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crescentsteel · 3 years

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Keeping a Secret - Part 2

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 6k (lol no chill as always)

[a/n]

Sorry for the delayed update. I added almost 1k words just to solidify the characters to give depth even more to the story. Feel free to reread. (It's totally not because I started a different series altogether.)

When I say this is slow burn, I meant sloooooooowww burn.

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist. :)

AO3

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

What were you even thinking? Actually, why weren’t you? Had you used at least two brain cells of yours, you wouldn’t have momentarily lost your mind and kissed Tsukishima. You could’ve justified your actions if you were drunk, but you ingested not even an ounce of alcohol that night.

History will remember yesterday as the day a a sober you and a very displeased Tsukishima who found yourselves smooching publicly in the middle of a club. You’re just glad that no other member of the team goes to the same university you both go to. Else, you'd run the risk of getting seen.

Were so touch-deprived that you couldn’t resist even Tsukishima? And what about him? Why did he get along with it? You don’t think he actually hates you. Hate is such a strong word. He just exceedingly dislikes you. So why would he make out with you? Maybe he thought of it as a way of finally standing up to you?

Ugh.

You’re thankful that you didn’t have training yesterday. You were a mess the whole day trying to make sense of what happened. Not that you’re any better today; you’re still baffled as fuck. But you’re glad you had that day off so you wouldn’t have to face him immediately.

For the first time ever, you’re dreading going to the gym. Even if you’re tired or you lack sleep, you’ve never felt distressed as the manager of the Sendai Frogs. All this because of Tsukishima. But can you really put the blame on him when it was you who initiated it?

“Good morning, y/n,” Eiji, the captain of the team greets you.

“Morning, Eiji,” you say back. Even though he’s older than you, you dropped the salutations already, same with everybody else.

“You okay?” he asks worriedly.

“Oh! Yeah, absolutely! When am I ever not okay?” You toughen it up and erase the troublesome kiss in your head. You are their ever shining manager, first and foremost. Anything outside of that has no place in this gym.

“Never. It’s almost scary actually,” he answers with jest.

“Right? ‘Cause I’m a freaking goddess.”

He gives you a noble bow. “Indeed, you are, my lady.”

You giggle softly. Your players really are the best on and off the court (except for Tsukishima). “Go do your drills instead of buttering me up, ‘captain.’” He gives you a mock salute then jogs off towards the net.

“Y/n!”

You saunter off to your coach after you were called. “Yes, Coach?”

“Can you help tape the blockers?” You nod willingly, quickly discarding unnecessary thoughts of Tsukishima.

“Tsukishima’s free. Go start with him.”

You almost flinch upon hearing his name.

‘Great,’ you groan internally as you get the wrap from your kit and drag your feet toward the source of your uneasiness. But what did you expect? Of course, you’d have to deal with him sooner or later.

“Morning, Tsukishima,” you greet him with forced normalcy, acting like nothing’s wrong. As you take his left hand and you’re instantly reminded of what happened the other night -- how this hand gripped your waist while his mouth moved against yours… how his skin felt against the palm of your hand as he towered over you, body against body in a dance so dangerous and so hypnotizing that you lost yourself in the moment.

You tried your best to calm down yesterday, but seeing him right now makes you want to smack yourself from your momentary insanity that led you to kiss him.

Instead, you give him the nicest, brightest smile to channel your frustrations as you start taping his fingers. You just hope and pray that he doesn’t bring it up.

“Morning, manager .” It was an indirect jab at you. Even when he says it with a dead tone, you know he’s taunting you by addressing you as manager - a tortuous reminder that what happened last Saturday night wasn’t forgotten.

Instead of yielding to the provocation, you respond with your own. You might have messed up, but you’re not letting him get the upper hand. “How was your weekend, Tsukki?”

“Horrible,” he quickly answers without even thinking.

“Ditto. What happened to yours?” you ask with fake curiosity, already knowing why. Even if you didn’t kiss him then, he was already acting up like an angsty teen forced by his mom to attend a children’s party within the neighborhood.

“Went to a disgusting party.”

You nod pretentiously. “Mine’s horrible too. I got g-”

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupts.

“Well, you’re still going to hear it,” you respond just as distastefully as he cut you off. “I got groped by some perv, but I kinda punched some good manners unto him.” You release his left hand and take his right one to tape it as well.

“And?” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “That’s it. After that, I just went home from how horrible the experience was.”

You look up to him, meeting his sardonic gaze paired with a raised eyebrow from what you just said. You know that he understood that you were referring to something else other than the perv incident as horrible.

“How about you? What happened to that disgusting party of yours?” you press on.

“I bumped into someone I didn’t really want to see.”

“And?”

“Do you really wanna know how horrible it was for me?” A smirk creeps up on the corner of his mouth as he asks. There were many times before that you’ve wanted a taste of Tsukishima’s vile sarcasm, just to know what he’d say to you. Today is not one of those times. You don’t want him using that reckless kiss against you.

“Actually, no. I don’t really care.” You let go of his hand you just finished working with and look around to look for anyone you could use as a distraction from Tsukishima’s attempt to retell the kiss from his perspective.

“Kogane!” you brightly call the setter as you bounce cheerfully towards him.

Even if you don’t show it, Tsukishima knows he’s gotten under your previously impenetrable thick skin. He detests what happened last Saturday. The more he remembers it, the more he abhors it. The only reason he’s not totally hating himself for getting swept along with your shit is because he knows you hated it too, probably more than he does since it was you who kissed him first.

His smug grin only spreads when you march to Kogane with that cutesy act you only show to players from opposing teams to unsettle them before matches. You take both Kogane’s hands and beam at him. “Do you want me to tape your fingers?”

“Y-you don’t have to, y/n. I can do it myself!” Kogane blurts out, panicking at your sudden closeness and physical touch.

“But I love taking care of you guys,” you pout at Kogane, which only makes the setter blush a shade almost close to red.

Tsukishima follows you to help his babbling, flustered teammate.

“You’re going to kill him, y/n,” he says as he passes by you and Kogane who now looks like he stopped functioning.

You blink at Kogane, realizing what you’re doing to the poor guy.

You must have been really bothered by Tsukishima and unknowingly projected it to someone else.

Tsukishima sneers as he sees you try to ease Kogane from his severe fluster but only make it worse by rubbing his shoulders.

A dash of pride and satisfaction swells on Tsukishima’s chest as he watches you get agitated with the situation you, yourself caused. Getting back at you feels even better than he imagined it would be.

Even though you and Tsukishima are in the same class, you don’t really notice his presence. Sometimes you’d even forget you’re classmates. Now, though, you are more aware of the fact that he’s actually there than you ever have.

“Alright, class. For your main project this semester, I’m going to have you partnered up. You need to come up with a comprehensive report on mating behavior of reptiles. I’ll randomly generate your assigned reptile.”

You groan. Another collaborative work in the same subject. You don’t like working with others because you don’t want to adapt to anyone’s schedule. You like to get things done ahead of time. You hate procrastinating because you don’t want your uni requirements getting mixed up with potential tasks from your managerial job, especially whenever tournament seasons come.

The last collaborative work you worked on is a group project where you did most of the work yourself. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t have fucking freeloaders as groupmates. The little shits made you do 90% of the project because you wanted it done early.

You just pray that this time, you get to be paired with someone responsible. You tap your pen on your desk while you wait for your name to be called.

“L/n and Tsukishima.”

You drop your pen at your professor’s announcement. It bounces twice on your desk before rolling to the floor, but you don’t move to pick it up. Your gaze immediately flies to where Tsukishima is seated and find him glaring at you already. You almost want to laugh at how ridiculous this entire situation is.

Seriously? Were you a serial killer in your previous life or something? Did some higher power decide to punish you for your grave sins like this?

Whatever. You’re not having any of this shit.

You wait until the class is over and approach your professor. “Sir. I’d like to do this project alone.” Or at least with someone else.

He continues to type something on his laptop, not bothering to look up at you, as he asks, “Why is that?”

“I just feel more comfortable doing things on my own, Sir. Please.” You try to give him your nice student smile but his eyes don't leave his screen.

“Then what? Have you increase my workload?”

Shit. You forgot that this particular professor of yours is known to not budge to anyone. You scramble your brain for another excuse.

“Sir. Can I do this project alone?” you suddenly hear Tsukihima’s voice behind you.

Finally, your professor closes his laptop and eyes you two unenthusiastically. “My answer is no to miss Y/n, so my answer to you, Mr. Tsukishima, is also no. I don’t know what the deal is between you two, but you’re doing this together.”

You can’t help but scowl despite being right in front of your professor. If it wasn’t for that darn kiss, you would’ve loved working with Tsukishima. Even though you don’t have the same classes, his schedule won’t be that hard to match up with because you two have the same training days. Secondly, he’s smart. You won’t have to carry the whole weight of the project.

“You know what, I’ll reconsider.” A glimmer of hope lights up in your chest as you hear your professor’s words. “I’ll allow you two to work individually — but with an automatic ten point deduction for this project.”

“No,” you and Tsukishima respond at the same time.

“Great! You’re already getting along swimmingly.” Your professor picks up his stuff and stands up. “Enjoy,” he waves a dismissive goodbye and leaves.

You slowly turn around to face Tsukishima and find that you share the same lour that he has. You cross your arms and lean on your professor’s desk. “Guess we’re together, Tsukishima.”

You allowed yourself one week to compose yourself before you agreed to start the project with Tsukishima. You still saw him at training days, and even then, you tried to have the least amount of interaction with him so the ‘incident’ wouldn’t be brought up again. Meeting him for a project where it’s just you two is different and you needed time.

As much as you don’t want to be with him, you told yourself that it’ll be over soon. You just pushed the kiss in the back of your head and convinced yourself that it was just a stupid kiss. It didn’t mean anything. He probably just went along with it out of spite, so it’s best you think of it as a spur of the moment madness. That way, you won’t be bothered if he sordidly brings it up again. At least now, you can go back to your usual, cheeky self around him.

You’re about to text Tsukishima that you’ve arrived at the station you agreed to meet up at but you already see him there standing while he’s scrolling his phone with his usual white headphones on.

Unfortunately for you and him, the reptile assigned to you two are crocodiles. It’s the worst possible assignment you could get among the roster of reptiles assigned. You need to travel all the way to Wakabayashi for a legitimate crocodile farm to observe, compared to other reptiles which are easily accessible with nearby zoos in Miyagi. You just pray that you’ll only need this one trip to get all the data you need for your report.

You walk towards him and instantly regard how he looks. Despite being in the same university, you don’t see him around much. Even in your sole class together, you’re seated way too apart from each other to even look at each other’s direction. Not that being seated beside each other would’ve made a difference. You’re not friends. There’s no need to talk to him since everything that’s volleyball-related is relayed through line. To you, he’s just one of your players. As far as you’re concerned, the only Tsukishima you’re aware of is the one sweating his white shirt and training shorts during practice.

To have this much involvement with him outside the gym is throwing you out of your usual loop. You continue studying him at a distance. Today he’s wearing white plaid pants, black turtleneck (probably long sleeves) with a lighter shade of black coat on top, and a brown wool scarf. He also has a gray bonnet that makes his blonde locks frame his face nicely.

What the heck? Did he always dress like this even in class? How come you never noticed?

He finally notices you. He puts down his phone and removes his headphones. “How long have you been there?”

“Wow, Tsukishima. You look kinda hot,” you blurt out without thinking.

His eyes expand at your statement that came out of nowhere. “Huh?!”

“Oh, sorry. That must’ve been random. But you look really good though. I kinda feel like I’m meeting a date,” you say with objective candor as you continue to stare at him.

That catches him completely off guard. The other day you’re on the edge around him. You weren’t even paying much attention to him during training, but now you’re back to being a headache whose mouth knows no bounds as you faze him with your unfiltered thoughts. Now, it’s him who is uncomfortable again with your thorough eyes scanning him approvingly.

“As if I’d ever date you,” he snaps back at your remark to which you scoff at.

“I didn’t say you would. Maybe you’re forgetting, I’d never go out with a member of the team.”

“Right. But kissing one is totally fine, huh?” he retaliates in an instant with a condescending look. He waits for your reaction, eager to see you distraught and bothered by it. To his dissatisfaction, you don’t behave in such a way. Instead, you sigh defeatedly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I got a little crazy that night,” you say casually to a degree that you sounded like it was just a petty accident. “You kissed me back, so I’m sure you were too. Right?”

The last word is conniving, and he can tell why you phrased it that way. You’re leaving him no choice but to disregard what happened or else it’s going to seem like it meant something to him. The hell it does. It simply resurfaces back on his mind sometimes because of how unpleasant the memory is.

‘Devious woman,’ he snarls in his head.

It should be okay. Your reason for what you did can also be his excuse for how responded to it. What he didn’t like is that he hasn’t even managed to make the most out of that incident, while you immediately found a way to undo the grave you dug for him to bury you into.

Plus, the only advantage he sees out of partnering with you for this project is the possibility of being able to pester you the way you pester him during practice. Obviously, that’s already thrown off the window. Now, there’s nothing in it for him for the duration of the project. He is left with nothing but the fact that he has to endure your company. To think that he’s already so miserable when this afternoon has barely even started.

“Yeah,” he answers with contained resentment. “Can we go on the bus now?” He asks to deviate away from the topic already. He was hoping he could still use the incident to unnerve you, but it’s for naught now.

He enters the bus first and assumes you’ll follow him, which you do as you take your seat beside him. You get your shoulder bag and take out a notebook.

“Can you take a look at this outline I made for our report?” you ask while you hand him your notebook opened at a certain page.

“I can’t read while the bus is moving,” he says then waits for a lame comeback from you. But you don’t comment about it. Why must you keep on being such a wildcard?

“Ah, okay. I’ll just tell it to you then,” you smile at him. “This trip is going to take long. It’d be a waste of time to not make use of it, right?”

He groans internally. Why must you be right all the fucking time?

He also made an outline last night, but he didn’t tell you because he thought it’d be better if he just did the data-gathering himself and let you take the pictures the report should have. He forgot that you’re not as irresponsible and carefree as you present yourself to be.

He listens to you explain your outline, looking for flaws in it for the sake of his grade and also for his self-satisfaction. And he does find a few.

“You should have separate discussion points for mating characteristics for male and females. I’m sure they have distinct traits. Also, I think we should include more than just one species, preferably three if the farm has it.” He continues, “Maybe we can note certain unique behaviors per species. It would be inconclusive, but it would still be nice to include it as a commentary.”

He hopes to extract even just a tiny hint of embarrassment from you for he’s thought of it better than you did. But you just stare at him for a good few seconds before you break into a dazzled smile.

“Oh my God. Yeah, you’re absolutely right!”

You open your notebook and scribble the changes in your drafted outline. “Is there anything else?” You consult him genuinely. You accept his criticisms with an open mind, which vexes him even more.

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

“Alright. Let’s just revise it again once we see what’s on the farm.”

He doesn’t bother replying anymore since you’re once again right.

He puts on his headphones again to drown out whatever chatter you plan to have with him since you’re done discussing the project for now. Instead of bugging him, you take out a bunch of readings and focus on them intently, completely ignoring him.

With nothing to entertain him aside from the music on his ears, his peripheral keeps going back to you and how hard you’re concentrating with the papers in your one hand and a pen in the other.

He removes one muff of his headphone from his ear and asks you, “Don’t you get motion sickness?”

You really must be into what you’re studying because you flinch when he speaks, causing you to drop your pen.

He feels responsible for it so he leans down to pick it up, but you also do the same. As you both reach down to grab your pen, your temple collides with his.

“Ow,” your fingers go to massage the spot, failing to notice as he does that your faces are too close for comfort. He watches you wince for a quick while before looking at him, finally realizing that he’s within a proximity familiar to you both.

It’s reminiscent of that night except this time, the natural light affirms that it wasn’t just the ambiance of the club that made you attractive enough to pull him in and share that heinous kiss. With your well-lit features, he can see that you’re thinking about the same thing he is.

Your eyes fall on his lips and for some illogical reason, he does the same.

Like last time, you’re the first to act on it. The major difference is, instead of leaning in, you retreat. You sit up straight with your fingers still on the side of your head and smile graciously at him. “It’s fine, Tsukishima. I’ll get it,” you say, which he finds half-witted because he’s still bent down and he can already grasp the pen.

He sits back up and hands you your pen. You use the hand on your temple to get it.

“Oh, thanks.” You stare at the pen for a second, then tuck it in your pocket. “Anyways, yeah. I don’t have problems reading in a moving vehicle.”

You dive back to his question and disregard what just happened. It works for him. He’d rather not think about it as well.

“Have you not seen me scrambling paperwork on our bus rides to and from tournaments?”

“No.” He prefers not to pay attention to you. Hell, he pretends you don’t exist when he can. So naturally, he doesn’t know what it is you do when you’re not being your pestering self. It pains him to admit it, but you do get shit done -- efficiently, too. He should be glad because at least, you won’t be like his previous groupmates.

Still, just you being … you, ticks him off.

You laugh out of nowhere. “For someone who doesn’t speak much, you’re so fucking transparent.”

He frowns, not being able to grasp what you meant.

“Okay, look. I like pissing you off. I really do. And you, you don’t like me a lot. But for this project. Can we pretend that I’m not your annoying manager and you’re not the nasty Tsukishima I know?”

“How the fuck can I do that when we see each other almost everyday as such?”

You roll your eyes and smirk. “Right. What was I even thinking? Go ahead and be emo with your music over there while I study here, yeah?” You pat him on the shoulders twice with that patronizing grin you always give him before pulling your pen back from your pocket and focusing once more on your readings, completely paying no attention to him for the rest of the trip.

—

As soon as you reach the crocodile farm, Tsukishima suggests that you two roam the area separately to cover more ground. In reality, he just wanted to get rid of you even for just a few minutes. He needed a break from you.

He does so by taking his time strolling around the place, observing how the area is situated. It looks like a park with its vast lush green environment and man-made waters to habituate the crocodiles. There are four main areas: the museum, the hatchling house, the zoo, and the breeding pens. He first goes to the museum, looking at the skeletal structure of some crocodiles. It isn’t really significant to the project but he can’t help admire it.

When he realizes that he’s taking longer than he initially thought, he starts looking for you. He sends you a text, but you don’t reply. You had gone to the zoo’s direction so he assumes you’re somewhere around that area.

When he does find you, you’re not alone.

There you are near a crocodile pen, getting friendly with a guy he’s sure you just met.

It’s so familiar. The only difference is that you’re not wearing the Frogs’ jacket and you’re not in the Sendai gymnasium. He walks towards your direction, not caring if he’s going to cut off your little chat. You’re there for the project, not to snag some random bozo.

As he closes in behind you, he hears your conversation.

“Actually, birds are more closely related to dinosaurs than crocodiles. You couldn’t tell, right?” you explain with zeal.

Tsukishima stops in his tracks at the foreign feeling in his chest. Wait a minute. Is he actually impressed? Moreover, what the heck is he impressed for? You should know that. You are both in a higher herpetology class. Even though it hasn’t been discussed during lectures, it’s natural that you know that. However, the guy you’re talking with isn't as enthusiastic.

“Can’t blame you though. Crocs and dinos share the same sexy vibe with those chill eyes and scaly skin. Also, look at those smokin webbed feet. Fucking work of art, dude. You feel me?” you press on fanatically.

The stranger looks at you with a forced smile, obviously weirded out by your ‘passionate’ description of the reptile. “Yeah, sure. I have to go now. Bye,” the guy bows and storms away from you.

You turn your attention back to the lowered pen in front of you with a satisfied smile and shudder when you see Tsukishima already there beside you.

“Gah! You scared me. Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask with your hand still on your chest.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you creeping out that stranger.”

You tither at his answer. “Glad you didn’t. It was fun seeing him all freaked out.”

He finds it weird. He thought you just had an aversion towards athletes. That’s why you keep driving away anyone who’d approach you during matches. Apparently, that’s not the case.

“He looked like he’d follow you back to Miyagi if you didn’t go all freaky nerdy on him.”

You jeer at his comment. “He could follow me to the ends of the Earth and I still wouldn’t give him my number. I’d rather date Mr. Crocodylus siamensis over here than boring dum dums blinded by how hot I am.”

“Then why do you entertain them?” he follows up.

“Caaaauuusse it’s fun to see them squirm,” you declare cheerfully as you veer your gaze at him. “Why the sudden interest with the way I handle men, Tsukishima?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your lips tugging up to form a playful smirk. “Don’t tell me you suddenly find me interesting?”

You really do know how to push the right buttons to provoke him. He grits his teeth from your audacity.

“I’m joking for fuck’s sake! My god. I already know that even if it’s just the two of us on this planet, and we’d have to procreate to restart the world population, you’d rather choose to doom humanity than have anything to do with me.”

Among all the correct things that came out of your mouth, that was the only thing he could verbally agree with. “Good you know,” he retorts.

You don’t seem to take offense though. You still keep your unwavering smile as you get your phone out and take a picture of the Borneo crocodile.

“Should we go see the breeding pens now?” you ask nonchalantly, dismissing the previous conversation like it was nothing.

You both decide to hire a designated tour guide to assist you while you observe the crocodiles, particularly the ones for breeding.

“Hi, Ms. l/n. I’m Sara and I will be your guide for today,” she introduced herself with a dedicated smile.

