first time he did, it was a one-time occurrence, and he can’t feed you guys daily. He leaves out all the stuff for you, even going as far as cutting up all the vegetables that you like to put in your bowl.

“Eren.”

“Hm.”

“Try to catch the extra carrots in your mouth.”

You’re both playing the game a little bit too competitively as you start racing around the kitchen, trying to throw them so far that you both have to chase after them. And when Eren throws it all the way into the foyer, you go running.

That’s when you bump into him.

There’s a guy in the walkway who you accidentally knock into the ground from running so fast. He has short brown hair, the strands closer to his hair darker. And now that you’ve fallen on top of him, his hands are secured around your waist, both of your cheeks burning red.

You quickly scramble off, awkwardly running your hands through your hair.

“S-sorry. Me and Eren were playing a game.”

“No problem. I’m Jean.”

“Y/N.”

He smiles, his eyes glinting at you.

“Jean.”

“You said that already,” Eren grumbles from the kitchen.

You can see Jean’s cheeks burning red as the rest of them pile into the room, the quiet house suddenly bustling loud. You can’t help but get overstimulated by everyone you’re meeting, trying your best to remember names - Armin, Sasha, Bertholdt, Annie, Connie, Reiner - as they all start milling around the kitchen, sitting at the table.

“So, when are we eating?”

“Sasha shut the fuck up. All you’re worried about is eating.” Connie responds, smacking her across the forehead.

You walk over to the side of the table, tapping Sasha on the shoulder.

“They’re catering since you all flew in. They should be here in twenty minutes.”

She gives you a gleaming smile, returning to arguing with Connie. You can feel a hand tugging on your wrist, the guy from earlier yanking on your arm.

“So if they’re catering, why are you making ramen?” he asks, his cheeks pressed in his palms.

“Ah. Eren and I are kind of in the habit of making it. We kind of forgot they were supposed to cater today.”

“Well, it smells really good.”

“Did you want it, Jean? I don’t mind because Eren and I kind of ate before.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t-”

You march over to the kitchen, where your steaming bowl of food is, much to Eren’s dismay, and return to place it in front of Jean. And when you return to the kitchen, you watch chaos ensue.

Connie and Sasha claim that Jean should share because they’re best friends. Jean says that Sasha’s asking for too much. Then Ymir says that Jean’s face is asking for too much, and now everyone’s arguing with each other.

You lean over, whispering in Eren’s ear as you talk.

“Are they always like this, Eren?”

“Unfortunately.”

He pushes his own bowl of ramen to your side, placing the chopsticks in your hand.

“Oh. It’s okay. I was the one who willingly gave my breakfast away and started World War Three, so.”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Let’s just share.”

You and Eren shuffle the chopsticks in between your hands, taking turns eating from the bowl. And you’re so distracted because Eren’s asking you about Falco and Colt that you don’t realize it when it happens.

Connie taking a picture of you two.

And suddenly, they all stopped arguing with each other and started teasing Eren.

“So this is why you didn’t tell us anything about her? Trying to keep her all for yourself, huh?” Connie says first, smirking at Eren.

You can see the tips of Eren’s ears turn red as he denies it vehemently, only goading the rest of them on more.

“Eren. Do you think Y/N is pretty? Do you love her?” Ymir asks, swinging her arm around your shoulder.

“Where do you get off, you little bitch? Why would you even ask me that? Do you think Historia is pretty?”

“Yes. I do think Historia is pretty.”

You crane your neck over to Historia, whose sitting at the table, her cheeks glowing pink in her hands. Mikasa and Armin are sitting right next to her, focused on typing away on their phones, but you can see the smile pressed on both of their faces.

“You didn’t answer, Eren. Do you think Y/N is pretty? Do you guys kiss each other goodnight? ” asks Reiner, this time leaning even more forward. They’ve backed you and Eren into a corner, the six of them smiling bloody murder at Eren.

Eren hates being put into a corner like this. But he hates it even more when you’re looking over at him, your eyes boring into his, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“Yes. I think Y/N is pretty. No, we don’t kiss each other goodnight.” he murmurs, his cheeks burning red.

You can feel your own cheeks heating up as Levi comes by, dragging the rest of the new people to set with the promise of food. Sasha’s the first one to leave.

Leaving you and Eren alone in the kitchen again, the half-finished bowl of ramen between you.

“Eren.”

“They’re always like that. It’s so embarrassing. Now I’m never going to hear the end of it. Especially from Connie and Reiner, they’re so fucking annoying sometimes it’s-”

You place your hand on Eren’s shoulder, stopping his rant in his tracks.

“I think you’re cute.”

“Huh? What?”

“You told me that you think I’m pretty. Just thought you should know I think you’re cute,” you say, shrugging your hand off and grabbing your harness from the ground as you walk off to the set.

Eren joins twenty minutes later.

He needed the extra time to get his heart to stop violently thumping in his chest.

Armin is the only one brave enough to ask. He leans over, straight into Levi’s headspace, and asks.

“Levi. What are they doing?”

The eleven of them have been watching you and Eren do this for the past few minutes. You’re both…standing there, staring at each other. You’re not exactly talking, though you do whisper something to each other a few times. You’re just kind of…standing there together.

“They do this before they shoot scenes. Y/N said it’s not really a thing for her, but Eren says he needs to feel some… tingle��before he can shoot.” Levi responds, yanking his headphones partially off.

“Tingle?” Armin repeats.

“Tingle.”

“That’s not a tingle. He’s just excited to see Y/N.” Reiner responds, the rest of them chuckling.

You’ve asked Eren to explain it to you maybe a hundred times. And he always says the same thing. That he needs a second before he can shoot to stop being him, Eren, and being the character, Eren. And he knows he’s thought about it hard enough when he can feel this… writhing in his chest.

Most of the time, it’s not bad. He usually just stands there for a few seconds, looking at the ground or the set, and he’s ready. But today, the entire thing is making your cheeks burn. Because not only are the rest of them watching you, but he’s staring at you - green eyes, all soft and warm. He never really looks at you like that, straight on.

“Are you nervous, Y/N?”

“A little bit. They’re all watching, and it’s kind of a hard scene.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Why are you taking so long today? You’re literally just supposed to look all passed out in my arms.”

“For you. You’re like nervously twitching and have to stop before we can start.”

The scene isn’t too bad. You’re just supposed to get suspended in the air and then grab Eren when he comes out of his titan. Levi and Hange said it was preferable if you could try to cry, which Eren has been trying to coach you on for the past few days.

It’s supposed to be an emotional scene. You’re supposed to think Eren’s dead and that he’s returned to life. That your best friend, the only person whose been with you since you were little, will still get to be by your side.

(Hange’s really dramatic when they explain scenes).

And when you do it, you can feel your hands shaking. They’re blowing a lot of steam onto the set as you and Eren stick out of the prop titan, making your hair stick to your forehead and your skin sizzle under the lights.

You’re sure Eren feels the same way. You place your hands around Eren’s face as he starts wobbling in the air in your hold.

You’re not supposed to say anything. You’re just supposed to feel it.

That’s what Hange wrote on your script, next to the blocking for this scene. You place your hands around Eren’s face and take the sight in. The red marks streaking down the side of his face, the way his eyes are closed, and you’re not sure what makes it happen, but you really want to hug him.

Because if this were really true, if you really did think Eren was gone, you would want to hug him. You would want to hold him in your arms, press yourself into his skin to make sure that you can feel him, so that you knew he was really there.

So you do. It wasn’t in the script or what Hange and Levi wanted you to do, but it just felt right. To hold him like this. Some part of your stomach is burning because Eren isn’t really wearing a shirt and even Eren awkwardly shuffles when you do it. You whisper down into his ear.

“Sorry. Felt right.”

And when Levi yells cut and they pull you and Eren down, Annie is the first one to say something.

“I get it now.”

“Get what, Annie?” Eren asks, yanking his own harnesses off.

“You’re not a good actor, Eren. I was really confused when they picked you as the lead. But I get it now. You guys have really good chemistry.” she replies, milling off.

You apologize to Levi for not following the script. He, in turn, tells you to do it more often.

After four days of filming, Eren’s more pissed than ever. Because he figured that his jealousy or possessiveness would wear off by now, that it was just because he was used to it being just him and you for the past three weeks.

And he gets why everyone wants to talk to you because they’ve all known each other for years, and you’re the shiny new toy, but do they really have to talk to you all the time?

He can’t eat ramen with you in the mornings because Sasha always begs you to make her some too. Then she’s milling around in the kitchen, asking you mindless questions while you make some for her.

He can’t do homework with you in your room because Reiner always joins - and he gets that Reiner is really bad at French, but does he always have to ask for your help with the assignments?

And he can’t even talk to you at night when he’s bored anymore. Because Mikasa’s always there too - teaching you how to braid your hair, the two of you giggle about things he doesn’t understand.

He loathes it, which is why he has the outburst that he does.

He invited you to go for slushies with him on Friday before you fly out to Cannes for the panel. But when he yanks out the tandem bike and Jean asks to go along, he can’t help but get irritated at him. So he yells at him . Like bloody murder yells at him. Which is why you and Eren quietly bike, awkwardly sharing the slushie on the bench.

“So.”

“I wasn’t going to let him come, you know? Slushies are our thing, Eren.” you respond, swirling the brown and red ice together.

“Oh. Really?”

“Well, yeah. Some things should be just ours. And I can’t help it for other things - like when Sasha asks for food, or Annie wants help with the props - but I can for this.”