“I’m so thrilled that you and your boyfriend decided to learn more about crocodiles for your date,” she adds.

You and Tsukishima glance at each other before turning back to her.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” “He’s not my boyfriend.”

You both say simultaneously, except yours sounded like a friendly correction while his sounded like a dead announcement.

“We’re just classmates for a project,” you correct her.

She bows apologetically with embarrassment and worry. “I’m so sorry for assuming that.”

“No worries, Sara,” you reassure her before Tsukishima says something unnecessary. “Can you lead us on the breeding pens? We’d like to observe the whole thing.”

“Of course. Right this way.”

Aside from the mishap earlier, you find Sara competent at her job as she fills you in with details not included in the sign boards in the pens. She gives you information about the mating process that you didn’t find when you researched about the subject. You assume Tsukishima’s thinking the same because he doesn’t say anything out of the blue.

“By any chance, will we see a pair mating today?” he asks after a while.

“I’m not really sure, Mr. Tsukishima. It’s really up to the animals.”

You tug on Tsukishima’s sleeve when you catch sight of one crocodile latching himself on top of another.

“What?” he asks irritatedly, but follows your line of sight.

“Oh, lucky. There you go.” Sara announces with a pleasant smile.

You get your phone and your notes. You multitask listening to Sara, taking photos, and scribbling notes on your paper pad.

On the other hand, Tsukishima multitasks observing the crocodiles in action and observing you.

You’re asking important questions to the guide while juggling other tasks. Yes, he doesn’t like you and loathes being partnered with you. However, that doesn't mean he won’t cooperate with you. He won’t mind if you ask him for help, but you seem to have even forgotten that he’s there.

He grabs your phone from your hand, garnering a confused look from you.

“I’ll take the photos. You take down notes.”

You flash him an honest, grateful smile. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

Then, you proceed with the things you’re doing more at ease.

He can’t tell who he’s more pissed at, you or himself. Something about that display of productivity and wit unnerves him. It’s as if it’s telling him that his chagrin over you is unreasonable because you’re actually reliable when it counts. What’s worse is you’re completely oblivious to it. In fact, you’re almost ignoring him.

Goddamn it. What’s he doing? He’s completely distracted now from the project and is solely focused on you. He quickly shakes it off and calms himself down. His attention should be on the reptiles, not you.

He turns his attention back to the crocodiles, but the mating act only lasted a few minutes. After that, you both barrage Sara with an array of questions that she looked too overwhelmed by the end of your tour.

You’ve covered almost everything for the day and it’s already around 6 in the evening when you get on a bus on the way back to Miyagi.

“That was fun!” you comment ardently with an abnormal shine on your face when you sit down on the bus on the way back. He wears his headphones on before you start a conversation he’s not willing to have. From his peripheral, he sees you turning to him and as he predicted, your mouth begins moving while you animatedly narrate words he could not hear.

He’s already acting as if he can’t hear nor see you, but you still don’t stop. Knowing you, you will not stop until you make sure he notices you. He wearily removes his headphones only to see you not saying anything and only mouthing words with hand gestures.

“Seriously?” He scowls at you. He’s already exhausted at having to deal with you even for just half a day, but you still have the energy to mess with him.

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker but it erupts into a hoot of laughter shortly. You gasp ridiculously after you ride out your stupid amusement from poking at his patience. “Tsukki, I swear to God. You make the best faces,” you say while wiping away your joyous tears.

“Were you even going to say something worth listening to?” he questions sourly.

You study him then shake your head. “I think you’re tired, so let’s just discuss what we gathered next time. You can go ignore me now,” you tell him with an understanding smile despite the slight banter.

You tilt your body in his direction and hoist yourself up a bit to put his headphones back yourself like it’s no big deal.

You settle back into your seat while he stills on his seat, stunned with what you just did while you get your readings again and shrink to your own bubble. You don’t seem to make anything of it, so he doesn’t as well. It was very you to mindlessly get on anyone’s — particularly his — personal space anyways.

He increases the volume of his headphones and tries to relax. Yet, his attention keeps swerving back at you every now and then. You’re really concentrating hard with your brows burrowed while you stare at your hand-outs. After a while, he notices you bobbing your head from the corners of his eyes.

He can tell you’re as tired as he is and trying hard to fight the sleep that’s taking over you. The bunch of papers you previously held are now clutched on your lap.

On the last bob of your head, you snap out of it. You blink repeatedly and return your eyes to your readings again. To no avail, you’re shutting down with your eyes fluttering when you try again. You look like you decided to give it a rest and put your papers back in your bag. You cross your arms and lean back to your seat.

He feels relieved that you finally yield to your physical exhaustion. He doesn’t need an additional bullet point to his list of why he can’t fully hate you. Also, you won’t run your mouth at him if you’re asleep.

He feels the soft thump of your head on his shoulder. You probably did too as you suddenly bolt up and tell him ‘sorry' which he only understands based on how you mouthed the word. You lean back again and try to settle back to sleep. But when you start dozing off, you sway to the other side of your seat which is the aisle of the bus.

He grabs your shoulder to prevent you from tumbling down to the aisle. Your disoriented self looks around, alarmed at his sudden touch.

“Just fucking lean on me,” he spits out, irked that he has to say it out loud. It’s not like he pushed you away. You could’ve just stayed as you were and he would’ve turned a blind eye at it out of recognition of the effort you put in today. He’d just consider it one of those times that you do something annoying and he just ignores you as a response.

You regard him with dazed eyes. You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something but decide against it as you shut your eyes again and you let your head rest on his shoulder. But even then, your head still falls forward from time to time. He puts a hand on your forehead to settle you back on his shoulder and slides a bit downward on his seat to accommodate you.

Jesus Christ, you can study in a moving vehicle but can’t even do a simple thing like sleep properly on it. Why does he even have to adjust for you?

He heaves furiously in contrast to your steady breathing, letting him know that you’re easing deeper to your sleep.

He distracts himself by looking at the window, witnessing the unmoving dark sky and the changing scenery below. He lets out a sigh.

Maybe he should’ve just accepted the ten point deduction.

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Making the Team

Based on this request: “The reader is the daughter of natasha and steve, and she is nervous about for her first mission. Her mom and dad tell her that everything is gonna be great, and the mission is complete, but the reader is badly injured and her parents and Bruce takes care of her.”

masterlist

You’re awake when the first light of dawn tentatively begins to shine through your window. You’ve been awake for a while, actually, too excited to sleep a wink. This is the day of a very important mission. It’s probably going to be the most important mission of your life, in fact. If you do well on this assignment, you’ll be made an Avenger. If you don’t, you’ll have to get sent back to training and know that your entire future might have just slipped between your fingers.

Most teenagers your age would never have gotten this opportunity. If they were lucky, they might be accepted to the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy or embark on an internship with Tony Stark. You, however, happen to have two Avengers as your parents. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, the classic Avengers couple. After much wheedling and careful manipulation on your end, they’ve allowed you to begin training as a potential Avengers recruit. Now, all you have to do to cement your place on the team is to prove yourself in this mission.

It’s not like you’re getting into this team solely based on nepotism, though. Your father was a super soldier and your mother was trained in the Red Room. Ever since you were old enough to walk, it was evident that you would be destined for the same path as they so famously trod. You ran faster, knew more, threw punches harder than anyone else your age. Even without your parentage, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have tapped you long ago. You just get to bypass the protocols and go straight to a potential slot on the team.

Eventually, you can lie in bed no longer, your adrenaline already pumping through your veins at the mere thought of the upcoming mission. You sling your legs over the side of the bed, jumping down onto the floor and rushing over to don your awaiting clothes. Your real suit is waiting in a quinjet at Avengers Tower, so all you have to do is pull on some casual clothes and rush your parents out the door.

They’re already up, as it turns out. Your mother is nursing a cup of coffee, and your father is standing over the stove, brow furrowed as he considers a pan of scrambled eggs. Natasha smiles when she sees you. “Look at you! Ready for the big day?” You nod excitedly, starting to grab the beginnings of a breakfast. “Couldn’t sleep a wink.” Steve chuckles. “I’m starting to think you’re excited about running headlong into danger.” You stare at him pointedly. “I wonder who I learned that from.” Natasha laughs at Steve’s expression. “She’s got you there.”

By the time you’re pulling up to the Avengers Tower, however, the excitement bubbling into your chest is deepening into nervous worry. What if something goes wrong? You’ve never been allowed on a mission as large as this one before, where civilians and the other Avengers alike are counting on you. What if you mess this up? The stakes are higher than you’ve cared to realize- not just a spot on the Avengers, but the lives of those you care about. You head over to the quinjet, but your fears only grow when the plane takes off.

You force yourself to calm down, heading over to the racks of weapons and gear in the hopes of distracting yourself. There at last is your suit- a flexible, bulletproof black jumpsuit with armored paneling overtop. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, but instead of seeing the usual confident version of yourself, you only see a nervous teenager. Why have you been allowed on this mission in the first place? What if this really isn’t what you were meant to do?

You hear footsteps behind you and turn hurriedly, doing your best to wash away your worries and plaster on an expression of relaxed calm. Your mother, however, has been reading people her entire life, and nothing can get past her. Especially not the worries of her daughter. She frowns at you, pausing at the doorway and heading inside. “Hey, you alright?” You sigh, staring at your palms. “What if you guys were wrong about me? What if I’m not supposed to be an Avenger after all?”

Natasha shakes her head. “We’re not wrong about you. That’s a promise. Y/N, I’ve seen you since you were little. You can do things that most soldiers couldn’t even dream of. If Steve or I thought that you couldn’t do this, we wouldn’t have suggested you take the mission.” You look at her anxiously. “But Steve is a super soldier. You’re a Black Widow. I am none of those.” There’s another voice from the door now, and you turn to see your father leaning against the doorframe.

“You don’t have to have that experience to be special. What about Maria Hill? You’ve seen her before. Even Thor’s afraid to take her on, and she doesn’t have any special abilities.” Steve walks into the room, smiling comfortingly. “No, Y/N, you are more than capable, even without training or a strengthening concoction. Honestly, if I was out in the field and I came toe to toe with you, I’d be worried.” A laugh rises unbidden to your lips. “You just have to say that because you guys are my parents.”

Natasha shakes her head, a small grin crossing her face. “Actually, us being your parents means that we wouldn’t usually say that at all. We made sure that you were given the best training and preparation, and that you had equal treatment with the other recruits. You didn’t make it this far because of us, you made it this far because of you. And, if that isn’t enough to convince you, check out your file. We didn’t write that, your instructors did, and your instructors gave you the highest marks we’ve seen in years.”

You smile grudgingly. “You’re sure I can do this?” Steve nods, reaching out to pull you close in a hug. “I know you can do this. You’re an excellent fighter, Y/N, and after today, you’ll be an Avenger. Just like that.” You laugh, returning the hug. “Just like that.”

This, however, is easier said than done. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avenger training have done a lot for you- teaching you how to fight, readying you for battle. Nevertheless, no amount of simulations can prepare you for the mission at hand. There are hostages inside a building, dozens of guards and soldiers waiting outside. The hostages aren’t the only things to contend with, though- there are civilians, goons, and the knowledge that S.H.I.E.L.D. plans are hidden in the coat pocket of one of the hostages. At any moment, the guards could find out, and then the mission would be over before it even started. You have to rescue the hostages before the data is uncovered.

Your group fans out, looking for entrances. You spot one quickly, rushing to it. There’s an opening on the roof, and you jump from window to window, quickly scaling the building. There, you’re able to take out a couple of snipers and a few roof guards before heading inside the building through a service entrance at the top. The fighting gives you a rush, and you find yourself smiling as you take down yet another soldier. Maybe you were meant for this after all.

At last, you find the room with the hostages. You draw back, waiting around the corner out of enemy view. You tap on your earpiece, speaking hurriedly. “I’ve found the hostages. Second floor, far east side, about a dozen or so guards.” Steve’s voice crackles across the radio. “We hear you. Do not engage, wait for us.” You nod. “Affirmative. Waiting for you.”

Steve and Natasha, however, take their time getting to you. The soldiers must realize that someone’s found a way in, as they’re doubling up around the entrances. You stare at the room with the hostages, watching with bated breath as the leader of the goons circles the captive men and women. The man frowns, pausing by a woman in blue. She has a gold circle pinned to her chest, designating her as the leader. The man stares at the pin, then at her. You can almost see the pieces clicking into place in his head.

You curse softly as you realize what he’s about to do, and switch your radio back on. “The leader has figured out that someone has the plans. I think I have to go in.” Natasha’s voice is sharp over the comms. “Negative! Y/N, do not engage.” As you watch, the man draws closer, flipping open the woman’s jacket with the tip of his rifle. Even from here, you can see the hidden pocket, and even from here, you can see the man’s eyes light up as he spots the rectangular package tucked away inside.

Your hand rises to your earpiece once more. “Sorry, but I have to do this.” You flick your radio off, drowning out the frantic voices of your parents. You race over to the room, kicking down the door with your boot. The guards turn to you when the door crashes open, but you fire your weapons methodically, taking down the guards one by one as you race around the room to the woman. The leader is standing back up, shouting orders at his troops, but you’re not paying attention.

Then his rifle is raised again, pointing towards the woman with the plans. You feel your feet moving without a second’s hesitation, pounding towards the pair. You manage to shove the woman aside just before the man’s finger tightens on the trigger, and you can feel her slip you the plans even as the bullet impacts on your side. For a second, you don’t feel anything at all, and manage to turn your weapons towards the leader, knocking him to the ground. Then your hand comes up from your side, stained red as blood begins to pour onto the ground, and the pain truly hits.

It’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life. You’ve seen Thor wield his thunder before, seen him raise his hammer and watched as a boom of thunder cracked the sky. Lightning arced down to the ground before him, burning the ground and decimating his opponents. You’ve wondered what that would feel like, and now you have a fairly good idea. Maybe you’re not being electrocuted, but you feel like you’ve just been hit by the blow of a god.

There is shouting above you, more shouts ringing out. You stand up unsteadily, hand clamped to your side, and realize that Steve and Natasha have finally found you. They take down the guards with an almost frightening certainty, and then they see you. Just like that, their calm and cool exteriors break away and they run to your side. Steve visibly pales when he sees the blood pooling out from your side. “Y/N!” He shouts, and you weakly hold up the plans. “It’s alright, I got them. They’re safe.”

Steve shakes his head, and he’s saying something else but you can’t quite make it out. You think you hear your name, then Natasha’s, but for some reason you can’t focus on his words. Then the room tilts dizzyingly, and then you can feel nothing at all except for the overwhelming pain in your side and a sickening worry that your parents will never be able to forgive themselves if you die on this mission.

When your eyes open at last, you’re in a bleached white room. A smiling face swims before you; after a second you recognize it as Dr. Banner. His smile widens when he sees you sit up. “Hey, easy there. You took a pretty big hit.” You groan, feeling pain starting to blossom again from your side. It’s not as bad as it was in the room with the hostages, but it isn’t a picnic either. You rub your face with your hand, still disoriented. “What happened?”

Bruce chuckles. “You took a bullet for Ruth Hanaway.” At your confused expression, he clarifies. “The woman with the plans. You know, with the rest of the hostages. She’s fairly important, too. Apparently a higher-up among the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and she’s very impressed with what you did. She said you didn’t hesitate at all, just dove to save her. Now, that’s Avenger material.” You frown up at him, remembering the stakes of the mission. “So that means-”

You’re cut off by Natasha, who’s just burst through the doors. “Yes, you’re on the team.” She rushes to embrace you, and you smile at the show of affection. “But I got shot- I disobeyed orders-” Steve, who’d been closely following Natasha, shakes his head. “You saved the mission. If you hadn’t acted, the plans would have been lost. As much as I hate to say it, you did what you had to do.”

He fixes you with a sudden glare, although you can see right through it. “That being said, that was incredibly dangerous. You could have died or suffered serious injury. Even as it is, you’ll be spending at least a week in the hospital wing. We thought you were going to die, Y/N. No amount of missions will make up for your life.” You smile up at him, undaunted. “I’m not planning on repeating this anytime soon. I’ve had my life-and-death risk quota used up for the time being.”

Natasha chuckles, mussing up your hair. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Barely awake five minutes, and you’re already cracking jokes. I didn’t expect anything less.” You fix her with a triumphant grin. “Hey, I’m an Avenger now. I’m supposed to be used to this whole lifesaving thing.” Bruce chuckles, standing up to check a few readouts on the surrounding monitors. “I have no doubt about that. You might have to contend with Parker for the title of youngest Avenger, but I think that will be the least of your worries. Welcome to the Avengers, Y/N. We’re happy to have you.”

requested by @maximeevansblog

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise

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littlewitchwhore · 3 years

Text

Okay guys, here is the first short story I'm posting.

TW: Rape, murder, some gore, racism, sexism, homophobia, a critique of the southern US, and christian references.

I do not condone actual rape, murder, racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. This is just fantasy.

And now, I present

The Hunting of Sonya.

It had been three weeks since the executive order was given. Three weeks of running from abandoned shack to drainage pipe to thickets of trees where she might be safe. Three weeks of praying to whatever would listen that she not be found. Tonight, it seems her prayers might not be answered.

Whatever progress social justice and racial equality might have made in the past years has been violently set back. It started with feminist and pro-black movements constantly being undermined by themselves and their lack of cohesion. With no set leaders and ideas, no reliable code of conduct, and no unifying goals, the members had no direction for their justified anger to be aimed at, and nothing to hold them back from extreme measures. The first major riot happened a year ago, when several peaceful protesters were shot by a couple of trigger happy cops. They didn't stay peaceful.

In one of the most gruesome incidents in recent history, those two cops, and a few others with them, were overwhelmed and beaten to death. But the death of those cops was just the tip of the iceberg. Within a month, riots were taking place in every major city in America, with from people on both sides of the argument killing, and burning the homes and business of those they fought against. A civil war seemed inevitable. Then the election happened, as it does every four years, and a very conservative candidate, on a platform of returning the country to a state of peace and prosperity, undertoned with heavy racist and sexist messages, was elected by a narrow majority. Within two weeks, there were soldiers in every city to keep the peace, and strict laws were enacted severely limiting the rights of groups that were deemed to be the aggressors in the conflict; blacks and women. And the new president was cheered, because the bloodshed mostly ended. The laws and military presence, he had always said, were to be removed after a period of time, when the country was stable again.

But after several months, and a couple isolated riots, the laws were not gone. They got worse. Blacks and women stopped being able to gather in groups larger than 5. They stopped being able to purchase and own firearms. They were even stripped of properties and business, since those could be potential staging points for further violent action. Then they stopped being able to vote after a local election put a violent but charismatic thug up as mayor, who then tried to mobilize a whole town to war against the new president. Then came the executive order that stripped citizenship and all rights from blacks and women. Black people were given a week to leave the country or be deported or turned to slaves. Women fared little better, being reduced to honored servants to white men, and bargaining chips in men's deals. In a year, America had gone from the bastion of liberty and social activism to an authoritarian, patriarchal ethno-state. And the rest of the world, being crippled by their own social and economic issues, and being utterly unable to fathom summoning the military might needed to take on the United States, let it happen.

Sonya was unlucky. She had had the misfortune of residing in Louisiana when the order came down. You see, most people had the decency to let the blacks pack up their things and make for the borders and airports. Most empathized with the plight of the now refugees, even. But the south has always been a little backwards, hasn't it? Large groups of would be slavers started patrolling and detaining blacks and lone women who they could snatch up, after all, it was only illegal to do so for a week. So when Sonya and her family had made for the border, they were taken by one of these bands of slavers. Her father had been beaten mercilessly, and killed when he fought back, her younger brother put in chains, and her mother and sister were gangraped in front of her. She would have suffered the same fate, but when they went to strip her, she caught a fat one by surprise and was able to run, handcuffed and clothes torn, into the woods.

She had barely managed to stay ahead of the men chasing her. It took her three days to finally find an old shack that had a rusty saw she used to cut the chain on the cuffs, so she could use her arms, though the cuffs themselves remained tightly around her wrists. She might have been able to saw those off too, had it not been for the owner of the shed finding her. He was not sympathetic. She had actually had to kill him to escape, after he pulled a machete off the wall and tried to kill her. She didn't escape unharmed though, and her leg was badly cut. At the time, she didnt worry about it too much, since she had to get away, but after a week of running and hiding in hovels and drainpipes, she feared infection. It certainly wasn't getting any better, and was starting to smell. And her killing the man made the men chasing her all the more obsessed with finding her. Now, she wasn't just a 'little nigger whore who needs to learn her place,' as one of them had said, she was a violent, murdering runaway slave.

Now, she finally had a chance to rest. She had made her way out of the more populated areas and was close to the bayou. She figured if there was a chance at finding help from other black folks, it would be in the places the white folk didn't like to go. Besides, her cousin Tyrell was probably still around the area, he always liked to fight and wouldn't have left. At least, that's what she hoped. She was hiding in another drainage pipe beside a small highway. It was raining, and the pipe was half flooded, but she hadn't seen but two trucks all day, so she felt safer and more comfortable than she had in a year.