Relief floods through Eren’s chest, and he smiles for the first time in five days. Thank god.

“Okay. Good.”

“Were you feeling… bad about it or something? Like I wasn’t really talking to you?” you ask, Eren not meeting your gaze and instead focusing on the geese walking across the street.

“I know you’re not like supposed to talk to me or whatever, but like. I just kind of missed you, that’s all.”

You smile, leaning your head against Eren’s shoulder.

“I missed you too, Eren.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You and Eren bike back, matching pink lips, which is just asking to get teased at this point. Ymir asks how long you and Eren were sucking your face to get lips that pink, which just pisses Eren off to no extent. Levi makes them both sit on separate sides of the plane.

“Each person answers the panel questions in sets of two or three. There are three panels, so ensure you’re with the right person for each part.”

Your first panel is with Ymir, which you lucked out on. Because the second they start asking questions, your face is burning, your throat is itching, and you can’t answer even a single one they ask you.

You’ve never really been the anxious type. You’ve acted in school plays before and performed for big crowds. But that was always low stakes in your mind. The only people in the audience were people that you grew up with, their older sisters that always compliment you on their hair, and their parents that love to take pictures with you.

This crowd is something different altogether. They’re all wildly unfamiliar, with big cameras and notepads in their hands as they scribble down every little detail they can. Before you and Ymir could even introduce yourselves, even give them something to write down or take a picture of, they were already going hard.

That’s why you feel petrified on the stage. One of the questions is literally what your name is, but for some reason, this crowd of adults with shiny cameras and notepads makes you choke. Ymir saves the day. She’s charming enough to woo them all on her own, with a few comments from you here and there throughout the panel. Every word out of your mouth feels like balmy chalk running down your throat.

Your second panel is with Mikasa and Connie, who are surprisingly a really comedic duo. They’re both so different that they complement each other really well, providing funny anecdotes from set and talking about what it’s been like to film.

Connie, much to your dismay, tells the audience that you and Eren are inseparable - so much so that he’s caught you cuddling together on set before.

That was an accident. You were just tired from shooting on set for eleven hours. You can sneak by with another comment here and there for this panel too.

But the third panel is just you and Eren. And you know you can’t choke here because you and Eren are the leads. And granted, you haven’t really been acting like a lead this entire time by squeaking once like a mouse, but it’s infinitely worse to do it now.

“What’s wrong?”

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes as Eren looks over, concern washing over his face.

“I-I can’t do this.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know. I already messed it up. My entire panels I- I didn’t even say anything because I felt so weird and like- I don’t know, I just can’t be a lead role. I’m not cut out to-”

He shakes his head, yanking you forward to push you into his embrace, his arms warm. His mouth is hovering by your ear, his voice so soft that it sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re literally everyone’s favorite person on set because you’re just the best to be around. And it’s the same thing out there, just with people you don’t know.”

“You guys…you guys have to like me. And it’s hard when they’re all looking at me.”

“Don’t look at them. Just look at me. Just pretend you and I are sitting there, and the person asking the question is me, not them.”

You shake your head, burying it deeper into his shoulder. You can feel your panic subsiding, but there’s still a bubble of anxiety right in your throat.

You and Eren walk out, Eren’s hand pressed in yours, as you sit at the table, your hands still locked together under the fabric.

He squeezes three times before starting, introducing the two of you. The first question is for you.

“Who is your favorite person on set?” asks the lady in the front.

“Um. Maybe Hange. I’ve always looked up to them for a really long time, and getting to work with them has been re-really cool.” you mumble straight into the microphone.

You look over at Eren, who feigns shock as he talks into his.

“I’m offended, Y/N. My favorite person on set is you but your favorite person on set isn’t me?” he says, the crowd laughing.

“What? You’re so full of it, Eren. If they asked you, you probably would have said Levi because he did your laundry once.”

The crowd laughs again, and Eren smiles, his eyes warm as he looks into yours.

“You’re annoying, Y/N. I’ve literally said you’re my favorite person on set on every panel. You think you’re special to someone and find out they don’t even like you that much.”

“Oh, be quiet Eren. You’re so irritating. You know I like you.”

“What was that? Say it louder for me, I didn’t really hear you.”

“I like you.”

“One more time, Y/N. Use your big girl voice.”

“I hate you, Eren. You’re not funny and you’re not cool.”

The entire crowd laughs, Eren squeezing your hand under the table as they ask him questions next. You’re doing it.

And for some reason, you’re really in awe of this side of Eren. You never figured that he was the type of guy to be really good at press since he seems so awkward and stumbly when he’s around you, but he’s…really charming when it comes to this. He’s cracking jokes, poking fun at you while answering all the questions.

“Last question. For Eren. What was your favorite scene to film?”

“There’s this scene that we filmed a few weeks ago. Y/N did some really good improv in it, and when Hange and Levi showed it to us for the first time, we were just so excited for the show to start airing. Basically, you think my character is dead, but-”

You feel your eyes widen as you clamp your hand over Eren’s mouth, stopping him from spoiling the show before it airs. And you forget that you’re on the microphone because you accidentally start berating him into the speakers.

“Eren. You’re so full of shit. Stop spoiling the show before it can even come out.”

For some reason, the entire cast finds the entire ordeal so funny that they’re clapping bloody murder for you and Eren as you deck out.

And when you get to the back of the stage, Hange’s applauding you both for doing so well and Levi’s threatening Eren with promises of masking tape on his mouth the next time he tries spoiling the show.

You’re just thankful Eren held your hand through the entire thing. You wouldn’t have been able to stomach it if he wasn’t.

The review comes out early the next day. The eleven of you huddle around the computer, you and Eren sharing a chair as you wait for Hange and Levi to return with Erwin from the airport. The man of the hour himself has finally arrived to set, meaning you can watch the review.

It’s two girls with short blonde hair on both of them as they dissect the teaser trailer Hange and Levi produced for the panels, and the individual speaks themselves.

They introduce each actor and their character, commenting on past roles, character dynamics, and how they feel about the character overall. Almost everyone gets a glowing commendation except for Armin, who they feel doesn’t look the part.

You can tell from the way Armin shifts uncomfortably in the seat that he’s a bit put off by the comment, but Jean and Marco are already coming to his defense, whispering reassurance in his ear.

“Now, onto the leads.”

You instinctively grab Eren’s hand under the table, the two of you leaning closer to the computer to listen.

“The male and female leads for Attack on Titan are Eren Jaeger and F/N L/N. Eren Jeager was in the fourteenth SHWA cohort and already has a nice plethora of credits behind him - even going as far as to have already co-starred with major parts of the ensemble. We’re sure he will be a great lead for the show, a career-defining role if he does it right.”

You squeeze Eren’s hand three times under the table, everyone patting him on the back and squeezing his shoulders in congratulations.

“We’re unsure if the same can be said for female lead F/N L/N. Upon closer inspection, head casters Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman have chosen something a bit untraditional by not picking an SHWA-affiliated actor. We’re unsure if she can hold her own on a show with big chops like this one since she could barely handle the panels themselves. Sure, everyone has been gushing over how cute the two leads are together, but Eren can’t really carry that part of the charm for her on screen. We’re unsure how it’ll play out, but it’s feeling pretty bleak for now.”

Eren squeezes your hand under the table, but you let go altogether. And when you look back, they’re all awkwardly staring at you, Hange and Levi pinching the bridges of their nose.

“Um. I’m not in the next few scenes, actually. So I’m just going to go eat dinner if that’s okay.”

“We’ll come with you,” Mikasa responds, yanking Sasha up from her chair.

“Oh, you guys have to stay on track with filming. You shouldn’t backlog the schedule. It’s okay.”

Eren watches you walk off set alone, Hange and Levi already doing damage control on their side. Levi’s already screaming bloody murder that they have no right to say that when they have no experience in the field, and Hange’s getting ready to run off and comfort you.

“Hange. Let me come, please.”

Eren watches Hange's features contort as they shoot him down.

“Sorry, Eren. I don’t think she really wants to talk to anyone right now. And I’m just going there to sit with her till she’s ready to talk.”

“She’ll talk to me. I can sit with her, I do it all the time. We’re best friends. And I just want to come. Please, please let me go.”

“Eren. These are all your scenes. You need to stay here. I’ll let you come check on her after, okay?”

Eren watches Hange run off and angrily acts through the next seven scenes.

When he’s done on set, he basically all but sprints to your room, snatching the video camera from Levi and Hange’s office, and knocks on the door lightly. And when he sees it, he can’t tell which emotion he feels most strongly. Never mind, he’s almost positive it’s anger.

You’re lying flat under your soft blanket, Hange’s hand in your hair. He can tell that you’ve probably been crying for a better part of the day, your eyes were all swollen and pink and your nose all runny.

Eren climbs under the blanket with you, hand locking with yours under the sheets. He squeezes your hand three times, which you return as you wipe the excess liquid from your face.

“Y/N.”

“What, Hange?”

“I’m going to call your mom and tell her that you have a boy in your bed.”

You and Eren laugh, rolling your eyes at Hange as you reach up to pull on their hair. Hange hops off the bed, retreating downstairs to get make the ramen that you asked for, as you and Eren shuffle under the blanket.

“Y/N. You okay?”

And at the sound of the question, you immediately start crying again, eyes burning as you lean your head into Eren’s shoulder.