She had just closed her eyes for a minute, hoping for some sleep, when she heard the engine approaching. It was a truck, by the sound of it, and it was moving slowly. It stopped very close to where she was hiding. Panic shot through her like a blade of ice. How could they have found her? Wasn't she well hidden? They never found her in a drainpipe before! She got very still, and listened intently while being poised to spring from her hiding spot and run as fast as her badly wounded leg would allow into the woods nearby, just across the pasture she was next to.

A door slammed, and a very angry sounding man's voice was soon heard berating his truck for its many faults as her went about adjusting something under the hood. After a few moments, the man cursed again and determined it was the battery that was the issue. Another moment passed, and the rain let up, letting Sonya hear things clearly. There was quiet, then a door opened, and the man said, “Hey Bubba, i'm broke down 'bout 15 minutes outta Reeves, down up on 113... Yea, daggum battery bit it 'gain, third time this week. You think you could come on up this way and gimmie a little ol' jump? Alright, well I 'preciate that, brother... yea, i'll see you soon... Yea, see you then.”

Sonya relaxed a little, fairly certain that she wasn't in any more danger than she had been, and waited for a while. After what felt like an hour, another truck, a much healthier sounding truck, rolled up. There was a greeting, and after what Sonya presumed was an examination of the broken down truck by Bubba, the truck was jumped off, rather unhappily. “Now listen, if this truck is needing to get jumped off this much, you either need a new battery, or your alternators busted. You need to get this truck to the shop and get it fixed tomorrow, if it'll even start.”

There was a couple minutes of bullshitting between the two men, and at one point, Bubba expressed an interest in finding a “little house slave” for himself, since his brother found one and was apparently very pleased with her. They seemed to be wrapping up when the first man, who was called 'Red' declared that he had to piss. Sonya jumped a little in surprise when the stream of urine landed right next to her. The pissing stopped abruptly.

“You heard that, Bubba?”

“I ain't heard shit but your fucked up engine.”

“No, somethings in that drainpipe. Coon or sumin.”

Sonya tensed up again. Was this it? Would they find her? Could she take on two of them? Could she outrun them? Those and a thousand more questions leaped through her mind in those few seconds. She readied herself to lunge at whoever stuck their face in the pipe first, then bolt for the fence. Maybe she'd be able to make it, she had always been fast before her leg was cut, even running track in highschool. For a moment, she wished that she was back then, only two years ago, but a whole lifetime ago, it seemed. She couldn't wish long, however, because a light was shone directly in her face, the flashlight from a phone, and one of the men right behind it. She lunged, fist first at the light, and was rewarded by a startled yelp from the man, followed by the soft crunch of a broken nose under her fist.

The man fell backwards, his phone flew from his hand, and Sonya landed on top of him. A moment later, she brought the metal cuffs around her wrists down on his face together, then jumped up, unsteadily in the wet ditch and on her injured leg, and bolted for the fence. The other man, on the road still, called out to Red, and started rushing over, still processing what was happening. Sonya had the upperhand though, and was scrambling over the barbed wire before the second man actually recognized that it was a human who attacked his friend. But Sonya was unlucky, and as she was getting her injured leg over, one of the wires snapped, and she felt hard, her injured leg being dragged across the remaining wires, cutting her, and tearing the strip of dirty tee shirt that she had wrapped her wound in, off. Minutes later, she was across the small pasture, at the treeline, and she risked a look back. They weren't chasing her, at least not yet. Sonya breathed a sigh of relief, then turned and took off into the trees. Even if they weren't hot on her tracks, they likely would be.

Sonya watched the sun rise the next morning, and with the light, she could inspect her leg. It was definitely infected, a puffy, angry gash that slowly oozed a foul smelling, dark green pus, tinged with streaks of blood. She needed antibiotics or she was going to have very serious issues very soon. Hungry and weak from irregular meals, dehydrated and exhausted, and badly injured, she needed a break, a safe place. The rest of that day was spent trying to find food, clean water, and someplace with medicine. She found none of those things, and as the sun was setting, she resigned herself to an awful night under a tree, and wished for more rain, so she could catch a few drops with her mouth. But Sonya was unlucky.

She dreamt of awful things that night, as she often did these days, when she could dream. She dreamt of monsters rising out of murky pools to chase her, and of spiders bursting from her leg wound to consume her. She dreamt of her father's face, broken and bloody, his lifeless eyes staring at her and he whispered “Run.” She dreamt of her mother and sister being raped, but the men doing it were red skinned and horned breasts, with massive cocks that writhed like boas and strangled her mother, and tore her sister in half. And she dreamt of the hounds of hell chasing her from the scene, and into a void that wasn't there before. She turned and the hellhouds were gone but they howled still, from somewhere in the distance. The howling seemed to get louder and come from all around her, and she turned about quickly, trying to find the source of it before snapping awake in a cold sweat. The howling didn't fade with the rest of her dream, no, it was actually getting louder. It was real. And Sonya had been in the area long enough to recognize the baying of hunting dogs when she heard it. She knew that they bayed for her, and without thinking about it, she took off away from the sound, clearly from the direction she had come.

She limped through the woods as fast as she could on her increasingly lame leg, the sound of the dogs growing louder and louder around her. They couldn't be far, at this point, she thought to herself, they were just too loud. Her lungs were burning, her leg no longer in pain, just numb, her heart pounded in her chest from fear and the exertion, and her head throbbing because she was too tired. She stumbled over tricky roots in the pale moonlight and fell hard, barely raising her hands in time to stop from busting her face open. As she struggled to her feet, the howls of the hounds like sinister thunder around her, she knew running wouldn't work. Maybe she could hide in a tree? Better than being torn apart by hounds with fiery eyes. She cast her eyes about wildly, looking for a tree she could climb, and settled on a young oak with low hanging branches. She scrambled up the tree as fast as she could, with great difficulty, as her arms were weak and shaky, and one of her legs was useless. She managed to get onto a good branch just as the dogs, three of them, rushed the tree, howling and snapping at her heels.

Whoever was hunting her, Red and Bubba, maybe the fat one she escaped, she didnt know, but whoever it was was no friend of hers, and they would be here soon. And she was a treed coon, waiting for the slaughter up here. What were her options? If it were one dog, maybe she could jump on it and keep running, but three? No chance. She couldn't wait for the men to find her, her fate would be sealed. Maybe she could move to another tree and hope the dogs don't notice? Not like she had another choice. She went higher, hoping to get more leaves and distance between her and the watchful hounds. Near the top of the tree, not as high as she might have liked, she found her chance to move trees, a pine branch that came very close to hers. She balanced as best she could on her branch, holding onto a higher one for support, and slowly crept her way along the branch to the end. She reached out and grabbed a thin pine branch above the one she wanted to step to, and hoped that it would support her if she lost her balance. One foot went across the gap, her lame leg's. So far so good, now if she could just...

A branch snapped, and Sonya fell. She landed on her bad leg and felt a hot gush from her wound as something burst, then the pain was too much, and she passed out, luckily, before the first dog's teeth found their mark.

It seemed to Sonya like an unnaturally long, and unusually uneventful unconsciousness. It was long enough and stark enough for her to actively think to herself that she should have woken up by now. Was she dead? It had been a long fall... Maybe the hell hounds has finished her off? Wouldn't surprise her, she supposed, but don't they usually drag someone down to hell? Maybe this was hell? Seemed too quiet though, hell was supposed to be bright and painful. So this was.... Purgatory? That wouldn't be so bad, she thought. At least here she wasn't someone's slave to rape. And her leg was better! At least, she thought it might be. She couldn't see anything, but she couldn't feel any pain either. She definitely still felt like she had a body, though. But death was supposed to remove you from your body, so...

She was woken suddenly, by a door opening. Her eyes flashed open and the light stung, so she shut them tight again. Then her head burst into pain from somewhere inside, and she became aware of the rest of her pain too. Her hand stung like it had been flayed, the left side of her chest ached, and her wrist was almost certainly broken. Her leg, however, didn't hurt much at all, just throbbed slightly in time with her heartbeat. She groaned as the pain hit her, and she felt woozy and sick.

“Well, look who's up. My you gave quite a fight. Oh no, don't you try and move yet.” Sonya had, of course, tried to get up, but the effort was too much, and she merely rolled over and tried to vomit, but found she couldn't. “Yeah, when you gone and broke ol' Red's nose like that, well, we didn't take very kindly.” She opened her eyes again slowly, adjusting to the brightness of it all. The man speaking was Bubba, she recognized the voice. It seems that once again, Sonya was unlucky; this time because she wasn't dead. She managed to give the man a glare, to which he chuckled.

“Now, is that any way to treat the man who been takin' care of you? Why, I coulda' let them dogs go and have their way with your leg there, lord knows it smelled bad enough to be some sorta snack for 'em.” She looked at her leg, and saw it was bandaged properly, her hand and opposite wrist too. She also saw that apart from her bandages, and a large metal cuff around her good ankle, she was naked. There was nothing for her to cover herself with either. She looked back at Bubba, who was watching her closely.

“L...le...” She tried to speak but her throat was more parched than she'd known it could be. As her mouth tried to form words, her lips cracked painfully. “Bet you're mighty thirsty, ain't ya'?” Bubba said as he pulled a water bottle from a nearby case of them. He walked over to her, and squatted, so her was closer to her level. “Now, I don't care for things being the way they are. And I am sorry about you and your kin goin' through this. I had a few good buddies of the African persuasion. But I also had a brother, bout half a year back. Your kind decided his life was worth less than a message.” Bubba unscrewed the bottle of water and put it down, just outside of Sonya's reach. “You're lucky you're a pretty little negress. Means you might not have such a bad life, if you ever learn how to act right. Time's they are a-changin'. Now you gotta get used to that fact real quick. You can't be doing that runnin' 'roun' throwin' hands business no more. You are a slave now. You act nice and you look pretty, and you don't throw no fit when a man decides you're better used in bed than the kitchen. You got that?”

Sonya glared again at him, but she didn't have much strength left to try to fight the notion, nor did she think she would get any water if she did. She begrudgingly nodded, to which Bubba smiled. “Good. Now imma' give you this water here, and you're gon' sip it real slow like, because you drink too much at once and you're gonna throw up. Then, imma' go and find you something to eat, so you don't waste away there. And when I come back, you're gonna thank me for being so nice and considerate, and for my attentive care to your wounds.” He moved the water where she could reach it, and then walked out, closing the door behind him. Sonya grabbed the water and sipped, as she was bid, since that was all good advice. The cool water actually hurt going down, but she had never known something so wonderful before.

She was alone in the room now, sipping water as fast as she figured she could keep it down. It was a small room, dark brown carpet only a few shades lighter than her skin. The walls were fake wood paneling, the ceiling white and popcorned. The walls were bare, save for a single window, boarded up. There was no furniture in the room. The cuff around her ankle was connected with a thick chain to the only thing of note (besides the case of water by the door) in the room, a large chest freezer, which the sat on top of the chain, effectively keeping her leashed. She tried to think of some way to escape, but her options seemed very limited. And until she had some strength back, there was no way she could get far, even if she did find a way to leave.

Her planning was disturbed by Bubba coming back, this time carrying a paper plate with a sandwich and some chips on it, The breakfast of kings. He walked over and placed the plate down where he had put the bottle of water, just out of her reach. “Now, I reckon you can speak again, since most of that water is gone. As I recall, you owe me some gratitude.” She looked at him, and with sincerity, she said “Th-thank you. For my leg, and the water.” Then, “Please, let me go. I didn't do nothing to deserve this.”

Bubba gave her a look, not cruel or uncaring, a look that was close to sympathy. “I know, I don't believe that half of your kind did. But if I were to let you go, how far do you reckon you'd make it on that leg of yours? Oh I cleaned it up, been rubbing it with antibiotic cream, even got my vet to come stitch it up a bit. But you ain't gonna be using that leg for another week, if you're lucky.” He gave her a look, up and down, “You don't strike me as the lucky type.” He sighed. “And before you ask me to try to sneak you out of the country, you should know that all the borders are locked down tighter than a faggot's jeans. No, you're stuck here, and that's all she wrote 'bout that.” The way he said it was soft, like he was trying to be kind about delivering such horrid news. He gently pushed the plate of food withing her reach. “You best get that food in you, gotta get some strength to heal up, else you wont be as useful to your new owner. You're gonna be safe here while you heal up, and after that, the boys and I are gonna make sure you know to act civil and can perform the duties that men are lookin' for in a house slave.”

Over the next week or two, Sonya couldn't quite tell because of the lack of sunlight, Bubba proved to be a rather hospitable captor. He was never cruel to her, ensured that she was fed and well hydrated, and took special care of her injuries. He had even given her a small pillow and an old blanket, but warned her that she shouldn't get used to comforts like that. And perhaps most notably, he never touched her but to clean and bandage her wounds. She was kept naked, and told “You're probably gonna be kept naked wherever you go, and if I were to give you any clothes, they'd just be taken from you. No, better to get used to being on display now.” when she asked for a shirt. But despite her nakedness, Bubba didn't stare at her either. Maybe he really did feel bad about this whole thing. Not that it stopped him from selling her, that's just business. The world changed, and Bubba was quick to adapt to what brought home bread. But for a time, she was safe, and could process what had happened. She cried herself to sleep nightly, and would often weep in her waking hours. Her dreams were mostly memories, always ending with that awful night, her father's face with dead, sightless eyes, her mother's look of grim determination and resignation, her sister's tear streaked screams. Sonya doubted she would ever forget, and knew that she would never forgive. She decided that her survival was now a matter of biding her time, staying as safe as she could, waiting for a chance to escape the country. Or maybe she'd be able to last until the global community worked together to get fix the atrocities committed in the past year. Either way, running wasn't an option for her. She had to endure.

The peaceful time with Bubba was short lived, because once she was mostly healed, Bubba brought 'the boys' over. Three of them, Red being among them, clearly identified by the recently broken nose and a fresh scar on his brow. Bubba spoke first. “Now, you know how things are, and what you need to do. Show these boys here that you ain't got no fight, and they're like to take it easy on you. 'Cept Red, he's still mad about his nose, even if it does make him look better.” The guys chuckled and Bubba gave one last look at her, laden with meaning, then left and closed the door. The remaining men started really looking at her, lust obvious in their eyes.

It was quiet for a long moment before Sonya stood up and, resigning herself to endurance, bent over the freezer, closed her eyes, and started to pray.

#Sonya #Storytime

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hxseok-honee · 3 years

Text

atlas heart || jung hoseok

>> because hoseok's too lost in his thoughts to see he's not alone <<

_____________________________

1973, October

“I could have sworn the tracks were around here somewhere… are those it?” Hoseok moves through the Forbidden Forest, the flashlight on his phone guiding his way in his blind search for his most recent obsession. He’s only 13, and he’s well aware that every other normal 13-year-old is fast asleep in their bed this late at night, but he’s never been normal. Crouching low to the forest floor, he holds out his phone to get a better look at the animal tracks stamped into the mud. When he sees that they look vaguely dog-like, he can’t help the cheer of success that escapes him. Only when it echoes through the air around him does he remember just how reckless he’s acting by being out here without having informed Dumbledore first.

The headmaster had granted him access to the Forbidden Forest on strict instructions to always ask permission before venturing into it. Usually, Hoseok would have visited the man, but tonight he’d just gotten so excited about potentially discovering the legendary sentient pack of wolves that he had simply… forgotten about the one rule he’s always supposed to follow. The wind picks up suddenly, and a shiver rips through him violently. He shakes his head, returning his attention to the tracks on the ground and the notes he’d jotted down in his journal beforehand.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just stay a few more minutes, and then--” The sound of heavy breathing just behind him brings Hoseok’s monologue to a screeching halt, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he very much wishes that he hadn’t.

Hovering between the trees not too far away is a creature he’d only seen in his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. The werewolf hasn’t seen him yet, and that’s the only reason Hoseok hasn’t started running for his life. It’s sniffing cautiously at the air around it, whining softly every few moments as if in pain. Without even daring to take a breath, Hoseok slips his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, praying to whatever higher being that might be watching over him at that moment that it hasn’t noticed the flashlight and will continue to remain oblivious to his presence.

Rising to his feet painstakingly slowly, he starts to back away from the werewolf, refusing to even blink out of fear that he’ll miss the moment he’s caught. Pursing his lips together to keep himself from breathing too loudly, he immediately opens them to gasp when his foot comes down on a branch, the snap of it attracting the werewolf’s attention right to him.

In the seconds that follow, Hoseok isn’t sure when he started running or when he started crying, but he’s suddenly stumbling through the forest, his vision blurred with hot tears as he tries to escape. Leaves crunch behind him, alerting him to just how close he is to being ripped to shreds.

I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to-- there!

Slipping on a piles of leaves, Hoseok makes a beeline for the tree just beyond the clearing he’s currently racing through, having seen its low-hanging branches even through his tears. He screams when he feels something tear the back of his shirt, and he knows that he’s literally within death’s reach. Unwilling to look back, he starts to climb, swinging himself up through the branches until he gets to the stable trunk of the humongous tree. He can hear scratching just below him, and he knows the werewolf is trying to follow. He spares a glance down at the ground when he gets high enough, seeing that it’s failed to chase him up the tree. Hoseok climbs a few feet higher just for good measure and stares down at the creature that’s watching him with predatory eyes. It even goes so far as to howl at him, startling him beyond his current state of overwhelming fear.

Settling into his spot in the tree, Hoseok examines himself, feeling at his torso and limbs with trembling hands for any wounds. His pajama shirt is essentially useless now, but there are no scratches, which is really all he cares about. Watching the werewolf carefully as it circles the tree, he reaches for his phone to call for help, only to find his pockets empty. He'd dropped the damn thing.

“Damn it… looks like I’m stuck here for the night.” Glaring hatefully up at the full moon, he gauges how many hours it’ll be before the sun rises and decides that this might as well serve as firsthand research into werewolves.

For the next three hours, Hoseok watches the wolf dance around his hiding spot, trying with futility every now and then to make its way up the tree to him. Eventually, it howls wildly at the moon, the sound almost pained. Hoseok watches with horror as it turns on itself in frustration, tearing at its own skin with cries of pain and rage. He can only watch for a few minutes before he’s reaching out for anything in the tree that’ll get its attention. Latching onto a branch nearby that’s weak enough for him to break off, he launches it down at the werewolf, yelling out to it angrily.

“Hey! Hey, stop that! You’re gonna kill yourself doing that, you idiot!” The creature glares up at him in surprise, almost as if having forgotten his presence. It snarls at him once, and Hoseok immediately regrets that he’s just reminded it that there’s a meal not even 20 feet above its head. When it sees that it still can’t reach him, it turns back on itself, its skin already torn and bloody.

For the next hour or so, Hoseok plays this game with the werewolf -- throwing whatever he can get his hands on down at it so that it doesn’t hurt itself anymore, and then sitting in fearful silence as it attempts to snag him from the tree. By the time the sun’s started to peek out from behind the mountains, Hoseok is both proud of himself for not letting this werewolf die and in a real state of annoyance for keeping its dangerous attention on him for so much longer than necessary.

When the first beams of light hit his face, he feels an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him, but it doesn’t last long. Below him, there’s a quiet whimpering, and when he looks down, there’s a young girl curled up on the ground, very naked and very wounded. Swearing under his breath, Hoseok scrambles down the tree, stopping short when he turns and sees just how young she is. Despite this girl almost having torn him apart, he only feels sympathy.

It tears at his heart even as he’s removing what’s left of his pajamas, shivering in his boxer shorts as the chilly October air nips at his skin. Doing his best to avert his eyes wherever necessary, he pulls the shirt over her head, cradling her in his lap as he slips his pants onto her body, noting just how small she looks in them. There’s so much blood that, if not for her labored breaths, he wouldn’t even be able to tell if she was still alive.

Lifting her onto his back, he tries so painfully hard not to jostle her as he races through the forest, piggy-backing her across the grounds and into the castle in the faint early morning light.

1974, January

Hoseok hears the crunching of the leaves long before it comes anywhere near him. It’s just around lunchtime -- he’d learned his lesson about wandering the forest late at night. Turning just when the person gets close enough that he’s sure to be discovered, he isn’t prepared to meet the eyes of the same girl who’d tried to kill him all those months ago.

She’s peering out at him from behind a tree, her gaze filled with caution and, quite honestly, fear. Hoseok rises from his crouch, a noise of recognition leaving him and falling into the space between them awkwardly.

“It’s you… you’re okay.” Hoseok remembers staying with her after bursting into the Hospital Wing with her on his back, her blood staining his skin for much longer than he’d care to think about. Once he’d known for sure that Madam Pomfrey could help her, he hates to admit that he’d run straight for his room, sobbing as he’d tried to scrub her blood from his body in the shower before any of his roommates could wake up. Even now, he sometimes stares down at his arms under the burning hot water and thinks it might be pinker than it actually is.

He’d avoided almost everyone from that moment on -- in fact the only person he’d talk to was Dumbledore. He’d demanded to know what the hell was going on at Hogwarts, but even through his anger he hadn’t been able to erase the memory of her, the cries of pain that had left her as she’d tried to rip her heart from her own body. Only when he’d stopped barging into Dumbledore’s office, blind with terrified rage, had he started visiting the man simply because he could think of nothing -- could feel nothing -- but the need to protect her from herself.