The entire thing - it’s just so fucking embarrassing above anything else. It’s already humiliating enough to get called out as one of the only bad actors in the cast. Sure, they really dug on Armin too but it wasn’t to the extent that they did it to you. And Hange said that was because you were a girl, and they’re always going to be more critical of you than him, but it sure doesn’t feel that way.

You can’t act. You can’t do press. And for some goddamn reason, you’re the one leading the show with Eren instead of someone else. Maybe it should have been Mikasa or Historia or something, they’d surely be doing a better job at this than you.

“Nothing you say is going to make me feel better, Eren. Hange’s been trying for the past few hours, but you’re all just lying to make me come back to set.”

“What do you mean?”

“You guys just feel bad that they said that about me, even if it’s true. And now that you’re stuck with me, you have to make me do it. I’ve been telling Hange - I don’t know what they saw in me even to pick me in the first place. They clearly made a mistake.”

“Hange and Levi didn’t pick you.”

“What?”

“Well, they did. But, I picked you too.”

He reaches over, grabbing the shiny black recording camera from your nightstand. He pulls his arm around yours, holding the camera a few feet away from your face as he holds the looks for the video. And when he plays it, you recognize the same soulless room you did your chemistry screening in, Eren sitting in the chair.

“So Eren. We’re picking through the last few candidates for the lead. Is there anyone you want it to be in particular?”

You can recognize Levi’s voice over the video, and you’re sure Hange has to be the one recording from how the videos wobble around so much.

“You’re going to let me pick, Levi?” Eren from the video asks, eyes wide from shock.

“We’re in between three and we can’t pick one. And this person is your co-star, you’re probably going to spend a better part of the next five to six years with them if things go well. Should be someone you like.”

“Y/N.”

Hange comes into the frame on the video, pinching Eren’s cheeks as they ask.

“That was fast. Any particular reason?”

“I don’t even remember the names of the other ones. That’s how lame they were in comparison.”

“You sure, Eren? You really want it to be her?”

“Positive. I’d even bet on it.” Eren responds, looking over to Hange.

Hange smiles, circling a name on the clipboard, turning to the camera as they speak.

“F/N L/N it is.”

The video ends, the white screen glowing back on you and Eren’s faces.

“You… you picked me?”

“Yeah. And I’m not lying to you when I’m trying to make you feel better or tell you that you’re great. Maybe Hange and Levi are, but I’m not. I’ve always thought you were great.”

You and Eren lean back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His hand is still in yours under the blanket, warm and sweaty, but you don’t really want to let go. Eren doesn’t say much after that, but when Hange comes with dinner and he has to go back, he says one thing which such confidence that you can’t help but believe him too. That you want it to be true.

“You’re going to prove them wrong, Y/N."

next part here

taglist: @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @daisynik7 @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @bsenpai @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @squirrelspoetry

pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

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mariaofdoranelle · 2 months

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The Courtship Deception - Part 2: Heirloom

Fic masterlist

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics

I have 15-ish parts outlined (and most already written, a big feat for me! Yay!) so updates will be frequent since I have to finish by the end of the month heheh

Warnings: Rhoe being his shitty homophobic self

Words: 829

“He’s from Doranelle too,” Fenrys answered to one of her million questions about Rowan while they waited outside her dad’s office.

“But is he just from Doranelle, or did you meet him in Doranelle?” Aelin insisted, her voice hushed so no one would hear it.

For all his talkative personality, Fenrys was awfully secretive about his life back in Doranelle. All she knew was that he used to work for the royal family, hence why Rhoe was paying him the big bucks to babysit Aelin, but she got nothing beyond that. What did he do? Who did he work with? Are the gay rumors about Prince Endymion true? Nada.

Fenrys snorted. “He can answer that himself, Princess.” An eyebrow raised at her. “Didn’t you get his phone number?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean he’ll answer all my questions, though.” But his flirting skills certainly made up for it, was what Aelin didn’t say because Rhoe’s assistant called them in.

His office was unsettling, or maybe it was just Aelin that felt unsettled, considering that her father only called her here for important conversations. It would be simple, just a big desk and some filing cabinets, if not for his bookcase. Instead of books, he showcased airplane miniatures—one of each model from Gala Airlines—but also family heirlooms, crests, and whatever old royal nicknack he liked to keep as a reminder of what he’d be if some very smart people hadn’t an ancestor of theirs one hundred and a half years ago.

“Fireheart.” Her dad smiled, gesturing for her to sit while Fen stood by the door. “I was just on a phone call with Lord Westfall. I have great news for us.”

“Do tell…” she trailed, unsure of what to say. Great news usually led to special dinners, not meetings mid-afternoon.

“I ran into Westfall on that trip to the Southern Continent last week. We talked a lot, including about how things are going south in business, and he’s willing to help us out if we give him a hand as well.”

“Okay…?”

Rhoe’s expression turned somber. “You do know what happened with his boy, right?”

Aelin nodded, her chest tightening just to think of their situation. Chaol and Dorian’s secret relationship was recently outed online and treated as an international scandal, leading to their breakup.

“Very well.” Her father leaned on the table, hands clasped together on the surface. “Westfall’s willing to invest in Gala Airlines if you agree to marry his boy. You know, so people stop thinking he’s a sissy.”

“EXCUSE ME?” Aelin shouted, standing up. She didn’t know what to call out first, this stupid-ass plan or the blatant homophobia.

He held both hands in surrender. “I know this isn’t fair to you, and I know you deserve to choose who you marry...”

Aelin crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“That’s why I reached out to King Dorian. He offered the same deal on his son’s behalf, and now we’re willing to let you choose which one of the boys you’ll marry.”

“Oh!” Aelin’s mouth fell open, a flush of adrenaline tingling through her body because how dare he. “How generous of you!”

Rhoe relaxed on his chair. “I knew you’d see reason.”

“No, that’s not—“ Aelin pinched the bridge of her nose, blood boiling with anger. “Have you ever considered that, if business is going south and your first solution is to sell your daughter, maybe things are sinking because of you?”

“Fireheart, this is hardly about me.” Rhoe tilted his head, as if trying to understand her. “Can’t you see that you’ll get back what was taken from you? Your birthright?”

She took a step back, mind going a mile a minute. Not this bullshit again.

“Daddy, it’s not my birthright, and even if it were, I don’t want it.”

He sighed. “Royal duties aren’t about want. It’s the most honorable—“

“That I don’t have any right to!”

“But if you can’t reclaim your own title, you should at least marry into one!”

The reason why her father married her mother, a princess from Wendlyn, before the monarchy fell there too and he lost his title—and his marriage.

“Dad, this might seem unbelievable to you, but I’m actually glad I’m not a crown princess, and I’m certainly glad your great-great-great-grandfather was such an incompetent fuck he got—“

“Enough!” her father shouted. “Watch your mouth before you talk about—“

“But I am! I’m fine with it! I have a princess’ wealth and Instagram following, why would I ever want more obligations just for the sake of a title? Can’t you see Queen Georgina? She’s boring, she dresses boring, she has a boring schedule—“

“I guess you’ll have to get used to boring, then,” he snapped, eyes cold in a commanding way. “Or choose to become a duchess. Both boys will be flying in soon to start courtship. You’ll have a few weeks to choose—unless you come up with a better deal, which I doubt.”

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

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#rowaelin #throne of glass microfics #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #the courtship deception #tcd

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nightgoodomens · 2 months

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Asks under the cut (p3)

I feel like Michael has been showing how done with it he is since he started making a point to look as miserable as possible with her and to make it more blatant, how glowing he looked with DT instead. I also feel like that photoshoot was meant to be the beginning of finding her a career so they can end her bearding one. So she has some career so she isn’t dependant on him anymore. But that didn’t work out so she started clinging to him again. It’s a sad situation for everyone. I’d never want to have anyone this dependent on me so I can’t get rid of them, and I’d never want to be a woman this dependant on a man.

That thread is disgusting. Not only half of them have zero idea wtf they’re talking about, like usual on Twitter, but the absolute disgust leaking from it is pure homophobia. The same people feel like they can squeak over everything the ladies do, and can ask about those relationships, but anything about the men deserves disgust and how embarrassing it is. It’s fucked up. I am against asking questions like this but it wasn’t THAT bad, and I hardly blame the person who asked considering they asked AL who will respond with crap like “oh my loud parrot was a preparation for dating MS” yeah you know what, ask her whatever you want. She’s embarrassing. Besides 1. She didn’t need to answer. 2. That wasn’t a back off face, they’re just projecting their feelings yet again. It was a confused/thinking about it and then “hm” as she looked away. Like her reaction was actually quite funny because it looked like a “oh fuck he does” realisation. No need to project all feelings of hatred on it.

They literally told everyone they’re one big family and DT and MS are partners/boyfriends/husbands - if people think it’s disgusting then that’s something they have to deal with. I don’t think any of these people have the mental capacity to consider poly or anything but most typical relationships out there. Which is so ironic because this is supposed to be super open minded fandom… yet they freak the second someone says so I think two men might love each other. Please.

I always felt a little “huh” about that moment because of how serious he is during that. Not the usual joke way you would expect but a borderline statement. There’s so many moments during those years where you expect them to take the piss out of each other but they’re really serious about what they say.

I think it’s kind of looking up to her because GT does it at least a little better than her. GT does a lot of questionable things to me but majority of people just see the perfect image she created on the surface. She worked very hard for people to forget how fucked up the beginnings of this relationship were and now feels confident enough to call her kids drunk accidents and get away with it. But that is the fandom’s fault who sucks up everything she says and won’t dare to criticise. And she knows that. Well until she finally touched a subject that struck the nerve but while some chased her off, others were screaming queen you can do no wrong - see this is why they think they can do bare minimum and people will suck it up anyway.