“She’s just a kid.” He’d told the headmaster one day, wracked with a terrible sadness. “She didn’t know what she was doing -- she’s just a kid…”

“Mister Jung, why exactly is it that you keep coming to me when you’re conflicted? What is it that I can do to ease your pain?” He’d met Dumbledore’s concerned gaze then, his own eyes wide and watery with tears of frustration.

“I need to do something. I need you to help me help her. Please.”

“It’s you…” Hoseok finds that he’s repeating himself, calling out to her in the softest of whispers, terrified of scaring her off. She inches out from behind the tree, and Hoseok notes that, for a murderous werewolf, she’s shaking like a leaf in his presence. She’s holding a paper bag, refusing to meet his eyes as she creeps toward him. Hoseok only watches with careful eyes, taking her in in the light of the day.

When she’s close enough to reach out to him, she stretches the bag out in front of her, offering it to him. He takes it with care, opening it slowly and peeking in at its contents. There’s a bowl inside covered in tin foil, and when he removes it he sees there’s a serving of pasta, still warm from the Great Hall.

“I asked Jungkookie to keep an eye on you at meal times to see what you liked, but you never eat lunch… so it took a while for me to find out…” Her voice is soft, fearful. The sound of it has him fixating on her again, almost obsessed with this new layer of her that he hadn’t known until now. He has no idea who ‘Jungkookie’ is, but a part of him is relieved to know she has a friend. He opens his mouth to thank her for the meal, but she’s not done talking.

“It’s not much of an apology, but I needed an excuse to say it in person… I’m really sorry for what happened that night… I’ve been trying to gather the courage to face you, and I understand if you hate me for almost killing you…” They stand there in uncomfortable silence, Hoseok unable to respond to such an unexpected conversation. She takes his silence as her cue to leave him be, and, with the slightest tremble of her lips, she turns to leave. Hoseok blinks, stepping toward her slightly.

“Wait, don’t -- don’t go.” She looks up at him in surprise, the expression turning to guarded caution when he reaches into his pocket for something. Catching the change in her body language, he moves slowly, pulling a vial out and offering it to her. Its contents, a milky grey, emit a faint blue smoke which swirls gently in the space between the liquid and the vial’s topper. She takes it from him, examining it with confusion. He explains, stepping ever closer to her.

“I have more in my room… I packed it away so no one would find it. It’s supposed to taste really, really bad, but Dumbledore said… he said it would help.” She gazes up at him, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears as she realizes what he’s gifted her.

“Why are you… why are you helping me after what I did?” Hoseok smiles ever so slightly, crouching so he can sit on the cold ground and motioning for her to do the same. When she’s next to him, he removes the bowl from the bag she’d handed him and digs into the pasta. He swallows hard, offering her the fork as casually as possible when he’s done. He offers it once more when she looks at him in surprise, his smile widening as she finally picks at a noodle carefully before setting it between her teeth.

They sit there awkwardly, taking turns eating his lunch, while he figures out how to answer her. Eventually he just decides not to, asking his own question instead.

“What’s your name?” He knows it, of course -- Dumbledore had told him only after Hoseok had begged to know, but he wants to hear her say it. He wants to know if she’ll trust him with even that much. He’s barely able to contain his smile when it falls from her lips in a whisper.

“It’s Y/n… I’m Y/n.”

1976, May

Hoseok runs a hand down the side of his face, rubbing at his eye with a yawn as he stares down at the endless pile of study material on the table in front of him. With only a few weeks until his O.W.L exams, he can feel himself quickly falling apart from the stress. His only saving grace is the boy that sits in front of him, looking equally exhausted. Yoongi stifles a yawn of his own as he scratches down a few notes on the scroll of parchment before him, only pausing when he realizes he’s being watched. Glancing up through his lashes and finding that Hoseok’s staring quite openly at him, the pale boy flushes with embarrassment. Masking his smile at the reaction he’s gotten out of Yoongi, Hoseok raises a single eyebrow, gesturing at his cheek.

You’ve got ink on your face, he mouths, careful not to be too loud in such a silent, crowded library. Yoongi’s own eyebrows flick up, and he scrubs at his completely ink-free cheek with the sleeve of his sweater. Hoseok glances around at the rest of the table, filled with the group of their housemates that he always finds himself surrounded by, and notes that none of them have noticed this little conversation he and Yoongi are having.

Emboldened by this thinly-veiled privacy, Hoseok leans forward and reaches across the table, catching Yoongi’s attention. Swiping his thumb along the span of cheek where he’d claimed to have seen this nonexistent ink, he lets his hand linger on Yoongi’s skin. He leans back with an easy smile when he sees that Yoongi’s stopped breathing entirely, cursing himself internally for the sudden show of affection. He’s about to return to his work as if he hadn’t just very clearly hit on his own roommate, but a flash of blue passing by catches his eye.

Almost as if nothing else exists, Hoseok’s vision focuses in on a very familiar Ravenclaw, watching as she makes her way down one of aisles in search of something. A quick glance at the date on his phone tells him that the next full moon is less than a week away, and suddenly he’s rising to his feet, completely forgetting about the boy he’s just caused to short-circuit as he wanders in Y/n’s direction.

Keeping his pace easy, as if he’s looking for something himself, he alerts her to his presence with a simple brush of his elbow against her torso. She jumps lightly, glancing up at him before looking away, not wanting to be seen interacting with him. She reaches up for a book on a shelf above her head, but her fingers are barely able to skim the spine of it. Hoseok reaches up for it immediately and, once he’s lowered the tome into her hands, he’s checking his surroundings.

When he knows no one’s looking, he lifts his hand to her forehead, feeling for her temperature while she still faces inward toward the bookshelves. Grimacing at the warmth, he lowers his hand to her throat, pressing two fingers into her pulse point. It’s thunderous under his touch, about as fast as it usually gets right before the full moon.

Releasing her, he positions himself in the opposite direction as her, leaning against the shelves as he thumbs through a random book. After a moment, he lifts his gaze, meeting her eyes and breathing out deeply when he sees how bloodshot they are. She looks exhausted, her expression hazy and disoriented enough that Hoseok almost steps in to steady her, forgetting that they’re in public.

Guessing that he’s been here too long, Hoseok offers Y/n one last squeeze to her hand as he passes her on his way out of the aisle. It’s only when he takes his seat and takes out his phone to text Jungkook that he remembers how, not even five minutes ago, all he could think about was the boy in front of him. It seems silly to him now, stressing over a schoolboy crush when he’s got so much more to worry about.

1977, September

“H-hobi?” Hoseok looks up from where he’s examining animal tracks, his eyebrows raised with amusement when Y/n comes into view. She’d only just called him that nickname for the first time over text not 15 minutes ago -- he can’t help but find it endearing that she’s testing the waters in person.

“Hey, you.” She’s holding two paper bags, their lunches likely packed by house elves so she could avoid the Great Hall. Hoseok beckons her over, pointing at a fallen tree trunk not far away for her to sit on. She perches on it quietly, setting his lunch down next to her for whenever he gets hungry. He can tell by the cautious way she’s eating that she’s trying her best not to disturb him, and he can’t help but snicker under his breath. He glances up to meet her confused gaze before returning to the animal tracks, his smirk well-placed.

“You get invited to a nice lunch by a friendly housemate, but instead of awkwardly sitting with Park Jimin and his friends, you choose… to sit awkwardly with me in the forest.” He doesn’t need to look up again to see that she’s probably blushing, always embarrassed when he mentions how shy she still gets when she’s alone with him. It never happens when they’re texting or talking on the phone -- almost as if not physically being near him gives her courage, she shows him her true self in those moments. But when they’re alone like this, Hoseoks feels the effect that his presence has on her.

It’s been years since they’d first met, but Hoseok can tell Y/n still feels guilty and indebted to him for the night she’d almost killed him.

No matter how many times he’s tried to free her of that feeling, tried to reassure her that he’d forgiven her long ago, she inevitably becomes nervous every time they’re together. It almost makes Hoseok feel like they’d never get past it, and for that, he worries. He knows he’s not Jungkook -- boy, does he know it -- but no amount of teasing seems to ease the concern he feels when he sees how uncomfortable she is around him. Sometimes, the thought crosses his mind that maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. At least then, she wouldn’t have to face her guilt every time she meets his eyes.

“See, Moony, we told you Hoseok would be out here! Good man, predictable as always.” The sound of four pairs of feet heading in their direction has Hoseok rising to his feet, ready to greet the newcomers. He smirks when Sirius and James crash into the clearing, followed closely by Remus and Peter.

“Boys -- welcome to my little corner of the forest.” The Marauders greet Hoseok easily, their attention only drawn away when they see Hoseok’s not alone.

“Y/n! What a nice surprise!” Sirius calls out to her with a boyish grin, to which she only offers a shy smile and a wave. Lupin peers around Hoseok, smiling kindly in Y/n’s direction.

“Alright, Y/n?” Hoseok can practically feel the embarrassment radiating off of Y/n behind him, her crush on the older boy painfully obvious.

“R-remus, hi…” Sirius and James share a knowing glance, offering the same look to Hoseok when they’re done. He only rolls his eyes playfully, causing them to break out in matching smirks at his reaction. Deciding that he should maybe save Y/n from all the attention, Hoseok addresses them.

“So, what can this lowly Slytherin do for such high-ranking Gryffindors?” Sirius claps Hoseok on the shoulder good-naturedly at the remark.

“If only all Slytherins were like you, Jung. You’re one of a kind.” Hoseok only nods at the compliment, glancing at Remus for the answer to his previous question. The boy smiles tiredly in response.

“We were hoping you’d be able to help me out this month… our supplies are running low, and we can’t make enough for my full dosage.” Hoseok hums, thinking about the potion kit sitting under his bed. After a moment, he nods.

“I think I’ve got enough to spare this month. I’ve noticed there’s a shortage of certain ingredients recently, so it would be hard for you guys to get restocked in time. Let me know what you need.” He says it with finality, knowing how hard it would be on Remus this month without the wolfsbane potion. Lupin smiles gratefully at him, pulling a list from his pocket and beckoning Hoseok in to peruse it with him.

In the midst of jotting down notes in his phone for later, Hoseok hears when Sirius and James shift their attention to the girl still sitting on the tree trunk quietly. They call out, Sirius motioning out over Hoseok’s shoulder at her.

“Y/n, why are you so far away? We’re not strangers, you know!” Hoseok can tell it’s a very obvious ploy to get her to stand closer to Remus, but he ignores their antics while he focuses on the list of potion ingredients. Y/n doesn’t respond, and Hoseok thinks maybe she’s politely declined their invitation to join them, but a gentle tug at the back of his shirt alerts him to her presence.

Pulling his gaze from the list just long enough to glance over his shoulder, he finds her there, peering out at the Gryffindors from behind his shoulder. Hoseok knows from experience and years of friendship with Y/n that she can certainly hold her own -- she’s a werewolf for fuck’s sake -- but in this moment she looks so… small. Hoseok definitely has the height, but the pull of her hand on his shirt and the way she seems to cling to him -- it makes him feel like a wall between her and the world. Even in front of her childhood crush and his friends, people that have proven time and time again to be her allies, she’s won't face them head-on.

Humming contemplatively, a slight smirk growing on his lips, James shoots Hoseok a nod of acknowledgement at the display.

“It seems Y/n has more than just Jungkook to protect her.” The grip on the back of his shirt tightens, as if to tell him that she doesn’t like the attention she’s being given. Years of hiding from everyone and anyone who could possibly look her way had made her anxious person, and Hoseok knows she’s not comfortable. The Gryffindor's comment bounces around in his mind as he realizes that, despite how nervous Hoseok makes her, James is right. Y/n has deliberately put herself behind him -- it’s not that he’s conveniently in the way, a wall without purpose. Hoseok knows that he probably could have seen this long ago, that he's been too stuck thinking of his presence as a burden to her to see this simple truth.

That she needs him.

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #atlas heart

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caramelfuzz · 3 years

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Sick Ai/zawa

Alright people, take the garbage man with a cold. I really wanted to make it erasermight so we’ve got an awkward All Might trying to take care of his disaster boyfriend.

It’s common knowledge among the UA faculty that Yagi Toshinori’s weakened physical state left him with a variety of vulnerabilities, most of which Aizawa Shouta became even more aware of once he began dating the man. Of these vulnerabilities, the increased susceptibility to sickness is what worries Aizawa the most. If he gets sick it inevitably goes straight to his chest, which causes even more severe respiratory issues. It’s frankly quite worrisome, even if Aizawa still has issues expressing his worry to the fragile man.

That’s why, the second Aizawa feels a prickle in his throat one night on patrol, he decides it would be best for him to go back to his own place instead of Toshinori’s as they’d planned.

He decides to forgo sending any form of message so he doesn’t have to lie to his boyfriend, instead opting to curl up in his sleeping bag and pray he’s being paranoid and that he’s not actually coming down with something.

When he awakens to a completely stuffed nose, a burning throat, and an incessant tickle in both he knows his prayers have gone unanswered.

He checks his phone, 4 texts and 2 missed calls from Toshi, great.

After an experimental sniff he finds his nose completely blocked, which won’t do at all.

Considering his options, Aizawa decides that avoiding Toshinori entirely would be the best plan of action. He would die of guilt if his simple head cold turned into bronchitis or pneumonia for the world’s symbol of peace.

“Hahh… Ih'CH-ISH! 'TSHIEW! Eh’nGXTCH’uh!”

He pitches miserably into his hands, wishing for a fleeting moment that he had the luxury of calling in sick. Nezu had requested that, short of the stomach flu, hospitalization, or death, no teacher is to miss class. There is far too much at stake for students to miss a day of learning. With that thought fresh in his mind, Aizawa drags himself out of bed to get ready for work.

As he walks toward his classroom he sees something flash in the corner of his eye. Crap, he’d recognize that hideous pinstriped suit anywhere. Before he can make any sort of escape, All Might, in all of his muscular glory, is in front of him. He’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Aizawa-kun, hello! Did you receive any of my messages last night?”

Aizawa stands frozen, unsure of what to do. If he speaks he’ll give himself away immediately, his voice is wrecked and it hasn’t even been a full day since he felt the cold coming on. He’ll have to find some sort of way out of this conversation that doesn’t involve speaking, breathing, or hurting Toshinori’s feelings.

Suddenly Midoriya comes bounding around the corner, panting and looking exceedingly concerned.

“Hey All Might! I, uh, need to talk to you?”

Toshinori, in his endlessly enthusiastic manner, whips around to face the young hero and bellows,

“What can I do for you, young Midoriya?”

Aizawa takes the opportunity and hurries away from them towards his classroom. He can’t hang out in the teacher’s lounge, not with the danger of his boyfriend going in there at any point during the day. If he were to cough or sneeze in that room he could potentially infect Toshinori if he went in there later.

He’s in desperate need of tissues, and considering how sore his nose already is, he feels a visit to pilfer some of Recovery Girl’s nice lotion-infused ones is in order.

****************

“What? Aizawa is sick?”

“Yes, and I would advise you to keep your distance or else you could catch it too, Toshinori. He only popped in for tissues earlier and he wouldn’t let me take his temperature but I’m positive that boy had a fever. Stubborn man.”

While Recovery Girl continues to complain about how stubborn the pro hero is, Toshinori can’t help but worry about his boyfriend. What if he tries to patrol while he’s sick? Recovery Girl said he had a fever earlier, what if he passes out somewhere?

He shakes the thoughts from his head. He realizes Shouta likely won’t allow him to come over and take care of him, but has to do something. Aizawa has already cared for him far too many times during their short relationship and he wants to repay the favor. There is something so intimate about taking care of an ailing partner that Toshinori doesn’t want to miss out on just because of his compromised immune system, so he devises a plan.

****************

By the end of the day Aizawa is ready to drop. His students can be a handful even when he is healthy, but with a raging head cold and a fever it’s a lot more difficult to deal with them. Not to mention the fact that he’s trying to suppress his symptoms so as not to infect his students on top of everything else.

“huh'EHSCCHH'uh! Ih'CHISSSH-xt! 'TSHIEWW! eh’nGXTCH’uh!”

He cringes at the unexpected sneezes, they’re getting harder to hold in. He’s walking home, shivering as the wind picks up. It looks like it might rain.

It does in fact rain, the sky opens up when he’s about 5 minutes from his apartment but he’s too exhausted to muster anything faster than a brisk walk which only shortens his journey by a minute or so.

When he arrives home all he can do is remove his wet scarf and curl up on the couch, pulling a thin afghan around himself as tightly as he can. He quickly drifts off as exhaustion takes over.

****************

Aizawa jolts from his half-sleep to a timid knock at his door. His first thought is that a villain had somehow found his place of residence, but it’s exceedingly unlikely for a villain to just knock on the door. Come to think of it, it’s exceedingly unlikely for anyone to visit him. Maybe it’s someone else’s door being knocked on. When the knocking persists, however, he clears his throat and tries to call out.

“I-ihh- I’mb cahh-cobigg,”

He rasps, grabbing onto his coffee table for support as he staggers through the living room. He grabs his scarf, it’s still wet but it will have to do, and approaches the door. His hitching breath forces him to detour to the tissue box.

“Godda sdihh-gh’hh! Ugh, sdeeze. Hh’mmph! Gktshhh! H’HCKCH!”

He dissolves into a coughing fit which he muffles into his arm as he approaches the door, not bothering to check who it is, which he immediately regrets when he sees a soaked Toshinori with two flu masks on his face.

Aizawa’s breath leaves his lungs and he staggers, feeling like he might pass out for a moment from the sheer shock of seeing Toshinori in such a state, why was he out in the cold rain? He can get really sick if he does that! He quickly comes back to his senses and ushers his boyfriend into his apartment, thoughts solely on getting Toshinori warm and dry as quickly as possible. He grabs a towel and begins to dab at his hair and arms, growing frustrated with himself as a sneeze builds within his sinuses and he’s forced to jerk away with a throat-wrenching triple.

“Hahh… Ih'CHISH! 'TSHIEWW! eh’nGXTCH’uh!”

He dabs at his nose with his scarf, once again turning his worried and exhausted gaze to the drowned rat he’s dating, only to see him with a mirrored expression.

“Aizawa? Shouta, I’m fine!”

Toshinori’s voice is muffled by the masks but still very audible, but his reassurance seems to fall on deaf ears. Aizawa is feverishly gathering an assortment of long sleeved shirts and thick socks and placing them onto the bed before them. Once he’s satisfied with his choices he starts to push his boyfriend toward the bathroom almost frantically.

“Warmb up, take a shower or sombethigg. You’ve got to be freezigg.”

“I’m really not,” Toshinori chuckles, pulling up his sleeve. Aizawa squints at his arm through blurry eyes, unsure of what he’s supposed to be looking at.

Upon closer inspection, it appears Toshinori is wearing thermals beneath his work clothes. It’s smart given how frail he’s become since his injury and Aizawa is relieved for a moment, but then he remembers that he’s a walking germ factory at the moment. He scrambles away from his boyfriend and shields his mouth with his damp scarf.

“Wh-what are you doigg h-hh-here, Toshi?”

“I heard you were sick so I brought things to take care of you. You don’t look so good, Shouta.”

“Who told you that? I’mb finde.”

“Then why are you avoiding me like the plague if not to avoid infecting me? I thought our relationship had been going well.”

He looks so sad and Aizawa feels his heart lurch at the knowledge that he is the cause of it, but he has to remind himself that this is ultimately for a good cause. He can’t infect the symbol of peace with his rotten head cold.

“I’mb finde. Just ndeed sombe space right ndow, that’s all. Could you still put ond sombethigg dry, please? Just ind case?”

Toshinori complies, selecting a pair of sweats and some socks from the pile and going to change. The moment Aizawa is alone in the room he coughs, keeping his face hidden in his scarf. His chest is much more congested than it was earlier and he’s once again reminded that he has to find a way to make his fragile boyfriend leave before he catches this.

When Toshinori emerges dressed in clothes just a little too big on him, his resolve almost breaks. His sweet boyfriend looks so cuddly like this and all he wants to do is snuggle up with him in bed and sleep for a year. A wrenching coughing fit forces him to double over into his scarf and he’s pulled out of his fantasy. He can’t do that.

When the coughing fit doesn’t let up Toshinori moves to pat his back, but Aizawa feels a small burst of panicked desperation course through him and he smacks his hand away with a bit more force than intended. He sees a small tear of hurt in the smaller man’s eyes and immediately regrets his split-second decision.

“I’mb-kff!-I’mb s-so sorry, Yagi-san.”

Toshinori’s heart breaks a little more at the sound of his boyfriend being so formal with him. Is this another tactic to drive him away so he won’t be infected? Or is it something worse?

He’d never been one to give up easily, though. He’s determined to go out with a bang. If Aizawa does want to break up Toshinori is at least determined to take care of him before he ends things.

Shouta drops his gaze to the floor guiltily, cold-dulled senses failing to pick up on Toshinori’s silent approach. He jerks when he feels a cool hand being pressed to his brow, looking up in shame at his boyfriend as he tuts gently at the heat. He doesn’t pull away, almost leaning into the cool touch before he stops himself.

Toshinori takes this as permission to speak freely.

“Now I know you’re worried about infecting me, which is why I'm wearing two masks, but if it will make you feel better you can wear one as well, I brought more.”

Aizawa snatches the offered mask and secures it over his mouth and nose before leaning away from his boyfriend to cough roughly.