But you’re right, generally her arrangement with DT works better (mostly, because she posted a video where he was complaining too, or pics where he’s done with everything, or her weird selfies where she looks into camera and he’s suppose to be cuddling to her which always gives me the cringe, or the “mine” even though the night was about him) and she’s better at support when she feels like it hence probably why people have more warmth for her. Majority of people just want DT content and they don’t care how or what it is.

But generally people who see through bullshit point out both GTs and ALs missteps. And MS and DT when they do some dumb shit. It’s the best fans who won’t dare to criticise anything.

To me it looks like MS is harder work because he’s done with shit so he won’t be pulling cute selfies etc to help the bullshit. But DT is easier to make feel guilty (omg I want to be my wife for a day to see how she deals with me… bruh you ok?) so he will do a stupid Morrisons video, take selfies and cling to her like he’s less than her on HIS big days. And constantly work his ass off to finally have her accomplish something instead of finally giving up. It’s weird and sad to me. And explains why he shines so much with MS who actually lets him be who he is and compliments him and loves him openly instead of trying to make him feel less.

Oh yeah season three will be a nepo show, big time!

#NightGoodOmens talks PR #NightGoodOmens talks Michael and David

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softrosehale · 2 years

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That Took A Twist! - Rosalie Hale

A/N: hi so i was really high when i wrote this and i intended it to be a funny, light-hearted crackfic. don’t get me wrong, i have no idea wtf is wrong with me, like some parts of this don’t need to exist but here you go. anyways, i genuinely think that rosalie is one of the most complex characters in the series and smeyer fucked her over that’s all bye

“You know what I love about you?” You asked, peering at your mate from your upside-down perch from the couch, legs kicking playfully in the air. Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at you, full lips pulling up into an affectionate smile. “And what would that be?” She asked, her voice honey sweet.

“Is it her ample bosom?” Emmett asked from his spot on the ground, brows furrowed as he gripped his remote controller tightly, cracks forming in the flimsy plastic. Rosalie’s eyes rolled, and she turned to the gigantic teddy bear. “Excuse–”

“Nah, it isn’t her bosom,” You answered. “Though,” You grinned at your mate, practically leering at her. Your eyes glinted predatorily. “Her bosom is indeed ample.” Rosalie squinted at you, even though you could feel through the bond, that she was internally preening at the twisted compliment. You growled softly in her direction, the lust in your eyes evident. Rosalie swore that if she could blush, she would. In fact, she could feel the phantom heat of blood rushing to her cheeks. She winked at you, crossing her arms across her chest, pushing the subject of the conversation higher. You let out a soft squeak and turned away quickly, feeling faint.

“Hey, can we please stop using the word ‘bosom,’ please?” Jasper grunted out from his spot on the love seat in the corner, Alice twined around him. Edward, in the same position with a golden-eyed Bella, nodded in agreement. Bella turned to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong with the word bosom? You complimented me on mine just an hour ago, Edward.”

Edward choked silently while Emmett and Jasper roared with laughter. You turned to Edward. “Really? Bosom?” You shook your head sadly at him. “This is why you were still a virgin at 110 or some shit,” You lamented.

“Seriously,” Jasper agreed. “Why not call them what they are?”

Alice quirked an eyebrow at him. “And what would they be?”

“Are we speaking about Bella’s bosom or yours?”

“I thought you said that we weren’t using the word bosom anymore?”

“Can we also put Rose’s bosom back on the list? Hers is ample.”

“So are Bella’s!”

“So are Alice’s!”

“Why are you lying to her?”

A half an hour later, three broken walls and about half of Emmett’s limbs removed, courtesy of Jasper, Bella, Edward– well, everyone, really. Alice was searching on her phone about which push-up bras were best and pouting. Jasper was still nursing both bite marks and biting hurt from insults hurled (“Shut the fuck up, Jasper! You were a fucking Major for the Confederates, you’re used to suppressing someone else’s rights!”). Edward was rocking back and forth, his hands carding through his hair, raking it into a wild mess. His eyes were haunted– they grew that way when an impromptu wet t-shirt contest was held. Bella was looking at you and Rosalie thoughtfully, nodding her head. Yes, Rose’s bosom was quite ample. Emmett was still sulking about the lost arm-wrestling match between you and him– hence one broken wall explained.

Rosalie, as always, was unbothered, staring at her perfectly manicured nails. She made sure to keep them shorter this time. You were curled against her, head rested on the reason for three broken walls, Emmett losing half of his limbs, and a slight but repairable rift in the family. You nuzzled your face into your mate’s chest, a soft purr rumbling through your throat. “You never answered my question earlier,” You murmured, softly enough for only your mate to hear.

“Yes, you can go on top next time,” Rose murmured back. “It’s quite fun when you’re on top, not gonna lie.” She mused. You blinked. “...That wasn’t the question I was talking about, but…” You trailed off, cocking your head thoughtfully. “That’s good to know. No, I meant, wanna know what I love about you?”

Rosalie’s expression melted into something warm and soft, eyes full of love. “What would that be, my heart?” She asked, brushing her fingertips along your cheek. You leaned into her soft, tender touch. “I love everything about you,” You smiled, capturing her hand in yours. You pressed soft kisses to each of her fingers, happily noticing the much shorter length of her nails. You ended it with a kiss to her palm. She curled her fingers around yours. “There’s nothing about you that I don’t love,” You continued. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me this life and wanting me for eternity. I promise to love you for as long as that is for us, and beyond.”

Alice’s eyes unfocused for a second, and she smiled to herself. Edward, seeing the vision through his gift, smiled as well. He and Alice unobtrusively herded Bella, Jasper, and Emmett, who was still subdued from his loss (of limbs and arm-wrestling match) followed along silently.

Rosalie’s eyes welled with tears that could never fall. For so long, she loathed her existence, cursing herself for her beauty. It was all anyone had ever noticed about her– nothing below the surface of the complex girl with the face that rivaled Aphrodite’s. Until you. You’d seen beneath the cold, stoic, angry mask– clawed your way past the surface with bare hands and a determined heart. You knew her. You saw her. Her beautiful face and ample bosom were just three bonuses– very nice ones, but bonuses nonetheless.

“I love you with everything I am,” Rosalie’s reply was soft, but no less filled with heart than yours. “My entire heart is yours.” She intoned. You squeezed her hand gently. “I promise to treat it with nothing but the utmost care,” You replied. “I know that others in the past have not, but I promise that I’m not like them.”

Rosalie inhaled shakily. Those wounds, no matter how old, were still raw. She wondered if they would always be– wondered if the pain ever lessened. She hoped it did; she had to hope that it did. “I know,” She agreed quietly. She leaned forward until her forehead pressed against yours. “And me?” She breathed softly, liquid gold eyes wide. “Do I have your heart as well?” Her voice was teasing, playful, but her eyes held hope that both heartened but broke your heart as well– that she could doubt her worth to you.

You pulled her closer, twining yourself around her like a koala would a tree (minus the chlamydia). You looked up at her, golden eyes glowing with warmth, your love for her practically roaring through the bond like a wildfire. “You know you do. You have, ever since the first ‘hello.’”

#Rosalie Hale x Reader #rosalie lillian hale #my writing

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at1nys-blog · 7 months

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The Prince at sea

Pairing: Akagami no Shanks x Nefertari!Buggy

Summary: Buggy, is Vivi's brother, snd is going to be the next King of Alabastra. But he knows he was not meant to rule a kingdom but to seak adventures at sea

Shanks lived a life filled with adventures and stories to tell but he feels like something is missing

A/N: a friend of mine asked me to write a ff about Shanks and Buggy and remembering I saw a picture where Buggy and Vivi were related i decided to use that idea and write this. Everything is the but: Shanks and Buggy being younger than from the original story; Roger is still alive hence the crew is still there.

Masterlist

It was in moments like those that Buggy thanked his younger self for his curiosity.

Back in the days, when he was still an innocent and naïve boy, he regretted having eaten that devil fruit but now? Now he was excited to use his powers and escape the castle.

The best part of it was being able to deceive Pell, Buggy never thought that being able to tear his body parts into pieces was the best way to escape Pell’s hawk vision, but here he was.

Dressed in all black Buggy scattered his body parts in different directions and once he was safe from preying eyes he walked down to the city.

Even thought the time was late in the night, the prince noticed a few people still out, playing some music while other danced or simply kept conversing. He likes this atmosphere and wished, in different occasions, to be part of that world and not the one he was born into.

Buggy knew it wasn’t his fault, nor was his family’s. Is not like they chose for him to be born in royal family, nor that his spirit was tied to the sea. It happened and that’s all.

Buggy wouldn’t have noticed the time he arrived in front of the tavern if the man behind him didn’t push to get in himself. The prince was only able to see he was wearing a straw hat and the color of his hair: red. Buggy thought of fire burning with brutal force you are drowned into it. That red was so…

-Are you coming inside?-the owner of the straw hat spoke getting his attention. Buggy noticed the guy was holfing the door open for him.

-uhm…yeah.- the prince answered covering at his best the hood of the cape to hide his face. He didn’t recognize the man but that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the prince. -thanks.- he added entering.

What he found inside was nothing knew but having a first hand experience was a totally different thing.