“Are you going to let me take your temperature? I heard you were a bad patient for Recovery Girl earlier,”

Aizawa bites back a groan, so that’s how Toshi found him out.

He begrudgingly lifts the mask a bit, allowing his boyfriend to slip the device between his parted lips before shoving him toward the sink, aggressively miming hand washing. His boyfriend mimics his gestures in an equally exaggerated fashion, earning a weak chuckle from around the thermometer.

When it beeps, Aizawa yanks it away from his boyfriend’s reaching hands, shaking his head aggressively. At least Toshi looks amused instead of upset.

“You don’t want me to touch it again?”

Aizawa nods, squinting down at the blurry numbers flashing on the screen, 1… 107? No, that would be fatal. 100? The third number continues to evade him, which just goes to show that he probably has a fever, and he finds frustrated tears filling his eyes. Toshi sees his irritated squint and approaches his boyfriend, gently petting his hair as he peers over his shoulder.

“102.1, that’s not great, babe. Have you taken any medicine?”

Shouta ducks into his shoulder to stifle a harsh sneeze before shaking his head sheepishly. It’s honestly pathetic how incapable he is at taking care of himself and yet the school continues to entrust him with the lives of impressionable teenagers.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a glass of water being pressed into his hand, but almost immediately after taking the glass the infernal tickle that has plagued him all day rears its head again.

“Hh’ghh… hah… ihh’hih!”

Before Toshinori can even process what is happening, Aizawa jerks to the side to sneeze, sloshing chilly water into his lap in the process,

“huh'EHSCCHH'uh! Ih'CHISSSH-xt! 'TSHIEWW! eh’nGXTCH’uh! Sdf! ‘Scuse be.”

He shivers violently and now it’s Toshinori’s turn to worry about keeping his boyfriend warm. He gathers a warm sweater and socks from the pile of clothing Aizawa had accumulated for him and returns to his boyfriend.

Shouta is desperately hacking into his sleeve when Toshi returns with the clothing and the few parts of his face that aren’t obscured by the mask or his hair are pink with exertion.

When he notices the worried presence looming before him he attempts to straighten up and appear healthy, but his lungs won’t grant him that luxury and he starts to cough again. He finally feels the urge die down along with a gush of phlegm in his mouth. Disgusted, he snatches the clothes from his boyfriend and stalks to the bathroom, ripping the mask off and spitting into the sink. He dons the mask once more to change his clothes, unwilling to breathe any of his germs on anything Toshi could potentially touch. He leaves his clothes in a damp heap on the bathroom floor but keeps his scarf wrapped around his neck. It’s still wet from the rain and causes goosebumps to break out on his skin. He dismisses the feeling with a single shiver and walks back out to his small living room.

Toshinori looks up from where he’s putting on the kettle and frowns, brows furrowing. It makes Shouta self conscious of his appearance. His nose tingles and he scrubs at it from over his mask to force the tickle away, a single hitch leaving his throat. He’s so focused on not sneezing that he doesn’t notice his boyfriend approach, again.

“Why are you still wearing that scarf? It’s all wet, Shouta. We both know you’d never let me wear something wet if I were sporting a head cold as bad as yours.”

He scolds softly, settling onto the couch and patting the cushion next to him. Aizawa hadn’t realized he was still standing, he must be more out of it than he thought.

The kettle sings from across the room and Toshinori gently guides Shouta to sit on the couch before going to turn it off. He returns with a mug of tea and a pack of medicine, which he presents to his boyfriend shyly. He’s usually the one being taken care of and it feels oddly intimate to take care of his boyfriend like this. Aizawa just stares at them blankly for a moment, another shiver wracking his thin frame. He takes them eventually and swallows the medicine before listing into Toshinori’s side, exhaustion creeping up his body.

“Sleep, Shouta.”

And he does.

#aa writes #i have finally gotten over my like three year long writers block apparently #and i'm currently obsessed over the garbage man again #i started this fic probably a year or so ago #the ending is a little rushed #i'm bad at endings tho #sick aizawa #aizawa sneeze #bnha

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shoichee · 3 years

Note

congrats on 100 followers bubs 💖💖💖

could i please have 34 with Murasakibara,,, i just lub him sm 🥺

-YOUR anon

HELLO **MY** anon <33 im back from the dead to give you murasakibara mush pls accept my offerings

Murasakibara x Reader

34. “You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?”

Word Count: 1497

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

You shouldn’t have crammed all of your summer homework in one day.

A horrible decision on your part, really.

Because here you are now, your stiff back threatening to snap at any movement you make on the chair. No matter how much you rub your eyes in an attempt to “refresh” your eyesight, only your half-finished papers and a jarring 2:13 a.m. reflect back to your vision. Even still, you refuse to put down the pencil and even more so refuse to stop writing, even if whatever you wrote for the past hour was completely elaborate ox dung. Still, you had no one to blame except yourself for procrastinating… except maybe for a certain giant who constantly clung onto you for attention at every moment this past break.

No, no, you lethargically shook your head. It was still your choice to spend time with him… it wasn’t like he forced you to neglect your assignments.

Your eyelids keep playing a dangerous game of flitting open and shut on you while your body has been swaying gently back and forth to the tick-tocks of the room’s clock. Your hand still perseveres in continuing to be the MVP for the past 24 hours, even despite feeling the burning aches of a cramp since the early evening. Gradually, you feel the room starting to teeter-totter, not being able to distinguish a clear line between the brighter, lit-up spot of your room versus the unlit parts elsewhere.

“Oh fuck…” You blink owlishly at the clock. “It’s… 3:12 already?...” You stare down at your work for a few moments too long before you realize that you’re almost finished with everything, even if the quality of said work was questionable at best. You resignedly sigh before setting down your pencil for the first time for a “break,” but as soon as you did, it was as if the only anchor to your wakefulness floated away to the giant seas of your mind. Suddenly, your cold desk becomes the softest pillow, and you begin to gently snooze away.

———

Tap, tap, tap.

“... Mm…”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Mm?...”

Groggily pushing yourself off the desk, you rub your cheek and neck from the soreness of the unnatural position your body slept in for… how long did you sleep for?

Shit, it was only gonna be a 15 minute break—shit, fuck, what time is it?

4:07 a.m.

You missed out on almost an hour of potential progress, an hour of precious time to finish this on time. You immediately slapped your forehead to chase the last remnants of sleep away and to reprimand yourself. But besides that… didn’t you hear something that woke you up in the first place? You don’t remember setting up any alarm… you didn’t even let go of your pencil once until earlier.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

You whirl around your chair to try to discern the source of the sound, not sure if you’re still hallucinating from lack of sleep or if there truly was something there in the dark. The sounds sounded a bit different than when they woke you up though. You really think you’re being delusional, but they almost sounded… impatient and annoyed.

There it is, again. The incessant tapping.

After stumbling through your room and groping the air to gauge your relative location to your other things, you first opened the door to find absolutely no one there.

Tap, tap. “.... -chin.”

You tripped and scrambled out of your wits, your drowsiness definitely gone now. As you whipped your head behind you to face the window and the source of the taps and now muffled voice, you were convinced that it was an unconventional robber. Grabbing the sharpest ballpoint you had on your desk, you clumsily sneak under the window sill, and from there, you jumped up to announce your presence with an exaggerated yell before opening the locks of your window and thrusting the pen to your potential assailant. You could not identify the person because it was unusually dark in the wake of a new moon, but all you saw was a looming figure whose face remained anonymous because their head was cut off at the top of your window. The person easily catches your hand holding the pen mid-thrust, and their abnormally large hand is oddly familiar to you.

“... What are you doing, Chibi-chin?” a very familiar drawl hummed. Murasakibara sighs exasperatedly before he uses his clutch on your hand as leverage to lower his head into your opened window. In his other hand, a few plastic bags rustle as he tries to carefully set them down on the nearest table inside. “Seriously, you could’ve hurt yourself.”

“Atsushi?!” you yell in a hushed manner. “What are you even doing here climbing up the tree and perching on my window? I seriously thought you were a robber!” His hold on your hand remains firm as he clumsily lets himself in despite the small size of the window compared to his body.

“You told Muro-chin to not let me see you for the whole day, Chibi-chin,” he frowns as if it was the most obvious reason. “He said it’s so you could focus on your work without any distractions, but who in their right mind would go about their day without eating any snacks?” At his words, your gaze moves to the bundle on the table.

“So you came here just for that?”

“Hmph,” he pouts. “I was going to come in tonight when I was sure you were sleeping, so you couldn’t yell at me for trying to… see you.”

“Uh huh…” you slightly narrow your eyes at him. “Is that so?”

“... Tch, snacks don’t taste as good without you here, Chibi-chin.”

“... Uh huh,” you raise a huge brow at the food on the table. “These look like full-on appetizers and meals meant for lunch and dinner, not for snacking.”

“...” He slowly grows pink at your verbal suspicion, and he averts his eyes and huffs in annoyance. “Tch, don’t look into it so much, I was just in the mood for Korean cuisine.”

“At this ungodly hour?”

“Like I said, food tastes better with you. Stop being annoying.”

You inwardly smirk at his antics, gazing fondly at your contrarian giant. “Alright then, hurry up and finish your food and go while I go back to finishing my work, okay?” And you took his silence as a “yes” from his end, shuffling your feet back to your chair before you picked up your pencil to resume scribbling more incoherent sentences. For a few minutes, the only sounds you could hear in the room was the sound of graphite gliding across your paper and Murasakibara’s soft chewing of rice cakes from a few feet away. You knew he was watching you, but you silently commended him in your head for not interrupting your work for once.

Well, you spoke too soon.

When you stretch up your arms in an attempt to loosen your tense back and yawn, your life flashes before your eyes when something is popped into your mouth. In a panic, you try to spit it out, but Murasakibara holds a finger to your lips. Since when was he right behind you?

“It’s just a rice cake, Chibi-chin,” he mumbles reassuringly. “Eat it.”

“It’s good, but…” you protest. “Shouldn’t you be eating this?”

“... It turns out I bought too much, that’s all.”

“That’s a fat lie, Atsushi, and both of us know that.”

“...” He frowns at your “know-it-all” face before he gives in. “... You probably didn’t eat at all today… knowing you.”

“Anything else you wanna confess?” you hum teasingly, knowing how he can never be honest unless you nudged him so.

“... and I wanted to cuddle.”

You stare at your boyfriend incredulously.

“You come to my room and wake me up at 4am… to cuddle?”

“Do you… have a problem with that?” His words lack any usual poutiness and annoyance because in those rare moments of honesty, he is completely vulnerable… and mortifyingly shy. And he hates how he knows how much pleasure you get from seeing this side of him.

“No, stupid~” you gently tease him. “If it weren’t for you actually, I probably wouldn’t have woken up until morning and would be completely doomed. So thank you, Atsushi.” At your sincere words, he slinks off further into the dark corner, sulking away as he aggressively stabs the spicy rice cakes with wooden chopsticks in embarrassment while not looking at you one bit.

“Fiiiiiine,” you sighed. “You can cuddle me from behind and feed me while I work…” Murasakibara does a complete 180 and slides over straight to you using the swivel chair, happiness dancing behind his eyes on an otherwise impassive face.

Even when he glomps over you from behind and occasionally nudges your lips to eat with his chopsticks, you feel as if your lethargy completely melted away in his comforting presence…

He’s your very own soft pillow.

#anon #MY anon #kuroko no basket #knb #knb fics #knb scenarios #murasakibara atsushi #murasakibara #murasakibara x reader #murasakibara atsushi x reader #knb fluff #100 followers #100 follower milestone

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otonymous · 4 years

Text

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part I: A Matter Of Convenience

Description: An extraordinary man arrives to shake up your ordinary life Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised. Potential trigger warnings: robberies and mentions of firearms, physical violence, mild depictions of bodily injury, blood and masturbation, profanity Word Count: 1650 words (~8 mins of action, drama and the start of a slow burn 🔥) Author’s Notes: This multi-chapter fic is dedicated to the lovely @op-peccatori, one of the winners of my Follower Milestone Celebration! Thank you so much, Nana, for requesting a mafia AU story starring everyone’s favourite lavender-haired man 😆 This is actually my first time writing an AU fic, and the experience thus far has been incredibly eye-opening and lots of fun!

For this piece, I wanted to localize the AU to better fit the world of MLQC, so instead of using a traditional mafia setting, the events take place in the milieu of the triads and “black societies” that are more likely to be found in corresponding parts of the world. For those who are interested, Wikipedia has an incredibly comprehensive article on triads and organized crime.

This piece turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and is still ongoing as of the time of this post! That being said, I hope you’ll join me on this wild ride 😂 As always, wishing you all a very happy read 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

“Put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.”

A black duffel bag is thrust onto the counter before you, panels wide open like a gaping maw. You look up at the man in the bomber jacket and the only things you can process are:

One: his nostrils are flaring.

Two: why bother trying to be nondescript by dressing in all black if you’re going to leave your face uncovered during a robbery?

“I ain’t playin’ around, little girl. Put the goddamn money in the bag right now or else I’ll shoot—”

WHACK!

The man’s eyes widen in the split second before his face crumples, teeth yellowed and uneven protruding in an ugly grimace. His hand flies to his head, trying to stem the blood already streaking down his face when he collapses onto the counter, taking out a display of collectible miniature keychains next to the register as he does. They scatter, some rolling across the floor before being stopped by a pair of purple Chuck Taylors tapping out an impatient rhythm on the linoleum.

You look up from those sneakers in a daze, eyes following the silhouette of a pair of jeans so worn in places you doubted the rips and tears were purely for aesthetic purposes. And if you’d had to guess, you’d say that purple was your saviour’s favourite colour, given the lavender hair that fell over his eyes the moment he pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt, also in a shade of violet. His other hand — clad in a fingerless leather glove — gripped the skateboard that had just connected with the head of the would-be robber, still groaning before you.

Pop!

You startle at the sound, heart slowing only when you see the pink bubble deflating between the young man’s lips before the gum is pulled back by the tip of his tongue. And from where you stood — glued to the spot behind the counter — you swear you can detect the hint of cinnamon.

He crouches, picking up the gun that had slid out of the thief’s hand when he was unceremoniously hit from behind, and when he chuckles — the sound dangerous and cocksure — it ignites something deep within you.

“Tsk, tsk. Can’t very well go around robbing people with toys guns, now can you? Especially not on my turf. Piece of advice: don’t mess with Boss Li’s territory or else I’ll be doing more than just breaking your head the next time around. Don’t let me catch you here again.”

Letting out a pathetic whimper, the robber snatches the empty bag from the counter, running for the doors in such haste he almost trips over his own feet. The electronic refrains of the door chime still ring in your ears when you realize the man has already made his way to the beverage dispenser, one long finger pressing the Pepsi button before switching to Coke, both drinks mixing in the same paper cup.

Smoothly stepping over the mess on the floor, he places the drink on the counter right next to a smear of blood. Mind still reeling, your customer service instincts take over.

“H-hello. Just this?”

He nods, popping a purple straw through the plastic lid before fixing you with his amber eyes as he pays, a hint of a smirk on his face. And that is when it hits you that he is actually…actually…

…incredibly gorgeous.

An intense wave of heat washes over your face and you can’t help but look down. By the time you’ve worked up the courage to lift your head again, he is already at the door, merging with the dark night beyond. He throws up one hand in goodbye, not even bothering to look back when he says, “Relax. That guy won’t be bothering you again.”

You hear his skateboard hit the pavement, listen to it rolling away. Only when the sound completely fades do you remember to breathe.

There was a certain tranquility in working late-night shifts at the 24-hour convenience store — aisles empty save for the occasional customer breaking the monotony: high-strung lovers grabbing last-minute condoms and overworked salarymen buying the beer and discounted meals they subsisted on.

And though your coworkers complained bitterly about the graveyard shift, they were more than happy to pass them on to you, making up every excuse as to why they were unable to show up during those times. It was unnecessary, really. You didn’t mind it, even preferred the solitary calm it afforded.

Until now.

Your peace has been shattered, replaced by something that made your hands ball into nervous fists — fingers gripping at the hem of your polyester uniform and wondering for the first time ever whether blue stripes made you look ridiculous.

Because for the first time in a very long while, there was something, someone, to look forward to.

Night after night, it’s the same. Repeated glances at the clock above the magazine rack, your breath growing shallow to see it approach 1:30. Heart leaping into your throat to hear the automatic doors slide open followed by the scuff of purple sneakers, tracing a path through the store.

Since the night of that foiled robbery attempt a month ago, he has visited like clockwork and you still haven’t figured out how to remain calm. So you find contentment from behind the safety of the counter, watching the man with lavender hair — soft, even when lit beneath a harsh fluorescent glare as he stands at the drink dispenser, always filling a cup with Pepsi first, then Coke.

Only ever buying the same thing every time.

This strange ritual lasts all of ten minutes, fifteen at most. And it takes just as long after he leaves for the hairs of your body to cease standing on end, as if electrified by the intensity of his eyes on yours.

That gaze of molten gold stays with you even when you return home in the early morning hours, pulling blackout curtains across your window before falling into bed to pretend your hands were his: tracing the outline of your lips, caressing the swell of your breasts, dipping between your legs.

And when your breath falters in a quick succession of shudders, you wonder at your own sanity. Because in spite of your suspicions about the guy with the purple hair, the warning signs that pointed to his obvious involvement with the triads that extorted money from local businesses as ‘protection fees,’ you still couldn’t help but think about the man who visited you every night without fail.

“You’re hurt—”

“I-I’m fine. Just…just ring this up, will ya? I’m…in a rush…”

One arm crossed over his abdomen, he places the cup onto the counter as if it took all the concentration in the world — his efforts squandered anyways when his hand spasms at the last minute to send dark liquid sloshing over the lip. He hadn’t even bothered to put a lid on.

“…Emergency responders have just arrived on scene and are dealing with scores of injuries. Eyewitnesses describe what appears to have been a violent clash between rival gangs in a longstanding feud over contested territory. The police are seeking help from the public in locating several key suspects believed to have fled the scene. Please do not approach them under any circumstances as they are considered armed and dangerous…”

The news anchor’s face on the wall-mounted television is replaced by another: that of a youthful man with lavender hair and multiple piercings on his ears — challenge exuding from amber eyes. You scramble for the remote on the shelf behind you, mashing the power button until the screen goes black. And in the eerie silence that descends upon the store, all you can focus on is the laboured breathing of the man slouched before you.

Skin pale, beads of sweat dot a face drained of colour save for the crimson protrusion above his left eye — soon set to transform, ironically, into his favourite shade of purple. He tries to suppress a cough but it is too late: you’ve already caught sight of the blood spreading out from beneath the palm pressed to his stomach.

“It’s on me tonight.”

The words leave your lips without second thought as you make for the storefront, flipping the light switch even as you reach to turn the lock on the automatic doors.

“No, don’t…don’t get yourself involved…”

Ignoring his protests, you gingerly place his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to support his weight as you make an awkward attempt to hobble together towards the back of the store.

Suddenly, the darkened interior is lit by flashes of red and blue and you are pulled in the direction of the nearest pillar, a strong arm flexed as it tenses around your waist, holding you to him in an intimate embrace.

He is close…so close that your senses are flooded with him: the heartbeat thunderous in your ear, leather and sweat tickling your nostrils; the scent of blood thick enough you can almost taste it on your tongue. The hand on your hip — grip firm in a way it almost seemed possessive, and you are ashamed to find that you can become aroused even in a situation like this.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at his face — seeking a sign in the tension dissolving from the firm set of his jaw that the police cruiser had passed — you are shocked to see his pale lips stretched into a smirk instead.

“You know...I’ve been coming here every day…for weeks now…and this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”

He is still smiling when he passes out.

Thanks so much for reading! Hope you all enjoyed it and please stay tuned for part 2! Check out more of my work here! 📚

(Updated): Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc smut #mlqc shaw smut #mlqc fic #follower milestone #op-peccatori #my writing #multi-chapter fic

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silence-burns · 3 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 50

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

Living in an apartment so full of various enchantments that you couldn't move without bumping into one certainly had its perks, but your favourite was the space enhancement that made sure the apartment could actually fit everything you wanted it to.

In their original state, both floors of the apartment weren't small on their own, but as your moving in progressed, you quickly realized that the amount of both your and Loki's belongings overran the space you'd been given.

The solution was pretty standard and required bending only a few minor laws of physics and logic.

Whoever dared venture into your apartment now would get quite the surprise in the form of rooms that felt a little too big for the kind of space indicated by the building's construction, and doors leading to places that absolutely shouldn't be able to fit so close together and yet stubbornly did. But however much you loved the whole apartment in general, you couldn't deny that your absolute favourite part of it was the giant monstrosity of a bathtub that Loki was absolutely uncompromising about.

Laying in it now, you couldn't blame him.

The passage of time was forgotten as the two of you soaked in the scented water, kept warm for what felt like hours, and might've actually been that long. If it was up to you, you would've stayed there forever and enjoyed Loki's firm, warm body, the pleasantly dimmed lights and the few bottles of whatever Loki had hidden for special occasions.

Well, the bottles weren't there originally, but as your clean up progressed and both of you started to feel like something other than a walking biological disaster, a need for celebration rose. You weren't sure how the things progressed from the first bottle to the small pile of them on the floor by the bathtub, but you found yourself straddling Loki's lap, completely drunk and unable to move despite one of your legs going completely numb.