The music was a mix of what he grew up with and something new, more chaotic. Yeah, chaotic would be the way to describe it for Buggy. It was very chaotic but in a nice way, his ears were not affected by it. In all honesty he liked how the different melody were somehow complementary to each other.

Once again someone pushed him, and once again the prince saw the red hair half hidden by the straw hat. He was intrigued by the guy, who was he? Where is he from? Why is he in Alurna? How long would he stay? Would he be an ally or a foe? Millions of other questions filled Buggy’s head but he didn’t have time to ask all of them. He had to get a room and some supplies for the journey ahead.

-…thank you very much. At the back tor the camel right?- he heard and looking at the waitress behind the counter he saw her nodding with a blush on her face. Was the man that attractive to blush?

-great. My friend here will pay for both.- it took him a second to realize what was happening.

-WHAT?- he turned to face the young woman. -no, we are not friends. I don’t even know the guy. Don’t listen to him.- when he turned to ask the man to apologize for the inconvenient he was already gone. -I guess I have to pay for the both of us.- he scoffed but he knew the waitress wasn’t going to let him go until getting her payment.

Buggy walked upstairs defeated with less than half the money he left with. Yes, he was the prince, and yes he was able to pay for someone else but if asked he didn’t know how to explain that much amount of money.

-…so how much do I own you?-the red hair with the straw hat surprised him.

-let’s see, a room is 6.000 berries for night. Each meal is around 500 berries and 1.500 if take out. So, saying you stay one night, having one service for dinner and breakfast, counting in three take out meals for at least, let say… three days? Yes three days makes nine take out meals your total would be…- before Buggy could come to the total the guy owned him, he reminded the undercover prince for the price of the alcohol and a camel.

-right.- he answered with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t stand the man a single bit, how can women blush at his single words? That was a mystery for later, or never. Buggy didn’t care.

Thinking about the additional fees he decided to overcharge whoever decided to play with him.

-the total would be 280.000 berries.- he smirked. He knew he didn’t have that much money, and he didn’t care as much as he was supposed to. He wanted to play with the red haired man too.

The foreigner checked his pockets and the money sachet and concluded he, indeed, didn’t have the money to pay him back.

-I have 150 berries, is okay?-

-you know what, is okay, keep the money. Good night sir. I might see you for breakfast.- he said and locked himself in the room.

The morning came too early but Buggy couldn’t wait to get to the beach. It had been too long since he went there the last time and it wasn’t to have fun or dreaming about new adventures and islands, it was to welcome to Alabasta a ruler of some kingdom he forgot the name.

-Good morning.- the prince was able to avoid slapping him on the face as an instinct. -so I had all night to think of a way to pay you back.-

Please don’t say in nature. Please don’t say in nature he thought. He had heard some of the women, and men, using it as a way to pay their debts or to get a simple ampoule of spice.

-you see, the universe provided me…-

-STOP IT HERE I DONT WANNA HEAR IT- the prince covered his ears but even like this he could hear the man next to him laughing. He uncovered them slowly, painfully slowly, and looked at the red haired man confused. What was that funny to laugh?

-Oh lord, you should have seen your face. Don’t worry, I was kidding.- he said sanding a wink at Buggy. -on a more serious note. I want to pay you back and I might have found a way since as of now I am out of money.-

-well you still have 150 berries.- looking at the expression he made the prince understood that was a lie. -what is your idea.-

-since is pretty clear to me you can’t defend yourself I will accompany you wherever you are going.-

-is not a long journey and the desert bandits don’t attack in daylight.- he really didn’t want to stay in his company. What if the stranger was to find out his true identity and kidnaps him? He wanted to leave the castle, yes, but not like this.

-Oh come on, I am plenty funny. You could use a laugh every now and then.-

-I said no- he simply replied.

-okay okay, you don’t like a commedian. I know a lot of stories.- he tried but Buggy didn’t care. -I have set sail a lot. I really have stories to tell.-

Now this was something he was interested in. The red haired guy took his silence as a good sign.

-okay, but I have one condition. We don’t ask for names.- that was the only thing that mattered. Not exposing his true identity.

-Can I at least ask to see your face?- silence again.

-Not here.-

Two hours in the desert were starting to take a tool, not on Buggy that for sure. He was used to the heat, it wasn’t anything new.

-You want to stop a little bit?-

-if we do, we become easy targets for the bandits.- the prince thought that was a good idea to teas his new companion.

-Oh my bad, I guess I overestimated you.- that touched an open nerve. The red haired scoffed. Buggy was in wait for an answer, anything, something in him was craving to hear his voice. The man just licked his lower lip for a brief second, which wasn’t unnoticed by the other one. -okay then. But you know I don’t understand why you proposed to protect me if you can’t take a few bandits.- he hoped to get a reaction but once again he failed. No answer, just a click of the tongue.

His mind starter to travel, going places it never went before. Now he understood why women blushed in his presence, he did because it had the same effect on him.

-Okay maybe two minutes. There.- the man pointed at a rock where they could take shelter for a couple of minutes, as promised. The red haired took place in the shadow the rocks casted and took off the cape, using its fabric to create a little of wind. Buggy on the other hand didn’t dismount from his camel. He was fine there. -if you don’t want to draw attention get off that damn animal and come here.- never in his life a commoner, a town folk told him what to do and he did but with him… Buggy felt different, his guts were telling him to listen to that, very attractive, man. His body acted on its own, getting off the camel he walked and once he was protected from the heating sun, took seat next to him.

The read haired kept him words. They stayed there, in silence for only a couple of minutes and then headed once again to their destination. It was only when they went back on tracks that the man asked his first question: where were they headed?

-the bitch side. I used to go there as a kid before my mother died. I want to see it one more time before is too late.- Buggy answered. He wanted to go there before being crowned king, he had to.

-is never too late to see the sea.- inquired the foreigner.

-it is when your job takes away all your free time.-

-what is your job?-

-is complicated. I don’t like to talk about it.-

In between questions, answers, jokes and teasing comments the duo was almost there, Buggy recalled another two or three hours of travel.

Once again the hours were spent talking about nothing much; sometimes they would stop to eat a little bit of what they had with them until they finally saw the sea.

Buggy’s eyes turned into two shining starts, that was clear as water. The red haired smiled, since the first time he met him, he never saw him like that excited to have the sea in front of his eyes.

He wanted to comment on that, tease the younger one a little bit but decided to let him be. He wanted him to enjoy the moment. Sitting on the hot sand, soon to get cold, he kept an eye on him. He looked how he played with the dry sand, taking it in his hand and letting it free a second after, looking how it went back to its place grain by grain.

Looking around the beach the foreigner was surprised to notice the familiarity of that shore. He was sure not far away from where he was standing, Roger had docked the ship.

-OHY SHANKS YOU ARE FINALLY BACK.- someone screaming from behind the trees got the duo’s attention. -We thought you were dead man.- he added.

Looking better from where the voice was coming from Buggy noticed a ship. It wasn’t much noticeable in between the greens of the leaves but he could tell it was a ship, and if it had been docked there it meant one thing.

-you are a pirate?- the question rolled out his tongue so easily.

The pirate tried to find a way to explain himself but he looked more like a fish gasping for water. Buggy felt that behavior was due to the fear of having to escape and never come back so he spoke one more time. -Don’t worry I won’t call you out to the City Watch, trust me.-

The two looked at each other for a couple of seconds but it felt like hours. The sea was not interesting anymore, the red haired’s friend was never there to start with now, it was just the two of them and a promise to not say a word about pirates.

It was just them until…

-Shanks move your ass back on the ship, Roger wants to talk to you.-

-Eye eye coming, just keep an eye on him. I think he is royalty or something like that.- he said in a too loud of a tone.

-I am not.- Buggy screamed, trying to sound confident in his sentence but his voice betrayed him.

-Yeah, whatever makes you sleep at night handsome.- he answered and then turned to his vice captain and asked once again to look out for the guy.

It was when the pirate was out of Buggy’s sight that he went to ask if there was a piece of paper and a pen he could have use. He scribbled something and once it was folded he went inside the little hut and then left to let loose the two animals that walked them there. The pirate watched confused, but if it was true that he was from the royal family he didn’t question his behavior. Who knew what was he going to do if questioned his doings.

-now, can I talk to your captain?- the vice captain nodded, still very much confused but let the boy on board and called for his captain. The owner of the ship came in seconds, followed by Shanks on his left.

-I want to join your crew.- he simply said making everyone laugh.

-fine with me.- answered Shanks the red haired pirate, he remembered how the boy’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the sea and how interested he was when he mentioned his adventures.

The captain laughed some more and then declared he was happy to have a new crew mate.

Vivi Nefertari knew what had to be done, her brother had left clear instructions if he wasn’t to return the next day. She was to tell where he told her he was going; she was going along with the guards and she was to check the hut by the beach. She was the one to find the letter because in Buggy’s eyes she was the perfect ruler for the kingdom and Vivi knew. She knew Buggy was meant for the open sea,for the excitement, the fear of the unknown and why not for the experience of true love.

Buggy never stopped thinking about his old live style, he never stopped thinking about his family but now he had a new one. A one he found by accident thanks to a bold man with hair like fair that now had control over his heart no matter what.

#one peice #shanks one piece #op shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks the red #buggy one piece #op buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #captain buggy #shanks x buggy #buggy x shanks #one piece imagines #one piece anime #one piece fanfiction #one piece ff #one piece manga

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thatdesklamp · 7 months

Note

WAIT OMG-

been reading intrinsic warmth for a WHILE and your writing is top tier!! i always wondered to myself every time i’d read a chapter why the writing just STICKS, yk? i’m a MAJOR book girlie, i read 24/7.

AND THEN IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN I READ ONE OF YOUR TAGS THAT YOU PUT UP ON ONE OF YOUR POSTS WHERE YOU WERE ANSWERING A QUESTION FROM ANOTHER LOVELY READER AND I SEE THAT YOU TOOK AN ENGLISH A LEVEL?

first of all (not 100% sure on this) but i’m pretty sure only british ppl take gcses, a levels, etc. YOU’RE BRITISH?

i feel like i’ve met my other half rn over something so tiny but yeah. IT LITERALLY EXPLAINS WHY YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD:

i could point out the NUMBER of times i’ve seen juxtaposition, symbolism, foreshadowing in your fic to someone if they’d asked me to point it out for them. at first i thought you might’ve done it unknowingly, and then i decided that nope, bc foreshadowing is such a BIG writing technique that it simply couldn’t have been by accident.

it’s one thing to know about a writing technique and another to actually be able to SUCCESSFULLY incorporate it into your writing. if it isn’t clear enough, i’m saying that you did it AMAZINGLY. you’ve got a natural talent and i’m envioussss (in a supporting way ofc 😭).

you should really look into making your own book, and i think you EXCEL at the supernatural aspect of plot in stories. your writing is so unique and different yet so warm, it reminds me of autumn (my favourite season).

idk how to end such a long message, ultimately i don’t have a reason for typing this up and shit. ik you have tons of people probably saying the same thing and it might just get repetitive for you, but i wouldn’t feel comfortable not being part of said bunch-of-ppl-probably-saying-the-same-thing.

oh! and take your SWEET TIME updating. it’s your story, your fic, your writing. the ONLY thing we readers can give you as a payback and thanks is time, patience, and understanding <3333

RAHHH BRITTANIA 💪💪💪💪

Agh. Yes—I’m British (English to be precise, sweet sweet caroline etc), hence the use of ‘u’s in words like ‘colour’ and ‘humour’, and also why everyone’s parents are their ‘father’ or ‘mother’ and not mum/dad. ‘Mom’ feels too American but ‘mum’ feels too rah engerland, yk? I’ve mentioned previously that I’m looking forward to writing fics where the characters are actually from England and where I’m actually allowed to write them the way I talk, mostly. Good lord am I excited.

And yes lol I took English for an A-Level. Bloody smashed it too, if I get to brag, mwahaha. Didn’t take it any further (I’ve also previously said that I’m a # woman in stem uni student, which is true), but I still write a killer essay imo. Give me 10 minutes to do a refresher on ‘Othello’ (it’s been a while okay) and I can talk for donkeys about his tragic fall and how much of a wanker he is. Which he is! I’m a Desdemona defender for life.

You say ‘natural talent’. PLS. No!! God no. Not at all. I wish—that would’ve made it a lot easier, but whatever I can do rn is down to bloody years of toiling away on my shitty little laptop, I promise. I’ve got another anon ask that asked about some writing tips so I’ll do the bulk of them there but my number 1 will always and forever be to practise. Whatever skill I have now has been earned over the many years. You don’t even want to see some of the stuff that will never grace my ao3 page (atla had me in a chokehold through covid and I have never been the same).

But you are genuinely so complimentary: this is so so lovely of you. Thank you?? It’s really weird being someone who writes and also someone who enjoys analysing literature; you’re right, half of the ‘techniques’ are intentional (the number of times I’ve flicked through some chapters’ drafts and thought, ‘fucks sake none of this makes sense, I need to add some decent foreshadowing or none of this will make sense in two chapters’), but also so much of my writing is just thinking, ‘hmm, this doesn’t really feel right. No no, I don’t like the vibe of this. I want this to feel more GRAAHHH and less lalalala. Lemme change this up a bit’. Whether that leads to the whole, short sentences->speeds up the pace of the reader when reading the section->increased tension, mimics actual fight encounter, etc etc (all the stuff you blag on about in eng lit), then maybe that counts as intentional? And maybe not.

Making my own book? That’s lovely of you to say but I also really don��t have any ideas for anything non-fanfic’y! Lol. I love a good bit of canon compliance, that’s my issue. That being said—hey, another eng a level reference—I’ve made multiple references here to being the world’s #1 ‘Atonement’ hater. Unfortunately, it also lives damn rent free in my head and I’ve got the bare bones of a WW2-era, perhaps epistolary, longform fic buzzing around. (Fandom: Marauders. I’m a disgrace but here we go). I’ve written nothing for it and maybe I never will, but that’s one of the only things I can see as being more standalone from original canon. Anyway: it’s the fanfic life for me. Ali Hazelwood’s life is but a distant dream.

But anyway! Thank you again for your lovely words. The next IW chapter will take a very long time, I have to be frank, so thank you for the reassurance that that’s not absolutely disgraceful lmao T_T Thanks again!! <3

#intrinsic warmth #I hope I have not accidentally hidden my englishness #the biggest event of this month isn’t Halloween or 1989tv — it’s the switch from bst to gmt babyy

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lvyu · 2 years

Text

(( @vktoraa OKAY OKAY I GOT CARRIED AWAY !! ))

once upon a time; wilbur soot x reader

— notes: reader’s gn! as in the fic, also this is just an imagined continuation, the actual ending was left ambiguous on purpose so you could decide what you wanted to happen :)

— warnings: same warnings as in the original fic + talk of major character death/suicide in second half, wilbur is not a good person

original fic -> tomorrow i’ll wake up and be the perfect man for you

“did they visit him in prison? did he ever get out?”

i like to imagine they did, but no, he never escaped his prison.

wilbur admitted to everything when be was brought in for questioning. before the questioning cops could even get his full name out, he whispered “i did it.” a beat.

they continued. “william pa—”

“i did it!” he spoke louder this time, his voice cracking, as if reflecting his own state of being. breaking— or maybe he was already broken. “why won’t you just lock me up?” he got quiet again, sounding sadder with every syllable.

and after a few agonising hours of questioning for wilbur like what his childhood was like, if he felt any remorse, why he chose the victims, so many fucking questions, he had to dig his nails into his arms to physically restrain himself from lashing out at them, they did.

the trial and sentencing was quick, considering he pleaded guilty to twenty murders, which was actually six more than he was accused of. apparently on his vacation to america in autumn of 2017 he’d taken his first life. the other five had taken place in some other towns, hence the lack of connection.

“how is… how’s your job?” wilbur voice as pathetic as ever, fake smile plastered on as it always was.

you hesitated answering. despite coming here of your own volition, it had taken two years just to convince yourself to come, and you weren’t sure that was even enough. maybe you shouldn’t have come.

your silence upset him. “you know i miss you.”

“i don’t,” you were lying straight through your teeth, and you couldn’t hate yourself more for it. for fucks sake, he was a murderer.

he pouted, and you wanted to yell at him. two years trapped in a box hadn’t fared him too bad, at least so far. his hair was longer, and he looked paler, with more wrinkles, but he still had that same, tired, empty look in his eyes that he always had.

he looked sad, almost, and it only made you angrier at yourself. it gave you the same feeling from a night two years ago, the night he confessed to you. when he was standing, being held by two officers, handcuffs locking around his wrists, tears and snot running down his face. the feeling of wanting to help him, save him, just reach out to him.

he pressed a finger against the plastic seperating the two of you, staring at it intently. slowly, he brought the phone closer to his mouth. “i know you miss me,” he said, pausing before looking at you, right in your eyes, making sure you saw him. “i love you, you love me.”

his words were laced with desperation, the belief that someone loved him, him of all people, was the only thing keeping him from completely tipping over the edge. and it was; wilbur was pleading, silently, for you to say it, to say that you loved him.

“you’re a monster, wilbur,” you said. “i couldn’t love you.”

he gently set down the phone, hands coming up to cover his face. you heard him groan, a moment of silence passed, and he picked up the phone again, uncovering his face. the feeling came back.

a shaky laugh left him. “god, you fucking suck! you’re such a dick,” the intercom buzzed, warning the inmates they only had three minutes left. had it already been that long?

“i know you fucking loved me,” he never raised his voice, no, but he was getting angrier by the second, opting for a quieter tone. he was always the quiet type, rarely yelling. before, you found it endearing, but now, it only made you fear him, made you uneasy.

you would have preferred him to yell at you.

he was clenching his fist, begging for it be real, for you say you were lying. he swore he would forgive you, he would do anything, if you would just give him a bit of relief.

“you…” he choked on his own words. “fuck! you wouldn’t have done what you did if you didn’t love me,” all the late night cuddles, occasional drunk flirting, moving schedules around just to meet him. “you did.” his voice broke, matching the heartbroken look he wore.

but was it real? was anything he did or said real?

“you did love me,” he sounded like he was on the verge of crying. “you did love me, i know you did.”

one minute.

“i love you.”

how much of what he said was true and how much of it was nothing but shallow lies?— lies he only told to get himself out of trouble and gain sympathy.

finally, you spoke. “wilbur, you don’t even know what love is.”

visitation time is over, inmates return to cells.

no, no, no, he mumbled, starting to yell, no! no! no!

he had to be physically pulled away, causing a few of the other inmates to yell at him, cursing him out and insulting him. a few looked backed at you, wondering what the commotion was all about. he tried to fight against the guards, but god, he was weak.

prison hadn’t made him any stronger, but weaker.

tears began to flow down his face, screaming ‘no’, slipping down against the guards and onto the floor, kicking his feet as though he were a toddler having a tantrum.