"Remind me to never drink with you again," you mumbled into Loki's neck.

"I did."

"Then be more convincing…"

With your cheek plastered to him, you felt rather than heard Loki's chuckle. The rumble did unruly things to the contents of your stomach.

"I'm gonna puke."

"Please save the last of my dignity and at least aim away from me." Despite Loki's words, he didn't move a bit and if you didn't know him any better, you'd guess he was feeling similar sensations.

With his head leaning on the tub's edge and his eyes closed, Loki was indeed fighting against the world spinning around him. The warm embrace of your body pressed into his and the water scented with jasmine were his only anchors in the chaotic mess his head tried to sort out. Truth be told, he had forgotten the full potential of the Asgardian alcohol, and especially the type he had stored for a perfect occasion. It was like a blow to all his senses, and as much as it was fun, Loki was starting to worry about his ability to ever walk out of that bathtub again. He certainly wouldn't attempt such an insanity now, with you weighing him down, so comfortably settled on his lap that you felt like an integral part of him.

Loki tried, and failed, to convince himself it wasn't an excuse, and a pathetic one too.

"Do you think we're gonna get in trouble?" You asked, as if you knew you were on his mind.

"As petty as Odin is, I don't think he's going to execute us for stealing some alcohol…"

"I meant the stuff Thor was talking about. We kinda messed up the Moon, didn’t we?"

Loki hummed in a way that was definitely not an answer. One of his hands roamed over your exposed back, enjoying the soft curve and warm skin. The other stirred the water, making the soap bubble again and the temperature stay unchanged. Loki had to concentrate more than usual, which was partly because of the amount of alcohol consumed, and partly because his mind was slowly drifting away on soft tendrils of sleep.

"No one knows you there, and I wore my brother's face," Loki finally murmured, leaning his head back. "It'll be fine."

It, unfortunately, didn't know about those predictions, which was why It was interrupted by a certain boy's voice.

"Hey guys, are you okay?" Peter asked from the other side of the door, having let himself into the apartment. Again.

Loki groaned, even as he could feel your smile pressed to his chest.

"We're fine," he said, louder than necessary. He winced as the sound seemed to erode his skull.

"What about Barbara, though?" Peter was insistent. "She's scratching at the window from the outside… and I think she wants those pickles from the table?"

"You locked her outside?" You hissed, trying to look at Loki's completely innocent face, but the sudden movement only resulted in the world tilting to the side dangerously fast.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I love that bird dearly." Louder, he said to the boy, "She's only allowed to eat them outside!"

"Okay!" The answer was quick and cheerful and mercifully moving away as the boy grabbed the open jar and went outside.

Loki took a deep breath. The blessed silence once again enveloped the apartment. Through the cloud pressing on his hazy thoughts, Loki considered locking the apartment altogether.

Another chilled bottle appeared in his hand, delightfully full and heavy. As much as he had tried to get drunk on Earth's alcohol, only the Asgardian kind seemed to do the job.

The drink burned his throat in precisely the manner he needed. It'd been so long since the two of you had a moment to yourself and could just relax without worrying about a thousand responsibilities. On most days, Loki enjoyed the kind of life he had somehow managed to secure himself. If he decided to be honest, Loki was still rather uncertain how it had happened.

The long, curvy, and annoyingly labyrinthine road that started on the day the Avengers had decided to put him under your wing somehow ended up leading him to where he was now. Not literally, of course - as much as he loved the grand bathtub he had insisted on, Loki had in mind something grander spiritually. A place of comfort, but without the boundaries of a physical space bound to certain conditions and limitations.

A home, but only if it could be a person.

Loki supposed it could. Even as he drank again from the bottle, mudding his thoughts further, the philosophical conclusions he came to still felt right.

Revelations such as these were worthy of sharing, lest they might be forever lost in one's memory. Loki wanted to share the wisdom granted to him by the unholy amount of Asgardian cider, but he had found you plastered to his chest, asleep. And drooling.

Loki made sure the water didn't run cold as he too decided to join you in the dreams' escape. The quiet popping of the soap bubbles and the lavender scent hanging in the air lulled him quickly into a state of complete and utter comfort…

"Brother, where are you hiding?

…from which a rather brutish, and definitely unwelcome voice dragged him away.

Loki started. The contents of a forgotten bottle escaped into the water.

As the heavy steps sounded outside of the bathroom, it was clear the apartment was being searched through again.

You swore. Loki agreed.

"I'm going to," he hiccuped, "change him into a frog."

"Barbara would devour him whole."

"Let them fight. He always prided himself to be a warrior."

Fortunately for Thor, even though he was not aware of the small mercy of the universe, Loki found himself too drunk to act on his words, despite his best attempts at conjuring the transformative spell.

But when his brother's thudding steps neared the bathroom again, with clear intent of dragging Loki out in whatever state he was, Loki was forced to make a very dire decision very quickly, or lest his quiet evening suffer a bitter end.

So Loki did what he had always done best, and spiced the world up with a tiny little trick.

You heard Thor approach the door, but you didn't have it in you to move and at least cover yourself up. The doorknob twisted and you heard it very well through the slight creak it always gave. Then you heard the door open - but it didn't.

Living in an apartment complex had its perks, and being able to hear your neighbors on occasion certainly wasn't one. Still, your gaze turned up when you heard a high-pitched scream and Thor's booming voice coming from the apartment above yours.

"He's going to kill you for that," you said.

"Given the vigor with which he was looking for me, I think he had a hefty list of reasons prepared already."

"That's fair."

As all good things have in common, they always come to a saddening end when you least expect them to. The conclusion that life was utterly unfair in its precipice was a natural one to come up with, even in the state of drunkenness.

"I think it's time for us to go," Loki sighed.

A groan escaped you when the world tilted to the side. Getting out of the bathtub while completely, embarrassingly drunk was a feat that almost resulted in one broken neck and three broken limbs, but somehow both of you managed to scramble your way out. While you searched for clothes that had an annoying habit of duplicating right in front of your eyes, Thor's roars of fury sounded clear through the many walls separating you.

You wondered if any of the neighbours would connect their unexpected guest to you.

You gave up on your search for the other sock and decided to only wear one. Trying to put it on was already hard as it was. "If you spelled all the doors in the building to lead astray, how are we getting out?"

"Don't worry," Loki hiccuped. "My brother dearest is too stupid to notice I didn't touch the windows."

You had never loved anything as much as you loved the walls in your apartment, their quiet support helping you get through the endless expanse of the living room. For reasons you elected to ignore, the swaying of the world only increased as you progressed, bumping into every single piece of furniture some idiot (most likely you the day before) had decided to put there.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you slurred when Loki opened the window, pickleless, owlless and impossibly high.

"Your intuition, my love, is right as always."

Loki managed to put his leg over the windowsill on the second try, which he deemed a great success. He also managed to get down on the other side with no life-threatening injuries, which was just as surprising.

His pride was short-lived when you tumbled down, knocking him off feet.

The few half-melted snowmen seemed to have a good laugh. The little garden was still winter-bare, and no grass cushioned the fall. Barbara, perched on top of Peter's head, hissed with obvious joy.

The boy blinked. "Are you...sneaking out?"

"No," Loki grunted in the same moment you said, "Yes."

Barbara ripped another pickle from the boy's hand. Life was short, especially after you died once, and there was only so much time she deemed worth looking at the two of you. She had far more pressing issues, like the impossibly narrow jar into which her head just wouldn't fit, and so left her reliant on the boy's nimble (and tasty) fingers.

"...are you sure?" The boy watched the two drunkards scramble to stand up.

"We're just out for a walk."

"A long one."

Glass broke upstairs, followed by raised voices and what was undeniably a string of curses.

Loki looked at you. You looked at Loki. Another Loki looked at you. Unable to choose which to make eye contact with, you squinted and the two Lokis merged together—damn you were never drinking again. There was no way all of you would sneak out in time.

Barbara ripped another pickle to shreds.

"Hey, Peter," you cooed sweetly. "Do you happen to know a quiet little place to lay low for a while, my darling?"

Peter, the darling, did.

*****

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for no chapter last week, my university is going to kill me with that graduation paper I have to work on and reasearch and realize how little do I actually know about the subject I have to get a 70-pages long paper done. Heh.

But don't worry, this story is slowly nearing its end, and even though I have little time to work on new chapters, I'm doing my best and hope you'll enjoy them. Well, my life's pretty busy right now, and it stresses me out, so I'm not sure how regular the updates will be, but I promise, I'm not giving up on this story. I'm so happy about all the support I have received for this story, and grateful for all the comments it got! Hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki imagine #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #marvel loki #I Love Loki #marvel #loki series

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

Text

predictions for yuumori s2 (as a manga reader)

No matter what happens, this is probably gonna end up aging badly, but i’m hyperfixating and I’ve decided to make it everyone else’s problem so I’m going to predict where they’re gonna go with s2 of moriarty the patriot (keep in mind i’m writing this as of episode 2) and what I think would be the ideal scenario, in the likely situation that this is the last season.

So we can tell a lot about what they’re going to cut/include from the opening and ending, and the first two episodes.

Observations/Conclusions:

-moneypenny and most likely von herder are gone, already evidenced by the first 2 episodes, which is :( but understandable bc there’s only so much space and they’re definitely cutting the arcs where they would be important

-so that means no moran backstory because duh, there’s a point in the backstory and i see value in it, moran slaps when he’s not being an ass lmao, but again, time constraints

-no matter what I can’t see them keeping in the like, child hunting thing 2 electric boogaloo, even tho it did further Fred’s and Louis’ characters, since they’ve previously cut out stuff considering them and. You know. That’s how it be.

-You can see they’re including jack the ripper arc (considering, jack is in the opening) and I have faith that they can downsize the arc without butchering it if they do it right. This is good that they’re keeping it in, considering it’s one of the... main arcs not involving milverton that advances the plot.

-Major thing we can tell is that, yeah, Milverton is nowhere to be seen. It seems like this would fuck things up bad since he’s like, the only kind of “main villain” we get here. But honestly? I agree with that. Fuck Milverton. He has no character or motivation and is like my one and only bone to pick with the manga. He’s just there to suck ass and create plot convenience?? I don’t like him and he never needed to be there if he wasn’t at least going to do something interesting. I support the anime cutting him.

-That DOES fuck over their ability to do the white knight arc, since, well, milverton is the cause of all of that. And this is the one thing I really don’t know what they’re going to do with that to connect jack the ripper directly to the final problem. I can’t predict that, but I do think there are ways it can be done that won’t be Awful.

-So considering that, Mary’s arc is definitely axed, which doesn’t bother me that much since by that point i so impatient for gay people and really didn’t care about watson’s fiance even tho she is a lovely lady. For anime effect, she does not need an arc, though I could see them having her show up a few times so watson doesn’t seem too gay either lmao.

-They’re definitely shooting to end with the final problem, considering without it there’s no big culminating event between moriarty and sherlock, which is obviously the big sell. And well. It’s. Um. The final problem.

The season says it’s slated to be 13 episodes, since s1 didn’t have enough time for 12. I honestly think they can manage it all, if they play their cards right.

Outlook:

This whole potential situation does sound familiar, I’ll point out that I just arrived here after the shit show of the promised neverland’s second season. But I don’t think it will get bad like tpn did. Because in Moriarty, they could afford to cut things because there are many stand alone and disposable arcs, whereas tpn really shouldn’t have, since they pretty much all contributed later to Major Main Character Plot Things. And the important points of the arcs that they’ll probably cut can actually be written into existing ones without looking like plot convenience, in my vision of it.

Honestly, I’m pretty optimistic for moriarty, it works better for this kind of adaption than in a lot of other manga that end up getting these most likely two season adaptions. I’d love to get those arcs for the servant’s and other character’s developments of course, but trying to stick that in when there’s really only time to focus on the main characters would suck up time better spent on really getting deep into the main storyline. Even if there are less characters, in a situation like this a streamlined and nuanced story will look elegant, whereas shoving as much content as possible into a few short episodes makes everyone cringe.

The situation does end up looking like the promised neverland, but it has a chance to be significantly less fucked considering,,, well,,, tpn is an insanely low bar, and they will hopefully not make the promised neverland’s same mistakes of Shove Seventeen Plotlines Into One Episode After Realizing Belatedly They Actually Needed Those Parts.

Obviously I don’t know what will happen, and this will be outdated by sunday lmao, but my projection looks something like this for 13 episodes to conclude the show.

Predictions:

(Episodes 1+2: A Scandal in the British Empire)

Episode 3: I’m very anxious for 3 considering this will probably make or break my opinion on the anime. Ideally, this episode would wrap up the scandal arc and go over the whole James Bond thing, it could be pretty baller and fit well into an episode. But though there’s plenty of Irene in the opening, there’s no sight of Bond, so considering anime as a whole is fucking transphobic, they might try to change it, twist around bond’s words or just, gloss over it altogether. If they cut it, they might have time to squeeze in another arc but I don’t think they honestly need to? With what they seem to be keeping in, they’ll have ample time to get to everything, and it would be shorter anyway considering the smaller amount of servants.

Here, we do definitely need to cover Sherlock’s “receiving the name of the lord of crime and deciding to burn it and find it out himself because he’s extra”, no matter the status of irene/bond’s gender. If they do that right and possibly change a few things so it’s more important, this could play into them moving forward his whole discovery of their secrets.

Episodes 4-7: These will most likely cover jack the ripper arc. There’s a lot to go over here, and I’m confident they can cut it down, because tbh Moriarty is pretty long winded for a manga and cutting things is good to an extent. This covers most of the major expansions on William’s ideas and plans, and definitely has the holes to stuff in more of the points made in the arcs that will be cut out. Though I have my reservations, they could plausibly take most points in white knight and integrate them into here.

Episodes 8-10: These are the ones that are going to take the most work and probably be the most changed. They should finish up the ripper arc in 7, give or take a few episodes, and then here, If Sherlock has a little more figured out from episode 3, he can look deeper. I think it’s honestly a good idea for the one to discover the Incriminating Records to be him, as it again gives them more connection. There needs to be some other reason Moriarty’s secrets are in danger of getting leaked to the paper, but I’m sure they can put something together with scotland yard or something, or even like, Mycroft. I see that. But if that happens, then we can spend an episode or so on the merchant of london, aka little liam commits girlboss, which can be woven into the idea of everything Coming Out.

Episodes 11-13: Final problem. I see this going mostly unchanged, up until 55. Truth is they’ll probably end up cutting something but hmm. I don’t know. They should keep the fred stuff in, since they’ll cut his other development. They should keep the squad asking sherlock for help, since they cut the other parts that highlight the crime squad’s care for him. But I think they could montage most of the William Goes French Revolution On You Hoes, even the part where the kids come in front of one of them, if you see what’s going on right. But everything can proceed as in the manga pretty smoothly, I think, it all makes sense if they put it together in 7-10. You know, you got somehow, the worst case happens, and boom, scandal, final problem enacted. Killing spree. William reveals he’s been emo this whole time but it’s too late now. Everyone scrambling to catch up with his damn plans. Gay boy knocking on 221B with a fucking love letter. Shit gets found out. And then... well, yuh.

Disclaimer I still don’t know everything about this, bc I cannot find a translation of 54, only the raw with no context, and I know there’s content after 55 but I can’t find that either. But I’m sure as hell an english major and can understand where things are probably going. I don’t know what’s involved at that point, and if there’s some plan detailed to save him or something. That’s the main thing I don’t know, and if there is one detailed of course that kind of changes everything, but for now I’m going on the assumption that 54 is “sherlock runs to the bridge and yells at liam to stop being a dramatic whore while london burns around them and the murder squad watches anxiously with mysterious intent, until it is chapter 55″. (IF Y’ALL HAVE THE ENGLISH PLEASE HMU) They better not TOUCH anything in 55 or so help me god.

But as to after 55, things are going to be different. Besties, I’m an optimist, but there’s no way they’ll make a season after this. It does appear that they’ve mostly wrapped up, and they’ve gotten through what Big Revals they plan on doing. The shit hinted from the beginning has happened, and there probably won’t be enough to create another, unless the author plans on fucking shit up again, which I don’t approve of. There are a few things still left unsaid, like, Liam’s real name and everything, but if it’s supposed to be important, things that small can 100 percent be written into this.

And as something that’s intending to finish up a story, depending on what manga canon really is (BESTIE I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS) they might change it. There’s two options, a bittersweet/hopeful and a tragic one, but either one will end up open ended, because of my extensive knowledge of 2 season animes with significantly longer mangas. (done badly: tokyo ghoul and tpn, done well: owari no seraph and mob psycho) Either we have it like well, oh damn, everything was destined to be Sad but well you’re with him now you’re probably dead, but you know there’s something hinted at and you don’t know for sure so that’s the catch. So you get a vague and bittersweet but possibly hopeful ending. OR something that takes,,, whatever ends up happening in the manga or whatever the plan is and turning it into an epilogue infodump.

I can see either going well depending on how they handle the messages of the story. But yeah, as far as to my extent of the understanding of the show, that’s how it’ll probably go, and what my opinion of how it should is.

To What Extent Will The Gay:

You know, this is my ideal scenario within these time limits, but you know they could always go The Wrong Direction if the anime team took a look at some of the later chapters and went “holy shit this is a bit too gay” and try to axe some of the sherliam content, which I wouldn’t put past any corporation.

In the case that they do, I see lot of good shit going. They’re clearly trying to do the final problem, so they obviously can’t cut out 55, which is good :). But though 55 is clearly, uh, really fucking homosexual, the most romantic shit goes down in 53, as far as I can tell? (keeping in mind i still haven’t found 54′s english version, if anyone would like to direct me to a translation, that would be LOVELY.) I unfortunately can see them cutting Liam’s letter almost entirely, and that kind of scares me.

You know, even if i’d hate and slander them for it, cutting out james bond would be something i would understand. But messing with sherliam would fuck them over, not just cause that would be awful, but like, because it’s like... kind of the main point.

So I’m not really too worried about them messing with it, mostly because the content itself is holding them at gunpoint, sherliam holds the whole plot structure in place, especially if you’re shooting for final problem. And even in the manga they never, like, actually say they’re in love with each other even tho historically gay lovers would probably call each other “friends” lmao so it’s not like they have to greenlight gay sex or anything lmao it’s just Very Romantic (No Homo)

And apart from that, yuumori has actually been pretty decent to the gays so far?? Damn shawty, they certainly haven’t toned down the gay yet and it’s clearly their main source of fans, and what they’ve decided to emphasize in both openings and a significant portion of the s2 ending. We’re all here for it, and they’re catering to it, so I can at least give you that.

#moriarty the patriot #yukoku no moriarty #rowan's hyperfixation essays #sherliam #Holy Shitte this is long #watch me find 54 and immediately change my stance on all of this #or something idk #watch this whole thing be irrelevant in half a week #HHHHHHHH #if it doesn't go exactly like this i will lose my mind lmao

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hoodwinkd1 · 3 years

Text

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 16

Ch 15 here.

Here it is! The final chapter!! So much love to all of you that have followed along with this story <3

Chapter 16: you are in love. true love.

Reality hit Eris in the face, harder than any bitch slap.

They hadn’t left his chambers for almost an entire day, legs tangled and words whispered over breakfast, lunch, dinner, and tea. Eris was ready to hand over his title and power for the opportunity to spend the rest of life like that, with no interruptions and no one around except for her.

Unfortunately, leaving the Court in the hands of someone random seemed ethically dubious and potentially problematic. Equally unfortunately, his stubborn mate loved her job and actually cared about her students. For both of these reasons, Eris found himself kissing Rhia goodbye on her doorstep just before midnight.

“Two whole days apart,” she teased, drawing patterns on his tunic with her finger. “How will we ever survive.”

Eris ducked to kiss her head. “You shouldn’t joke. I might die.”

He watched her lean against the door frame, remembering that neither of them had gotten enough sleep last night. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“I’d feel much better if you simply moved in,” Eris grumbled. They both froze. “Joking. That was definitely a joke.”

“You shouldn’t joke,” Rhia teased. “I might die. Leave, before I drag you upstairs and lock you in my room.”

Eris pouted. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. Good night.”

They exchanged one last kiss, so sweet and gentle that Eris’ heart broke and mended itself as their lips parted.

Although her absence ached, Eris had to admit that a full night of sleep called to him as soon as he winnowed back into his chambers. Rhia brought out so many wonderful qualities in him, but falling asleep during one of the countless meetings tomorrow might not reflect well on his leadership potential.

----

Water dripped from her hair, sliding down between her shoulder blades. Rhia knew she should grab her hair oils, knew she should comb out some of the remaining tangles, or she would regret it in a few hours. But his scent teased her, pulling her from the bathroom and into her bedroom.

Strange how she thought the days apart would drag on forever. She felt like it had only been a moment as her eyes scanned his body, hands behind his head and long legs draped across her bed.

“Take your time, love,” Eris smirked.

Rhia snapped her gaze back to his face. “What?”

Eris moved in a way that heated her blood. He sat up, arms coming down to cross his chest. His eyes flashed in a way that screamed predator, but for once, she was completely fine with being prey. “Stare at me for as a long as you want. I’ll wait patiently for you to finish.”