“please!” he yelled, and through his long fringe he looked directly at you, red face and snot smeared across.

before he could get another word out, you left, running out of the room as fast as you could. signing out and walking to your car was a blur, all you could think of was him— wilbur.

please don’t go, please don’t leave me again, please love me, please stop lying.

you slammed the car door closed, scaring yourself. you put your hand on the wheel, laying your head against it, sobs wracking your entire body.

you liked him, you liked him so fucking much before it all went to shit. you could’ve fallen in love with him so easily, you swore, if you had just been given the chance, if he had been a better person.

if he wasn’t a fucking monster maybe you could’ve been happy.

instead, you’re left with the image from so long ago. your neighbor and his kind smile as he held you, stroking your hair softly, as if you would break if he was any harsher, cracking a dry joke that you still laughed at because you liked him— because you wanted to be happy with him.

so maybe it wasn’t a lie, maybe once upon a time you did love him. but god, you wished you didn’t, you wished you could forget.

“…did he get out?”

no, he didn’t.

life imprisonment was his sentence, though granted, he was told he had a chance of parole. in my head i envisioned witting him with the ideals of someone who has almost nothing left to live for— but once that something is gone, he is too.

essentially his last straw would be accepting that he is unloved because he is a horrible person, because of the things he’s done and he can’t undo. and once that realisation hits, he can’t stay alive, he can’t accept that he is worthy of living anymore.

and so he doesn’t.

he considers writing a letter to you, and he almost does. he picked up the paper and pencil he was graciously given because of his good behavior, but he sets it down after the first sentence. he stared at your written name on the paper.

so pretty, he thinks, but it looked so wrong in his handwriting, and sounded even worse when he said it aloud because he didn’t deserve to say it. not after causing you so much pain.

he’s seen you on the news a few times, and he thinks you look happy, at least you still have your job. you deserve that happiness, he thinks, you deserve all the happiness in the world. and so he wants you to be happy, he doesn’t want to tie you down to him with his farewell letter, not again.

it’s his first, and final, sincere apology to you.

and he thinks back to your final words to him, how he didn’t even know what love was. and now he thinks maybe you were right, but he doesn’t care, not really. to him, in his mind, in his own demented, sickening, way, he knows he felt something for you, and that’s what mattered to him. it made him feel human.

though maybe not enough.

#pom’s writing corner #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #god i love this fic so much #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt imagine #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n

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awhitehead17 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022: Day 26 - No one left behind

Prompt: Rope burn

Summary: Tim gets an unexpected visitor in the evening and he finds his time being occupied with treating injuries instead of doing the work he had planned to do.

Enjoy! :D

The moment Tim hears his living room window being open he groans and puts his head in his hands. There goes his peaceful evening. Apparently escaping to his apartment in the city for alone time was pointless as his family follow him anyway! He’s got work to do and being surrounded by distractions wasn’t helping him to complete it, that’s why decided to disappear to his apartment.

Deciding to go and investigate whose disturbing him that evening, Tim gets up from his desk in his bedroom and wonders to his living room. He pauses at the doorway when he sees who it is and he has to admit of all the people who came to mind that would visit him, this person wasn’t one of them.

“Damian? What are you doing here?” Tim questions curiously, he’s still annoyed about being disturbed however he can’t help but be intrigued about the reason why his younger brother is here.

The kid doesn’t startle at Tim’s sudden appearance, he simply continues the task he was doing when Tim arrived and closes the window behind him. Once it’s shut and locked he turns around and stares at Tim albeit apprehensively, like he’s unsure on what Tim’s reaction is going to be.

“Timothy.”

Tim raises his eyebrows and repeats his question. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a pause and it goes on for long enough that Tim begins to think Damian isn’t going to answer him. Just as he decides to go and make himself a drink instead of dealing with his brother, Damian pipes up with an answer that isn’t actually an answer. “The less you know the better.”

Sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, Tim gives himself a moment before responding. He can guess what’s happened. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going on, especially after a cryptic response like that.

Focusing on Damian again he sends him a look. “Let me guess; you weren’t allowed out tonight so you snuck out anyway and something happened which is why you’re reluctant to return home hence why you’re hiding here instead.”

Damian doesn’t respond but his silence is an answer in itself.

Tim throws his hands up dramatically. “Damian! You can’t do that!”

The kid bares his teeth at Tim. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You don’t control me!”

“And yet I’m the one you’ve come running too when you know you’re going to be in trouble.” Tim points out. “You clearly planned this.” Tim gestures to the backpack on Damian’s shoulders. If it was a different situation it would be rather comical, Damian dressed up in his Robin gear but with the addition of a sports rucksack on his back. Damian knew the moment he decided to sneak out he wasn’t going to be going home right away so he’s brought extra clothes along with him.

Tim has half a mind to send Damian packing. He snuck out against the rules so he should face the consequences of his actions immediately, however something stops him from doing so. In the time they’ve been talking Damian seems to have shrunk in on himself and despite the defensive energy he’s giving off it also seems like he’s cautious of being in Tim’s presence, like he’s unsure on what Tim going to do in this situation. After that Tim knows he won’t be sending Damian home that night, whether it’s a big brother feeling or because he's feeling sorry for the kid, he doesn’t know.

Sighing Tim puts his hands on his hips and sends the kid a pointed look. Just because he's going to let him stay there for the night doesn’t mean Damian is getting off the hook that easily.

“You don’t have to tell me exactly what happened, however I can tell something has happened to you. Where are you injured?”

Damian visibly bristles and Tim knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “I am not injured Drake. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Tim merely raises an eyebrow in challenge, Damian’s reverted back to using his last name, something he does when he's either lying or getting defensive. He refuses to ask any more and stays silent while staring at Damian. It happens much quicker than Tim anticipated but Damian soon looks away and confesses what’s wrong with him.

Stepping forward Damian stretches out his hands for Tim to see and immediately Tim picks up on what’s wrong. The kid’s hands and wrists were red raw, they were both blistered and bleeding and were genuinely painful to look at. Tim could make a guess at what’s caused these injuries, however he's not sure on how exactly Damian received these injuries (and isn’t sure if he wants to know). The blisters cover his palms while the creases of his fingers are bleeding and while the skin of his wrists isn’t bleeding it is red and irritated.

Tim has to dig through his mind in remembering how to treat rope burn. It’s been a while since he's had to deal with it however it doesn’t take long to remember what to do. Grabbing Damian’s arm Tim guides the kid through his apartment until they’re in the kitchen and after turning on the tap Tim examines Damian’s wounds, assessing how bad they are. He thinks the kid got away lightly, while they’ll be painful they could’ve been a whole lot worse.

“Just so you know,” Tim starts conversationally as he guides Damian’s hands underneath the running water, “I’ll treat you tonight but you’re still going to have to explain this to Bruce and Alfred. There’s no way you’ll be able to cover this up. You’re going to have to take a few days off until they heal or else you’ll keep redoing the damage.”

Next to him Damian scowls, clearly knowing Tim is right, although he doesn’t say anything. He allows Tim to do as he pleases while treating his injuries.

After a few minutes of letting the running water clean the burns Tim starts digging through his kitchen in search for his first aid kit which he knows contains some aloe vera cream and bandages. When he doesn’t find it immediately he curses before recalling that he moved the kit into his bathroom after an accident he had a week ago. He leaves Damian in the kitchen to fetch it and returns seconds later with it in hand. Turning off the tap Tim guides Damian to sit down on one of the island chairs and gets to work on bandaging the injuries.

For once in his life Damian is quiet and remains cooperative throughout the whole thing. If it had been a year ago Tim knows he would be fighting tooth and nail with the kid to treat him as he is now. It goes to show how far they’ve come in their relationship for this to happen.

Once he’s finished Tim begins to pack up the kit. “That’s it for tonight, what you can do now is go and clean up in the bathroom before going to bed in the spare bedroom. I’ll have another look at the injuries in the morning before you head back to the Manor.”

Tim looks up just in time to see Damian open his mouth to protest although before he could say a word Tim silences him with a look.

“No. You’re going to clean up and then go to bed. No arguing.”

Damian scowls and Tim mentally prepares himself for a battle, they didn’t have one earlier so it must be due, right? After all they are still them despite how long they get along now. To Tim's surprise Damian simply closes his mouth and gets off the chair without a word and makes his way out of the kitchen, moments later Tim could hear the bathroom door shut and locking and the shower turning on.

Shaking his head at the bizarreness of the situation, Tim finishes packing away the first aid kit. He makes a mental note to message Bruce and Alfred just to let them know Damian is okay and safely with him for the night, it’ll stop any panicking from happening, although he is definitely leaving Damian to explain his little stunt that evening, he refuses to get into trouble because of the kid.

#Whumptober 2022 #day twenty six #rope burn #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #injured damian #big brother tim #for the sake of the story they get along #sibling relationship #bat bros #damian being a little shit #brotherly bonding #over injuries #as you do #DC comics #fanfiction

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tsarisfanfiction · 6 months

Text

Braids: Chapter 3

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Michael Yew, Apollo Cabin Small disclaimer here that I am not American, and I do not know ASL (I know some BSL but those are not, apparently, the same). I've tried to make the signing accurate here, but there may be mistakes. And for clarification: Joy is not D/deaf or hard of hearing, but she is selectively mute, hence her use of ASL to communicate. I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! Character ages this chapter: Michael - 13 Joy - 14 Clarisse - 13 Lee - 14 <<Chapter 2

3) Joy

A hand tapped Michael on the shoulder and he turned around to see Joy standing behind him.