“Cheeky,” Rhia replied, a flush blooming from her cheeks and down her neck. She had never been more grateful for her dark skin, hiding the pink tinge that would have jumped out on a face as pale as her beloved’s. “You speak of patience; I’ll just have to test that out.”

She loosened her grip on the towel, letting it fall to the floor.

His reaction did not disappoint. She watched his pupils dilate as his eyes narrowed. Rhia bit her lip at how his pulse raced, one vein in his neck standing out in the most tempting manner.

“Stare as long as you wish.” Rhia took two steps backward, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I’ll wait.”

She turned around, making sure he wasn’t deprived of any view, before stepping fully into the bathroom and reaching above the sink for her favorite, lavender scented oil. As her body stretched, she counted to five in her head.

Rhia didn’t even get to three. Eris launched himself from the bed, appearing behind her so quickly she let out a giggle. He caught her eye in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. She took it for the question it was, giving him a quick nod and leaning back into his warmth. There was something so infuriatingly dirty about the feel of his soft pajamas against her naked skin.

Eris raised his hands slowly, letting them drift up and down her sides, raising goosebumps and her heartbeat. At the same time, he dropped his head to press light kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her spine, a million small points on her body.

Rhia set down the bottle of oil preemptively, knowing she was about one kiss from smashing it on the ground in a fit of passion.

“Hold on,” he murmured against her skin. “We can’t have your hair drying out tomorrow, can we?” He snatched it from her, pouring a small amount into his palm.

She groaned at the feeling of his hands in her hair. While his talented fingers felt like heaven, she really would prefer to feel them somewhere else.

“Oh? And where would that be?” Eris asked. She flushed again, realizing she’d spoken out loud. “Tell me what you want.”

Of course Eris was a talker in bed. He never managed to shut up normally, so Rhia should have seen this coming.

She turned in his arms, running her hands up his chest. Letting her lower back rest against the sink, she looked at him and tilted her head to the side in a silent challenge. “Touch me.”

Eris leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. “I am touching you.” His left hand drifted from her side to her stomach, tracing circles that never landed where she wanted him. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

She sighed against his mouth, savoring the warmth and safety of this moment. There was no fear, no bad memories, nothing dragging her from pleasure. “Lower.”

He complied, circling down to her hips, running his knuckles against them. “Good?”

She was good. Surprisingly good.

Suspiciously good.

“Yes.” She kissed his shoulder, right below his neck. His shirt would have to go soon. “Keep going.”

He moved his hand and ---

Rhia shot up, clutching the sheets around her. No longer in the bathroom, but back in her bed where she’d fallen asleep.

A fucking wet dream. Cauldron, Eris found new ways to make her feel like an adolescent even when he wasn’t around. And now she had to go through the next day and a half thinking about him, missing him even more than before.

-----

“Fuck,” Eris cursed, jumping out of bed and running into his closet. “Fuckity, fucking fuck.”

He was running late. So late that he would have no time to plan out his outfit, brush his hair, eat some damn breakfast, or shower. And as much as he wanted to do all those things, he actually needed that shower right now.

Preferably a cold one.

While he usually prided himself on his body’s exceptionally accurate clock, rarely relying on alarms or servants to wake up on time, his stupid brain had kept him unconscious this morning. All because of a stupid dream.

“You’re a dirty pervert,” Eris growled to himself, grabbing a boring black suit that felt like something Rhysand would wear. Thinking of the Night Court calmed down his burning desire, at least for the moment.

His imagination had played a glorious scene for him, ending with him taking Rhia on the large countertop in his bathroom. Eris shoved the image of her out of his head, head back against the mirror as her back arched towards him, scrambling for some semblance of control as he stalked to his first meeting.

He’d dealt with frustration before, but nothing comparable to this. Eris hadn’t wanted to think about her in that way since their night together. She had set a clear boundary, one that he would never dream of crossing, even in his own head.

Except he literally did dream of crossing it. Eris snarled under his breath as he strode into the chamber, covering up his shame and anger with a mask of disdain. The group of merchants waiting for his arrival had done nothing to earn his ire yet, but the elitist males certainly deserved it.

“My Lord.” One of the eldest Fae at the table, Cephalus, greeted him as the rest of the guests stood and bowed quickly. “I hope you can forgive us for beginning the meal without you.”

Eris couldn’t have cared less about breakfast. “Fine. What business?”

Cephalus waited until Eris sat at the head of the table. “We’ve completed an inventory of the remaining, undamaged farmlands across the territory. While the designated areas for livestock and wheat can produce sufficient levels of product, we have sustained heavy losses in the Eastern regions by the coast.” He paused for a moment.

“Must I sit through an agricultural lesson?” Eris snarked, summoning a mug of coffee. “Get to the point.”

The old Fae held his tongue, although irritation danced across his face. Cephalus nodded to the male sitting directly on his right, someone Eris had never had the displeasure of meeting.

“We’ve created a list of produce that will be affected,” the stranger continued, his voice pitchy with nerves. “As well as other areas that might work as replacements while farmers heal the land.” He held up a long roll of parchment, eyes downcast.

Eris snatched it from him. His eyes scanned the list quickly, groaning internally. Based on the mention of grapes and barley, most of his favorite alcohols were in danger of becoming rare commodities. “Have you spoken with anyone from these towns? Or my Treasury?”

Cephalus leaned forward. “The Treasury has sent over some preliminary budgets that you may review, but I believe are reasonable.” He paused then, tilting his head. “What would we need to speak to the towns about?”

“Taking over their land.” Eris sipped his coffee. Lukewarm. He sent a shiver of flame across the ceramic. “Have you even checked if the land is available?”

The male from earlier finally looked Eris in the eye. “We already checked for any buildings or development. The land is clear.”

He’d heard enough. These merchants were either stupid or simply had their heads shoved up their asses. “Let me rephrase. Until you have explicit permission from the members of the town to use their land and a fair agreement that reinvests profits into whatever they desire, you may not move forward with agricultural efforts.”

Cephalus cleared his throat. “If I may, that process might take too long. The land is currently serving no purpose and--”

Eris held a hand up. “I didn’t ask. Nothing on this list is essential enough to warrant stealing. If you’re worried about timing, make the agreements extremely favorable to the people living there.”

He grabbed the second list, the one with the list of towns, and held it up to the group. “Surely between the seven of you, someone must have travelled to each of these places before. Go back, or invite a representative to meet here.”

The male from before failed to hide his displeasure at Eris’ command, likely anticipating the additional work these negotiations would require. Eris really didn’t care. The merchant class had flourished under Beron’s rule at the expense of the other Autumn citizens, taking what they pleased and enforcing bullshit agreements that stole resources from small villages.

He finished the meeting after addressing some of the others’ concerns, working on a plan to upgrade the Navy’s presence on the Eastern Coast to protect continental traders from various threats.

Gerwin waited for him in the hall outside. He fell in step as Eris took off towards the training rooms, eager to work off the tension that had been building since the moment he woke up.

“Who was that dark-haired male with Cephalus?” Eris asked.

Gerwin glanced over his shoulder. “Jarod something. He claims his father worked with Beron before dying during Am--, during her reign, as the head of several Royal vineyards. Jyn looked into him and a couple other new faces when they claimed leadership roles.”

“So he’s clean?”

Gerwin snorted. “Would you care either way?”

Eris scowled. “He just pisses me off with his elitism. Probably overly pretentious about wine. too.”

“You’re pretentious about wine,” Gerwin remarked. They’d reached the training ring and began to arm themselves for a proper spar.

Eris chuckled, remembering his conversation with Sofi and Rhia a few weeks ago. “Maybe I’ll test his knowledge.”

“Try him for treason if his wines aren’t up to standard.” Gerwin tossed him a practice blade. “Let’s see how that pretentiousness holds up in battle, huh?”

---

Somehow, Rhia survived another night of scandalous dreams and waking up to a frustratingly empty bed. Her mind and body seemed to be at war with one another, pushing her on a nauseating pendulum between wanting Eris and despising physical touch.

Not all physical touch, though. Really, Rhia just wanted to have him in her arms again. She had called herself all sorts of names, a sap, a clinger, a cliché mate. Sofi had laughed, asking if Rhia would let her cynicism get in the way of her heart.

So although it felt fast and Rhia felt pathetic, she resolved to have a conversation with Eris the moment he arrived in her kitchen that night. The conversation. The moment he arrived.

“I’m moving in.”

She probably should’ve started with “hello”. At her words, Eris’ eyes widened and he coughed on air.

Rhia smiled sheepishly, holding her hand out to take his coat. “Sorry. Hello, how was your day?”

“No, no let’s go back a second,” Eris insisted. “What did you say?”

“Give me your coat and let’s sit like civilized Fae.” Rhia held her hand out further, waiting until he complied.

He watched her hang it up as he sat himself at the table. “Is this a tea or a wine conversation?”

“Wine. Definitely wine.”

Eris magicked a bottle onto the table. “I’ve been told I’m a bit pretentious, but I do believe that tonight deserves an especially good bottle. Now please, put me out of my misery and repeat what you said.”

Rhia scrunched her nose. “I think I’d like to move into the palace. Part time, at first.” She waited for those words to sink in, focusing her gaze on the two glasses filled with red liquid.

“And?” Eris prompted.

“And what? Do you approve?”

He laughed. “Of course I approve. I thought I made it very clear that I’d prefer to never leave your side ever again.” They both took a sip, and he continued. “What changed your mind? Are you sure you want to leave this place?”

“It wouldn’t be permanent, not at first.” Rhia swirled the wine, once, twice. “I wouldn’t do that to my students. But I thought about my life, and I want to do something risky for the first time in awhile.” She looked at him, smiling at how much better she felt simply looking at him. “I want to build a life with you, with your people, in the capital.”

“As much as I love to hear that, the burden shouldn’t be entirely on you,” Eris replied. “Just because I’m High Lord--”

Rhia interrupted. “Yes, it should be. But not because you’re High Lord. Eris, you’ve fought and bled for your role, and I see how hard you work now to make this Court a safer place. I want to do that with you.” Her hands shook with emotion as she reached out to take his. “Whatever reason the Cauldron had, I’d like to believe that it made me your mate to help you. I love this town and these people, but it’s not enough for me, not when I know how much good I can do for thousands of others.”

“This Court doesn’t deserve you.” He squeezed her fingers. “I obviously do not deserve you.”

“Eris--”

He held one finger up. “I’m not stupid. I’ll take all the help I can get, especially if it keeps you in my life. I just- I never imagined we could get here.”

She steadfastly ignored the tears that threatened to show. “And where is here?”

“I have a partner.” The wine lay forgotten as he gripped both her hands. “I never thought you would even consider speaking to me, and now you wish to live with me, work with me.”

“And love you,” she added. “Don’t forget that.”

Tears began to fall on both of their faces, but neither moved to wipe them away, unwilling to let go. The moment seemed to echo, across time and space, putting together all the pieces of their relationship that they had spent so long building. All of the truths, all of the sacrifices, all of the pain lined up to form a picture Rhia could now see, like a painting that only made sense once you took a step backwards.

“I accept the bond. I accept you .”

There was no exchanging of food. There was no shift into primal protectiveness. And there was certainly no lust-driven madness.

But there was a bridge. There were golden strings of light and music and joy that pulled her towards him, a stronger pull than gravity.

Eris let out a sigh and a shudder and a wave of warm emotions that Rhia could taste. “I’m going to kiss you now. And possibly never stop.”

As he shoved his chair out of the way, Rhia stood to meet him. As their lips touched, she opened for him completely.

As the bond permanently snapped into place, she let go of her fears that they would never progress physically and she would always remain broken. None of it mattered, not when the cruelest prince of Autumn found a way to love her so fully.

------

thank you for reading!

tag list: @moonbeamfenrys @qamariana

#acotar #eris vanserra #acosf #sjm #idiots in love #eris #autumn court

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 3 years

Note

"Vampire landlord" Do with that what you will :)

Ahhh! I love this and I love you for sending it! I think I have an answer for you now, actually!! Remember way back when you actually sent me Seeds Of Unrest and I did that whole Edge x OFC x Christian thing? Well, hello to Yvette, Edge and Christian again.. This is kind of a newer / fresher look at it? I think we kinda.. danced around these three and this at some point on Discord and our talks actually inspired me to write this out for your answer. So.. Yeah.

There’s not really anything steamy here, just uh.. Heavy tension. That’s all.

Warnings:

Nothing, really.. Bear in mind that this is a vampire!edge & wolf!omega original character work, so things might... possibly.. get weird. Not in the sexual sense or anything, but like.. yes. Just weird. IE... The brood is portrayed here as an actual family coven of vampires.. And Luna is in a partnership with Gangrel.. And they’ve taken Edge and Christian in as their sons.. So it’s very much also a found family idea that I’ve had in mind for a while but never the guts to truly write..

Oh, wait.. yeah.. There are heavy hints that Orton is involved in this little tale somewhere, sooner or later... And it ends on a bit of a random cliffhanger, sorry!!

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting

@writertoo18

@thatnerdwriter

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif

@sassymox

@heelchampbucks

@hungmanhorsecarriage

@wardl0w

@ryantaylorgirl

@dilfmoxley

@hotyeehawman

@gabbynorth98

@bec0m

@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

@daddyslittlevillain

@andie01

@littlemsbliss06

@jayswhites

@ghoulsworld

@uncrownedmox

@gothcerulli

@linziland13

It was a little after 9 pm.

That feeling of unease hadn’t worn off. I kept telling myself that Randy wouldn’t dare cross over to the vampire side of town. But deep down, knowing how insane Randy could be at times… I couldn’t entirely convince myself he wouldn’t if he didn’t want something bad enough.

Three sharp raps at the door of the little house had me jumping at least two feet into the air and scrambling for an old wooden bat that leaned against the door.

Something Luna’s son brought over just when it started to get dark.

I could almost hear the dry tone to his voice then as he’d told me “If you won’t take a gun or keep a silver blade on you…” when he left it behind earlier.

Tiptoeing towards the window, I found myself peering through cheery red curtains and out into the darkness. In the distance, I could hear a lone howl and that had me tensing all over. The air felt heavy.

I was doing it again, letting my own fears get to me.

“The Alphas of our kind don’t typically come here. He isn’t lurking in the shadows. I need to get a grip.” I muttered it to myself, mostly to break the tension.

The door was being knocked on harder now.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hand shaking so bad I barely kept a hold of the wooden bat as I stepped towards it.

Sniffing the air had my body relaxing only slightly. It wasn’t the pungent and overpowering aroma of Randal or any of his pack mates come to steal me away in the darkness and drag me back to hell kicking and screaming that awaited me on the other side of the door.

Instead, I smelled old leather. Traces of copper that indicated that the surly man with the long blond locks who stood on the stoop must have just returned from either the blood bank or scouring the woods that lined the edge of the town square for deer or any other sort of game he could find.

It’s how they fed, Luna told me once. She never told me why and I never asked.

“Edge?” I questioned, my back pressed as heavily as I could get against the front door to the house until I was absolutely sure it was him and I wasn’t picking up on residual from his visit earlier in the evening.

“Yeah.” he answered.

I turned to face the door and took a few long and deep breaths to pull myself together. The bat fell to the parquet flooring with a quiet thud that seemed to echo all around the room and I rose to tiptoe, peering through the small pane of glass at the top of the door.

I wasn’t taking any chances.

I knew I was safer here than I was on my side of town, but… I also knew just how calculating and ruthless Randal could be when he set his sights on something and got an idea in his head. I knew that mimicking scents wasn’t below him. Neither was doing something to potentially harm Luna and her family, then using one of them to gain entry to the house I was currently hidden in.

If he really wanted to find me, a silly little thing like unspoken boundaries and code of conduct weren’t going to stop him. Not that he’d ever had a code of conduct to begin with. Or common decency, anything like that.

,,to be fair it didn’t stop you when you chose to go into hiding here, did it? You’re really only as safe as you choose to believe you are at any given moment. You know you’re putting Luna and her family at risk simply by being here. You know that sooner or later, Randal will find you. He is a monster, after all.” the reminder came just as Edge knocked a few more times, impatient.

“Just a second.” I finally managed to get the words out. I reached for the door knob and unlocked that, then I unlocked all 3 of the chain locks on the door and opened it just a slip, standing in it.

Edge stared down at me, arms folded over his chest. His eyes settled on the fallen bat nearby and he gave a dry chuckle.

“Is there something wrong?” I tilted my head slightly to gaze up at him, shuffling my feet.

My heart started to pound. I was all too well aware of the tension that radiated off of his body and I knew exactly why. Working with Luna meant I got to hear things now and then. One of those things being Edge’s struggle with going to donor blood or animal blood.

I don’t know why, exactly, but I found myself wondering whether my blood smelled weird to him. I’d been working with Luna for over a year now and I still hadn’t grown accustomed to the scent of her if I were being perfectly honest. And being on this side of town…

The scent of death. Old and new. It mingled heavily in the air.

I wasn’t used to it at all. I’m not sure I’ll ever be used to it.

Edge’s teeth snagged on his lower lip and he cleared his throat, again, a sign of impatience.

“Luna sent me over for tonight.” he explained as he nodded to the room behind me, indicating that he wanted to come inside. I swallowed hard and eyed him, shaking my head.

,, He’s not a threat to you… At least not in the way Randal would be right now.” the thought lingered and while I knew that, there was also this lingering air of danger and mystery that seemed to roll right off the man standing in front of me.

He left me unsettled.

I couldn’t figure out whether that was a good thing or a bad one, either…

After the tension seemed to get thicker to a point where I found myself breathing erratically, I stepped aside and let him into the living room. Edge shut the door behind him and sank down onto the sofa.

I sat down at the other end. Very careful not to invade his space.

The dim glow of the television set filled the room and silence seemed to settle in until he spoke up again.

“Luna had a bad feeling. Thinks you’re in danger.” Edge explained, almost immediately falling silent again. A thoughtful look on his face. I didn’t dare ask what was on his mind. I didn’t dare say what was on mine, either. But the thought was weighing down on me heavily.

,, Oh, I’m in danger alright.. In danger of crawling right out of my damn skin at any second because I can feel my heat beginning. Thank god I have my suppressant patches and I got away from my side of town in time...” just the mere thought had my face burning hot and I didn’t dare meet his gaze. I cleared my throat and spoke up.

I got the distinct feeling that I probably didn’t want to hear his answer, but I knew I had to ask. I had to know if Luna had been feeling off all day too.

“Did she happen to mention why, exactly?” I asked the question in a series of shaky breaths.

My heart pounded harder against my chest. My mind filled and spun with the possibilities. Had Randal and his pack mates found out where I currently hid?

Edge eyed me and shrugged. “All she told me was that she felt like you were in danger tonight.”

I couldn’t help but stare at him out of the corner of my eyes. Studying him intently, searching for any possible hint whether I’d just caused problems for Luna and her family. Edge’s chuckle drew me out of my thoughtful daze.

“What?”

“You. You do realize if we wanted you dead or if we wanted to turn you, you’d be one of us or dead already, right?” Edge shrugged as he mentioned it.

I nodded. Dragging my hands through my hair, I spoke up quietly.

“It’s not so much you guys as it is… The threat me being here poses to you all.” I fell silent, grumbling to myself and pouting a little when Edge nearly doubled over, laughter so hard that he shook a little.

He stopped and the laughter died away. His eyes roamed over me slowly. Carefully.

I tensed and gulped under his gaze. If I thought my cheeks burned hot before, they burned so much hotter now under the gaze. He was moving closer to me.

“You really think we can’t handle a pack of mangy animals?” Edge asked the question as he shook his head in amused disbelief.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I…” I stammered, nervous. Getting more nervous with each second that passed. Because he seemed to get closer.

Sitting taller.

My eyes left his and settled on his mouth. The faintest hint of blood at the corners of his mouth a very real warning of the danger he was to me.

But the animal within didn’t seem to care.

She felt amused. Satisfied. Curious. And oh so dangerously attracted to the vampire sitting to my left. ,, almost as equally attracted as she was to his brother, who’d come by earlier, right after he left the first time..” the knowledge of this had me curious. Wondering what was up with that. Telling myself that it was probably just purely physical.. But knowing that was wrong because for whatever reason... I felt this.. Pull... to both men.

I realized that Edge wasn’t the only one moving closer around the same time that the side of my leg brushed against his and the door was being knocked on, yet again. Edge raised a finger to his lips and muttered quietly, “Shhh. Don’t move. Stay put.” as he got up and strode over towards the door.

I tensed even more.

Not that I’d ever fully felt the tension leave my body. Just changing… From one form of tension to another.

I watched that front door like my life depended on it, only letting out a few long and ragged breaths when Luna’s other son Cristian stepped into the room.

And while I may have relaxed slightly, I was still in control of myself enough to know that either way I sliced things currently, I was still in danger.

,, but you’re safer here in this little house on this side of town than you are on your own. Here, you have freedom. You’re not just some little breeder who is frowned upon because she stubbornly refuses to breed with the first Alpha to pay her a passing glance… ”

If that Alpha had been anyone other than Randal Orton, I may well have caved in.

Cristian cleared his throat and flashed me that megawatt grin, immediately flopping down on the right end of the couch after walking into the living room. He sprawled out, an arm going around the back of the couch lazily.

“Looks like you’re stuck with two stiffs tonight, princess.” Cristian teased, giving me a playful little wink as he held my gaze for more than a few seconds. I couldn’t help but stare right back at the man.