“What’s up?” he asked her; his sister didn’t often bother him despite being the closest Apollo kid to his age, not when she could go to Lee or any of their other older siblings instead, and being singled out was unusual.

She raised a hand to her head, pointer finger making contact with her thumb against her hair, before wiggling her hands together, and ending with her hand flat in front of her chest, making a couple of small circles. Michael frowned, trying to remember what it all meant. Please, he knew, and the first sign seemed to have something to do with her head, but he was completely lost on the middle sign.

“I don’t know those signs,” he admitted, and Joy immediately switched to finger-spelling. H-A-I-R she spelt out, before making the first sign again. Michael supposed he probably should have worked out that she wanted something to do with her hair, given that it was currently loose over her shoulders and much like him, Joy tended to not wear her hair loose, although her preference was for bunches. B-R-A-I-D was the second sign, and with the added context, Michael could see how the gesture looked a bit like a braid.

Then he put the question together in his head, and did a double-take.

“You want me to braid your hair?” he asked incredulously. She didn’t sign a response, just gave him a smile and a nod. “You want me to braid your hair?” he repeated, and got another vigorous nod, accompanied by a finger flicking in his direction. “Why me?”

There were several others who would be happy to do it – Michael was sure half the girls in the Apollo cabin alone would be delighted to help Joy with her hairstyle change, and some of the boys, too, to say nothing of even breathing something of the sort in the vicinity of cabins six or ten. Why the fuck had Joy come to him?

His answer came in the simple gesture of her thumb and finger making an L shape which shook twice, and Michael groaned. Of fucking course it was Lee.

“I can’t do anything fancy,” he warned her, and she shrugged. “Fine, okay. One or two?”

He got two fingers in response, before Joy stuck her hand in her pocket to bring out a comb and hair ties. Not that different to her usual style, then.

“Find somewhere to sit,” he instructed, taking the offered comb and hair ties out of her hands. She dropped where she stood, folding her legs into a pretzel and looking up at him expectantly.

They were right in the fucking middle of camp. Michael wondered if Lee had put her up to more than just getting her hair braided, but sighed and knelt behind her, snapping the hair ties around his wrist to keep them out of his way.

Joy had clearly already brushed her hair, because the comb ran through it with no resistance. Still, Michael gave it a few passes to be sure before carefully splitting her hair in two. Her hair fell into place easily; even if her natural parting hadn’t been central once upon a time, near-continuous bunches had trained it into a perfect central parting. Once the two sections were completely and cleanly separated, he gave Joy the comb to hold briefly – it was that or put it on the fucking grass and then Joy would have a dew-damp comb the same was she was going to have a dew-damp butt and Michael was steadily getting dew-dampened knees – while he gave one half a couple of twists and looped a hair tie around it to keep it out of his way.

It looked normal, like that, and Michael wondered again why she suddenly wanted braids.

He finger-combed the still-loose half of her hair a few times before splitting it into three sections, twisting his wrist as he made sure they were all separated enough to not get in a tangle by the time he reached the end.

“Hold still,” he instructed her, adding his other hand to the equation as well and started the process of twisting the outside strand into the middle over and over again, feeling the ends of her hair flick his arms every time he pulled it all the way through. Her hair was quite thin and smooth, and Michael had to fight with it a bit to keep enough tension that it didn’t slip apart, whilst also being careful not to pull too hard on his sister’s scalp.

Over, and through. Over, and through. Joy’s hair fell a little way below the shoulders, an inch or two longer than his own, and by the time he reached the thinning end of the braid he was leaning back a little to still keep the tension.

The hair ties she’d given him were for ponytails or bunches – not a scrunchy, but a thick elastic that made an ungainly lump by the time he’d looped it around enough to times to be secure. It occurred to Michael that if she swung her head around, she could probably use it like a makeshift club. It would certainly sting if the small metal section caught someone’s face.

Given that he was the one in the nearest vicinity, he neglected to point that out to her – not that Joy was the sort to do it just because, but, well, she was a teenage demigod. Instead, he slipped the unbraided half of her hair free of the hair tie holding it out of the way and started finger-combing that out, too.

Then the consequences of braiding his sister’s hair in full fucking view of camp barged in.

“Braiding?” Clarisse snorted, stomping towards them with a sneer on her ugly mug. “I shouldn’t be surprised; playing with hair is for sissies, after all.” She made an ear-grating, barking noise that Michael knew was her idea of laughter.

“Fuck off, bitch,” he snapped. “You’re just jealous I can do it better than you.” Clarisse was stood in front of Joy, and Michael wasn’t happy about that; if she took a swing – which was likely – his sister was between them and if Clarisse hit Joy then Olympus help the bitch. He eyed her long, loose and stringy hair in disgust. “It’s not like you even know what a fucking brush is with those rattails you call hair.”

It was difficult not to rise to Clarisse’s provocations, though, damn it.

“You-” Sure enough, it never took more than a sentence or two to wind up the daughter of Ares, and she took another step forwards, crushing the innocent grass beneath her combat boot with absolutely no hesitation. Michael tensed, pausing mid-braid although not yet willing to drop the hair. He would, though, if he had to get Joy out of the way fast. “Maybe if you spent less time pretending to be an Aphrodite kid and screwing around with appearance you’d actually be able to fight!” she retorted after a moment.

“Do you need more arrows in your fucking thigh?” he snarled, because he could fucking fight, Clarisse just had no respect for the skill of archery rather than flailing around with a fucking spear. “I’d be happy to-”

He was cut off by a hand raising between the two of them, palm facing him as Joy inserted herself into the argument firmly. It hung in the air between Michael and Clarisse for a moment, doing nothing, before it started to sign.

C-L-A-R-I-S-S-E, the fingers spelt out, because Clarisse didn’t mean enough to Joy to get a name sign from her. It caught the attention of the daughter of Ares, though, because she was a bitch but she did know ASL. Cabin five tended to have more hard of hearing kids than the rest of camp, rivalled only by cabin nine, because they kept deafening themselves with landmines and other things that went boom or bang.

Joy’s next sign didn’t need any knowledge of ASL to understand as she deliberately curled all fingers bar the middle into a fist.

Fuck off.

Clarisse’s face went red, and Michael raised an eyebrow, impressed. She’d got so used to him telling her to fuck off that she didn’t even acknowledge when it said it any more. Apparently, she wasn’t immune to everyone telling her, though, and most people made the mistake of thinking that Joy was quiet and shy just because she was almost always mute.

“You bitch!” Clarisse snarled, and Michael dropped the hair in his hands and scrambled to his feet, because Clarisse was angry and if she lashed out at Joy he was gonna kill her-

“What’s going on over there?”

Lee’s voice carried across the green. Michael hadn’t even realised his older brother was there, and from the way Clarisse’s eyes suddenly darted over to where the voice had come from, nor had she.

The taller boy walked over to them, hands in his pockets and completely laid-back. “You’re not picking a fight with my siblings, right, Clarisse?” he asked, and she scowled.

“They’re not worth my time,” she said, turning on her heel and marching off.

“The fuck is that supposed-”

“Michael,” Lee said lightly, and Michael’s mouth snapped shut, because yes, fuck, he knew his temper was rising. Clarisse always managed to push his buttons. “Joy’s hair looks great so far; you going to finish it?”

From her position on the grass, because even when she’d interrupted them Joy hadn’t shifted from where she’d sat, their sister looked up at him expectantly, and Michael huffed.

“Fine,” he scowled, throwing himself back down onto the grass behind her. Without prompting, Joy offered him the comb again, and one look at the mess the second braid had devolved into when he’d been provoked by Clarisse had him accepting it to detangle her hair again.

Lee sat down next to them, starting to chatter with Joy. He was much better at ASL than Michael, and most of their conversation was silent as both of them spoke with their bodies instead of their voices. It also made it easy to ignore, as Michael focused his attention on the brown hair in his hands, twisting it into a braid to match the first.

When he was finally finished with it, he tied it off with another bulky hair tie, giving Joy a second potential club to add to her arsenal.

“Done,” he said, interrupting their conversation. “Good enough, Joy?” She tugged one of the braids to fall in front of her shoulder and inspected it for several long seconds.

Michael was not at all nervous about the verdict and anyone that suggested otherwise would meet the sharp end of an arrow.

Finally, she turned her head and smiled at him, flicking the braid back over her shoulder. The clumpy hair tie narrowly missed Michael in the process, and he leaned out of the way in case there were any more assaults on the horizon.

She raised a fist and tipped it forwards and back a couple of times, before bringing her hand up to her mouth and pulling it down, open-palmed. Yes. Thank you.

Michael smiled slightly. “You’re welcome,” he said, pushing himself off the ground. “And if you’re going to hit someone with them, hit Clarisse.”

Joy laughed, and Lee sighed, but he was also smiling slightly even when he said, “at least try not to pick a fight, Michael.”

“No promises,” Michael retorted, and made himself scarce before Lee could scramble to his feet and collar him. Sure, his brother’s much longer legs meant he’d catch him quickly if he tried anyway, but also Lee didn’t usually bother if he was out of immediate grabbing range.

Anyway, who cared about Clarisse when there was an archery range with his name on it.

Chapter 4>

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fanfiction #michael yew #apollo cabin #cabin seven #joy norris #original character #clarisse la rue #lee fletcher #tsari writes fanfiction #braids

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