Edge grumbled to himself but flopped down onto the other side of the couch. I tried to focus on the television, on anything but the… sheer magnets pull I felt to both brothers.

I could feel the two glaring daggers at each other over my head and on more than one occasion, I almost spoke up about it.

“Blondie here thinks we’re afraid of a few little mangy mutt assholes, Cris.” Edge chuckled, a teasing look when those almost golden brown eyes locked on me. I shifted around in my spot between the two of them.

“I never said that.”

“You did. I mean, kind of.” Edge explained, chuckling in amusement.

I needed to catch my breath. Pull myself together. Cristian’s hand brushed against my shoulder and the touch felt like an icy jolt. His arm remained around me, pulling me into his side just a little more, brazenly.

Edge’s leg was pressed against the side of mine and that jolt only doubled. And if I thought Christian were being more brazen and the bigger flirt, I was mistaken, because Edge’s hand settled on my leg, giving a squeeze almost playfully.

I pulled myself off the sofa and spoke up.

“Popcorn. I think I’m going to go get myself some from the kitchen… Yeah… that’s what I’m gonna do.”

And as soon as I said it, I hurried out of the room as fast as my feet would carry me. I needed to pull myself together. Catch my breath. I couldn’t even think straight between the two handsome men... And that in itself was a very, very dangerous thing right now.

#schizoauthoress #edge fanfiction #christian fanfiction #edge fanfic #christian fanfic #christian imagine #edge imagine #christian imagines #edge imagines #my writing ; christian #my writing ; edge #my fics ; christian #my fanfiction ; christian #my fanfiction ; edge #my fics ; edge #my drabbles / blurbs ; edge #my drabbles / blurbs ; christian #// i know this isn't short enough to be a drabble lmaooo.#i don't really know what else to call it

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allegra-writes · 4 years

Text

"Fine line" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent! Reader x Harry Osborn

Teen and Up

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Part of the "Fine Line" series. Welcome to the endgame.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

He had never seen you fight before. It was stupid of him, and potentially dangerous, to stop and think about something like that in the middle of a freaking battle, but he just couldn't help it. You were graceful, deadly. You and Kate Bishop moving together like a well oiled machine. Strike team Delta, Fury's pride. A blur of perfectly shot arrows and high kicks.

But not even you were enough to stop the giant monstrosity in its path of destruction, not even him was. And it had hostages now.

"Six!"

"I know K, I'm seeing it!"

"I'm on it guys!" Peter called back as he swung by you like a red and blue meteor, following the greenish abomination currently climbing up the side of a skyscraper, carrying a sports car on his free hand as effortlessly as if it was a toy.

"One little question though" He switched to coms, "What the hell is that thing??"

"That thing" You explained, "is Norman Osborn…"

Peter's hand slipped, sending him flying face first into the building wall,

"Say what?!"

"We'll fill you up later, Spidey" Kate quipped, "For now, would you mind giving us a hand before King-kong over there kills anyone? I don't trust his butter fingers not to drop that Audi"

"Yes, ma'am" You could hear Peter's smile in his voice, "S.H.I.E.L.D girls are so bossy"

"Well, we are your superiors..." You noted, finally arriving at the entrance of the building when he was already halfway to the top.

"Ugh, I hate it when you pull rank on me" He groaned, swerving to dodge the shards of broken glass raining upon him.

You snorted,

"No you don't"

"No, I don't" He admitted, "Kinda turns me on"

"Ew! Guys, I can hear you" Kate catched up to you, shooting an arrow hooked to a line around her belt. Peter wasn't surprised to see it hit its mark flawlessly on a ledge above his head, "Hi, hot stuff, need a ride?"

You rolled your eyes, but wrapped your arms around her shoulders nonetheless, holding on tight.

"Hey!" Peter protested, mid swing, "No flirting with my girl!"

"I saw her first!" Kate released the latch, and soon you both were ascending at breakneck speed, easily surpassing Peter, "Race you to the top, Spidey!"

His laughter resonated through the coms, as he sped up to follow you, guns blazing into the battle.

…

There was no laughter anymore. The friendly banter and quick comebacks had died long ago, the second you had realized it was a trap. The goblin creature was far more intelligent than you were led to believe, having set the ploy from the very beginning, his seemingly driftless rampage through the city, not so random after all.

And far more psychotic, as you had learnt when he tore open the car in his hands to reveal the terrified blond man inside.

"HARRY!"

Peter's horrified scream matched your own.

"Well well well, it seems you awake quite the loyalty" a massive hand closed around Harry's torso, his indigo orbs finding yours across the rooftop "for such a pathetic little worm"

"Let him go, Goblin" Kate's tone was placating, almost gentle, "you don't know what you're doing…"

The creature laughed,

"That's what you think? What your imbecilic little investigation concluded?" Kate and you exchanged a look. Of course. Your investigation about the Green Goblin and other Oscorp shady experiments relied heavily on Norman Osborn personal files. The thought of the passionate scientist, who valued his work more than his own son, lying in his own research had never even crossed your minds. He had played you like a fiddle, misled you every step of the way, and you had bought right into it.

"I worked with S.H.I.E.L.D longer than you had been alive, and Fury thinks he can sic you after me? Two little girls playing spy and my own creation??" Harry looked about ready to pass out as the Goblin waved him around, gesticulating with his hands as he spoke.

Through the corner of his eye, Peter caught a glimpse of Kate inching closer to the beast, and was only half interested when he inquired,

"What do you mean your creation?"

"Everything special about you," The Goblin's deformed visage twisted in what Peter assumed was supposed to be a smirk, "came from one of my labs!"

"That might be true, you might have involuntarily given me my powers, but you didn't make me Spider-man" Peter countered, "Mister Stark gave me the suit, and showed me what it meant to be a hero, and I loved him and admire him more than you will ever be able to understand, but he didn't make me Spider-man either.

I choose to be Spider-man, every day. I created myself, cause it isn't who we were made to be that makes us who we are. Our choices make us who we are! You might have the powers and appearance of a monster, but you don't have to be one!"

"If you really think that, you are even more stupid than I thought, Peter Parker"

"Pe-peter?" Harry gasped through the creatures crushing grasp around his torso. Peter hesitated for a second, before taking his mask off.

"Yeah, it's me, buddy" He admitted, watching his friend's eyes go wide, "It's going to be ok, Haz. We'll get you out of this, I promise…"

Famous last words. Peter should have known better by then than to jinx things like that. Because not two minutes later, he was seeing Kate's little ambush fail, the creature's tail whipping around with enough force to send her flying against a wall and knock her out, Peter's own kick just a little too slow to stop the Goblin from grabbing you in his free hand.

"Wings? It has fucking wings??" Peter cursed under his breath, scrambling to follow the monster as he flapped his enormous, membranous wings, soaring across the city. But the creature had no intention of going too far.

"You say our choices make us who we are, very well" The Goblin challenged him, hovering above 700 feet of empty air, and Peter's heart stopped. "Let's see what yours are. What is it going to be, your friend… or your lover?"

"Don't do it, Goblin!" He yelled, standing on a ledge, ready to pounce, when he saw it. Or rather, saw her, purple hair blowing in the wind, standing on the air, a little lower and further behind from the Goblin, one palm pointed down, creating some sort of sonic wave that kept her up. She signaled a series of orders with her free hand, and Peter nodded almost imperceptibly, but enough for you to realize something was happening. You twisted in the Goblins grip to see what was going on at your back. Oh, fuck.

"Make your choice, Peter. Now!"

Norman Osborn let go of you and Harry at the same time, leaving you to watch your boyfriend dive for your ex. But you weren't falling, you were floating, cushioned by a column of vibrating air.

"Don't worry, rookie," You heard an annoyingly familiar voice say, "big sis is here…"

Great. You were never going to live this down, now.

Meanwhile, Peter had problems of his own, the momentum the Goblin had thrown his own son away making it difficult for him to catch Harry on time.

And even after he had the other man safe in his arms, he wouldn't stop squirming, fighting in his hold.

"Noooo! Go after her! Save her!!"

Peter managed to land the both of them in a terrace,

"She's ok! She's fine, see? She's got this! She's got this…" Peter finally released Harry, pointing up to the place where you still were hovering in the air with that other agent.

"She… she's… flying?"

"I think that is actually the other one's making…" Peter shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. Harry started pacing back and forth, obviously overwhelmed, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

"And you're Spider-man…" he turned to Peter, who nodded. "And that thing… what the fuck was that thing?"

Peter hesitated,

"Apparently, a crazy scientist" he finally decided on a half truth.

"A crazy… Mate, what even is your life?"

"Honestly? I've been asking myself that same question for years…"

Harry barked out a watery, hysterical laugh. He wanted to punch the shorter guy, he wanted to throw himself at his feet and thank him for saving his life. To apologize for all the drunken midnight calls, and also stab him in his boyishly handsome face for being so fucking noble and heroic and brave and impossibly perfect and for stealing his girl.

He clutched as his chest, the burn almost making him double over in pain, and he realized he was hyperventilating.

"Harry, Harry, look at me. Look at me! Do you feel my chest? Can you feel my chest under your hand?"

Harry noticed then that Peter was pressing his open palm, splayed against the spider logo on his own chest. He nodded his affirmation.

"Good, feel how it moves? Breath with me" Peter ordered, "inhale…"

Harry breathed in, in time with his friend's expanding chest.

"Now exhale"

Harry let go of his breath.

"That's right, you're doing so great" Peter's praise warmed up something inside his gut. "Inhale…" and Harry did, catching a faint whiff of your perfume. Peter smelled like you, the realization making him notice just how close to each other they were, only inches apart. And he wondered idly if that was the view you were used to, the one you favored over everything else: warm brown eyes, staring into your soul, right before leaning in. He wondered if you appreciated those hard, muscular shoulders under your hands, before pulling him close. He wondered if Peter's lips still tasted like you.

And before he knew it, Peter found himself with Harry's mouth crashing on his.

He knew he should stop it, step away, but he was rooted to the spot, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught of sensations. It was different from kissing a girl. Hard planes where he was used to soft curves. The tickle of scruff, and slightly chapped lips where he was used to your strawberry sweet lipstick. But as Harry's tongue licked his bottom lip, begging for entrance, Peter couldn't help but open up to him, to surrender to him, as his tongue conquered every inch of Peter's mouth, a greddy, hungry victor.

"I hate you so much" Harry breathed against Peter's mouth, even as his big hands came to frame the brunet's face, the metal of his finger rings cool against Peter's cheeks

"Doesn't feel like hate…" He quipped, before scraping his teeth against Harry's lips, tearing a moan out of him.

"No, it doesn't" the taller boy admitted, pushing one thigh between Peter's, gasping as he felt one of the hero's hands coming to rest against his lower back, pressing him closer.

"You taste like cigarettes" Peter marveled, for some reason finding the bittersweet taste delicious.

"And you taste like her" Harry replied, diving in again.

Peter froze. Her. You. His girlfriend.

"Harry… Harry stop" Peter muttered, between nibbles "we need to stop. This is wrong"

"Feels right" The heir protested, teeth latching onto Peter's lower lip to stop him from pulling away. Peter groaned, but managed to break the kiss anyway.

"It's not. We can't do this to her."

Harry sighed, resting his forehead against Peter's, still reluctant to let go completely,

"I know…" he admitted.

They stood like that for a few moments, willing breathings to calm, and hearts to slow down.

"You should go" Harry spoke finally, taking a step back, Peter immediately missing the warmth of his body in his arms. He wanted to say something, anything, to chase away the heartbreak, the loneliness in those pale blue eyes, but he couldn't. The knot in his own throat would not allow it.

So he just stepped away, slipping his mask on, and jumped. He caught a glimpse of Harry's teary, red face, sticking out from the balcony to watch him go, before shooting off a web and swinging away, back to the skyscraper where Kate had fallen. Because if he knew you at all, that was exactly where you were going to be, taking care of your best friend.

…

"...I'm telling you, I had everything under control!"

"Is that why you were hanging 700 feet in the air?" The purple haired girl argued, crossing her arms over her chest, "Admit it, rookie, you're lucky I arrived just in time to save your ass. Again."

You were fuming, face flushed and eyes bright, and Peter found himself struck yet again by how gorgeous you were. A pang of guilt stabbed his stomach.

"I didn't ask you too" You replied, petulantly, "and stop calling me 'rookie', I'm a level 9 agent."

"... I'm still higher than you"

"For one level!" You cried in frustration, "One single fucking level!"

"Would you two shut up?" Kate stumbled up, and Peter broke free from his haze to hurry and wrap a stabilizing arm around her shoulders, "You're giving me a headache"

"Yeah, that would be the concussion," purple quipped, "don't worry, Simmons should be here any minute to take a look at that"

"Yay, finally a sane person to talk to" Kate deadpanned. Purple ignored her.

"And you must be the boyfriend…" She singsonged, nudging you with her shoulder, "He's cute under the mask, how did you managed to get him to go out with you?"

"Hey!" Peter and you exclaimed indignantly, in unison.

"I'm kidding, jeez!" She raised her hands in surrender. "Come on, won't you introduce us?"

You rolled your eyes, but complied anyway,

"Daisy, this is Peter Parker. Peter, this is Daisy Johnson, weirdo fancies herself my sister"

"Ooh, 'fancies'! You've spent way too much time with that brit boy, didn't you?"

"Daisy, I swear to god I will-"

"You need to tell her" Kate whispered, taking advantage of your distraction.

"Wh-what?"

She scoffed, Kate had never had much patience for anyone's bullshit.

"About what just happened with Harry. She will understand, Peter, I promise. But only if she hears it from you"

"H-how do you know?"

"I see better from afar" The archer smirked, before returning her attention to you and, apparently, your sister.

"Are they always like that?" Peter whispered, a little alarmed. Kate snorted,

"Just wait till you meet the rest of her old team…"

"Yeah, what do you say, boyfriend?" Daisy smirked, mischievous glimmer in her eyes so much like yours, "Ready to meet the family?"

Peter gulped, he really wasn't.

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fanfic #harry osborn x peter parker #harry osborn imagine #harry osborn #harrison osterfeild x reader #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x tom holland #fine line series

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown.

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles.

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals.

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention.

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time.

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself.

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them.

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible.

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time.

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever.

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them.

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them.

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets.

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches.

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time.

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends.

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out.

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks.

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat.

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise.

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars.

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Text

Who's Side Are You On? (Part Ten)

Terminator (1984) reader insert

Warnings: severe injury, gun usage, blood

Context: badly written car chase time let's goooo

A/N: I was tired as hell when I wrote this, so I apologise if it's sloppy

Masterlist

Many road users call out to the three vehicles as they speed past, insults and angry protests shouted after them, though every comment is ignored by the drivers of each individual culprit. Bullets ricochet off of the sides of multiple cars and vans that are passed by them, very few actually finding their targets due to the wild and reckless driving being performed by the shooters themselves, meaning that strips of road are now branded with blackened gunshot marks. Surprisingly, there are no police vehicles after them yet, but it is highly likely that there will be, soon.

Kyle and Sarah lead in their car, the former leaning out of the car window to shoot at the male terminator behind them, who is steadily coming after them on a motorbike, his rifle lifted and constantly in use, until the bullets run out, at which point he reloads, one-handed, and continues. Behind them is the (Y/n), who is sat up straight on her bike despite the visible injuries, as well as the internal ones. Blood drenches her skin and clothes, multiple cuts and grazes on her face leaking onto the previously clean expanse of flesh, her posture slightly off due to the presence of three broken ribs in her chest, which are dangerously close to puncturing a lung. Even so, she follows on, her handgun raised to fire every few minutes, whenever she gets a clear shot, her aim thankfully accurate, despite the inconsistency of her driving.

The three of them enter a tunnel, the traffic coming closer together due to the lack of space, meaning they are all instantly compressed into a closer area, giving the two mechanically-run pursuers a better chance of hitting their targets. Considering this, Kyle reaches into the back of the car and pulls the bag of homemade explosives that he and Sarah made in the motel from the backseat, resting it on his lap as he fumbles to take one out and light it. When the fuse eventually flares to life, he leans back out of the window and throws the explosive from it, growling in frustration when it just misses, the flash of sparks and smoke only just engulfing the terminator as he drives through it, seemingly unperturbed by it. Just behind him, (Y/n) catches the brunt of the smoke, but ignores it, aiming to gain on the cyborg ahead of her, the gun in her hand raised to the correct level.

Kyle throws another grenade, this one missing both motorcyclists because his aim is off, Sarah having quickly swerved the car at the last minute to avoid a car. Readjusting, the soldier lights and throws another one, the explosive this time landing directly in front of the terminator, though it does nothing to affect him, again, the cyborg relentlessly chasing on after them, emptying the magazine of his rifle into their car as they emerge from the tunnel again, hitting Kyle in the chest with brutal accuracy, causing Sarah to scream out the soldier's name in fear. He throws the gun to the floor and pulls out a small revolver, cocking it as he aims for the car again, just missing yet another grenade. Changing tactics, he then directs his motorbike until it is on the other side of the car, shooting out the wing mirror as he does so, rapidly gaining on the vehicle as Sarah starts to panic.

Upon seeing this, Sarah does the first thing that comes to mind. Yanking on the wheel, she manages to keep the car towards the curb, where she pins the terminator's bike, causing the tyres to skid and give out, losing traction as it overturns, throwing it's rider off. She instantly pulls the car away from the side of the road again, only to lose control as the wheels spin out, sending the vehicle careening into the road, rolling to a stop a little way away, now completely upside down.

For a moment, all is quiet, until (Y/n) draws to a halt by the wreckage of the motorcycle, the soldier climbing off of her's and starting to walk over to the prone figure of the cyborg on the floor, gun raised at it's head, expression blank. Her pace us steady and undisturbed, arm outstretched menacingly with obvious intent, momentarily fixed on one objective alone: to terminate her target.

The sound of a screaming horn snaps her from her fixation, only giving her a second to process the sight of the oncoming truck until it's not her, her body thrown back across the road, the impact brutal and harsh, shattering more of her ribs and bones as she smashes into the hard floor, one arm dislocating and snapping in two as she rolls, only coming to a stop when she hits the curb again. She is limp, lying completely still, no sign of life visible in her body, her limbs twisted unnaturally as a deathly calm comes over her. Across from her, the terminator is dragged over the ground by the oncoming tanker, skin and flesh abrased away from the glinting metal endoskeleton beneath, taking away any stain of humanity it had before, exposing it for what it is. It rolls once, twice, before stopping, the cyborg lying still momentarily to recover orientation, standing again when the truck driver comes out to investigate the damage. He is soon dispatched, and the terminator climbs into the driver's seat of the tanker, but not until after he has gone over to the body and checked it over, picking her up and throwing her a little way away to reinforce the damage, instructing the passenger to get out before starting the vehicle and guiding it on a single track; straight at the wreckage of Sarah and Kyle's car.

Seeing this, Sarah starts to panic, wrestling to get both herself and Kyle out of the car before it is destroyed, slapping him awake as much as she can, signalling to him to get up and run with her. Thankfully, he comes to and follows her without a question, automatically aware of the danger before he's even seen it, the two of them swiftly scrambling out of the destruction, Kyle gritting his teeth against the pain of his wound as he moves, all thoughts of his sister gone from his mind as he leads Sarah over to the alley of a manufacturing factory nearby.

As he approaches the alley, however, he soon realises that he won't make it far enough away from the truck without getting Sarah caught. He makes a split decision and breaks away from her, yelling at her to run as he hides behind a nearby bin, waiting for the tanker to drive past him. As it does, he takes one more explosive from his pocket and lights it, sticking it into the exhaust pipe of the truck as it drives close to him, the blast from the grenade possibly having the potential to do much more damage now. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he climbs into the bin, using it to shelter from the blast when it eventually goes off, hoping to hell that Sarah manages to get away in time.

Moments later, the tanker goes up in flames, a loud explosion taking place as the contents of it's cargo hold catches and ignites, destroying the vehicle with suitable finality, throwing debris everywhere. Sarah lets out a rough scream, collapsing to the ground to shield her ears as the waves of heat roll off of the site of explosion, warming her back considerably. Smoke fills the air as the putrid stench of burning makes itself known, souring any clean oxygen present.

When she is sure it's safe to look again, Sarah gets up, turning and eyeing the wreckage, taking note of the burning metal and debris, the heat of it all so intense that she is sure the terminator will have been demolished with the rest of the truck. Biting her lip, she hobbled forwards, only opening her mouth to call out briefly.

"K-Kyle?" Her voice is cracked and thin from the smoke intake, but it carries well enough.

"Sarah?!" The familiar voice returns, Kyle soon appearing out of the smoke, beaten, bruised and bloodied, but alive, the soldier coming over to her and drawing her up into a tight embrace. Together they collapse back to the floor, both relieved to be given some reprieve.

"We did it...we did it…" Sarah whispers to him, burying her head into his chest, only to pull away again when she feels him tense up once more. Turning her head, she feels her heart drop as she catches sight of it:

The sight of a silhouetted figure stepping out of the roiling flames, still very much alive.

Part Eleven.

#terminator imagine #terminator #terminator 1984 #arnold schwarzenegger #linda hamilton #michael biehn #Sarah Connor #Kyle Reese

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