#last time i wore it no one said anything and i lost faith in humanity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

how they react when you walk in covered in blood and carrying a gun ~ mcu

request?: no

warnings: swearing, mentions of guns and violence

masterlist (one, two)

*only using the og six plus bucky, wanda and loki because there’s way too many marvel characters rn; also based off of a tiktok by anniedvorak!*

BRUCE BANNER/HULK:

The last person you expected to see when you entered Thor’s room on Sakaar with the intentions of saving him was your boyfriend, Bruce. He had been lost for so long, you had let your heart let go of him. But there he was, stood with a cloth wrapped around his waist after having turned back from the Hulk.

You were tempted to walk back out. This wasn’t exactly how you wanted Bruce to see you - an alien gun in hand and blood splattered over your face and clothes. But it was too late, he was already looking at you with wide eyes.

“(Y/N),” he said, turning to approach you but stopping halfway. You weren’t sure if he had stopped because of the blood or because he was still technically naked. “What are you...what did you...?”

“I’m trying to save Thor,” you responded. “Listen, we don’t have much time. I can explain everything once all of us are off of this planet. Put some pants on, we’re getting out of here.”

~~~~~~

BUCKY BARNES/THE WINTER SOLDIER:

You walked in after a surprise run in with the Flag Smashers. Bucky already looked about ready to kill someone, but when you walked through the door of Zemo’s apartment, blood covering your face and your gun clutched tightly in your hand, his face turned red with anger.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked.

“Flag Smashers,” you breathed in response.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Bucky hissed, abandoning his drink on the counter and making his way to the door.

You put a hand up to stop him. “I think that ship has sailed. This isn’t all my blood.”

Bucky cupped your face in his hands, his face softening as he looked at you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “I just need a shower, and maybe a visit to a hospital or something. They hit me pretty hard, I think I have some bruised ribs or something.”

He kissed your forehead and took your gun from your still shaking hands. Once it was safely put aside, he brought you into the bathroom to help you bathe and to start dressing your wounds.

~~~~~~

CLINT BARTON/HAWEYE:

You were extremely lucky that Clint worked with someone like Natasha regularly, or else he would’ve been much more concerned when you arrived home from work covered in blood and still carrying you gun. He barley looked up from the TV as you walked through the door, immediately racing for your bedroom so you could shower and change.

“Hard day at work?” he called as you passed by.

“That last target they sent me after put up a hell of a fight,” you responded. “By the time I finally got him, I realized how late it was and rushed home immediately. I’m glad S.H.I.E.L.D issues those SUVs with the tinted windows or else I definitely would’ve been pulled over for suspicious activity.”

Clint chuckled and rose from his seat. He walked into your shared bedroom as you were pulling off you bloodstained clothes and throwing them into a pile to be tossed out eventually. His eyes raked over your body as you looked up at him.

“Red looks good on you,” he said, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips.

“That’s gross,” you teased. “You’re gross. Just for that, you can’t shower with me.”

He groaned as you walked into the bathroom and locked the door before he could follow you in.

~~~~~~

LOKI:

The sly smirk on Loki’s face was enough to almost rid you of the annoyance you felt after what you just had to do. Almost.

You walked up to the panel that controlled his glass cage. You could’ve easily figured out how to deal with it, but instead you shot the control panel. Sparks flew from it before Loki’s prison sprung open.

“Seems like a bit of overkill,” he commented.

“Shut it,” you hissed. “You told me it was going to be easy to break you out. You failed to mention the entire team of guards that were watching this room, and, oh yeah, the team of super humans that were assembled to face you?!”

Loki walked free of his cage, taking a dramatic deep breath before smiling to himself. “Well, doesn’t seem like you had an issue with them, as I knew you wouldn’t.”

He approached you, arms out as if he were going to hug you and try to kiss you. You poked his stomach with the barrel of your gun, glaring up at him.

“Come one step closer and we see how much damage a mortal weapon can do to a God.”

Loki put his hands on your shoulders, keeping you a fair distance away to heed your warning. “I’m sorry for not giving you a proper warning. Thank you for freeing me, I do appreciate it.”

You allowed yourself to relax against his touch and smiled a little. “You’re welcome.”

“Now, let’s get out of here, shall we?”

“You’re doing all the work this time.”

~~~~~~

NATASHA ROMANOFF/BLACK WIDOW:

It probably wasn’t a good idea, but you didn’t know where else to go. Natasha had always warned you about the Red Room, and you were so stupid to not listen to her.

Now you were stood on her doorstep, covered in blood that wasn’t yours, your gun dangling from your hand as you wished to drop it but also too scared to let it go. It was what Natasha looked at first when she opened the door - the gun, then to your blood covered face.

“Put the gun down,” she said, her voice calmer than you expected.

You gratefully allowed her to take it from your hand as you felt tears starting to well in your eyes. She pulled you in for a hug, where you started to sob on her shoulder. She took a quick look around to make sure you weren’t followed before bringing you into her house.

“Go get cleaned up,” she told you. “We’ll figure out your next step together.”

~~~~~~

STEVE ROGERS/CAPTAIN AMERICA:

You showed up to Sam’s shortly after Steve had brought Natasha. You could barley keep yourself up, the fight had taken everything out of you. You were sure Sam was going to turn you away - you were a stranger showing up on his doorstep covered in blood with a gun in your hand. You were pleasantly shocked when he stepped aside and told you where to find Steve.

Poor Steve. He was already trying to help Natasha, who had been in the same situation as you just with a lot less blood. She was resting when you walked in, dazed and just wanting to also rest.

He was up in seconds, reaching out to wrap you in his arms despite the blood covering you.

“The Winter Soldier is one mean fucker,” you breathed, resting your head against Steve’s chest. “I think he finally got wore out and ran off. Unfortunately, I was wore out about an hour before he was, but I kept going.”

“You should’ve given up long ago, honey,” he said.

“I’m not a pussy,” you said with a slight laugh. “Although I am starting to succumb to the pain.”

He picked you up into his arms and carried you to the bathroom where he helped you to rinse the blood off of your body so you could finally rest.

~~~~~~

THOR:

It was a side of you that Thor had never seen before. He had lost you during the battle in Sokovia and was expecting the worst when he couldn’t get you over the coms. When you showed back up to jet, blood covering your tired looking face, he was overjoyed to see you were alright, but also a little shocked by your appearance.

“Those fuckers really thought they had me,” you said, a half laugh bubbling on your lips. “They were a little shocked when I got the upper hand on them. Even more shocked when I shot them dead.”

“I was worried for you, (Y/N),” Thor said, cupping your face in his hands as he approached you. “I truly thought they had taken you from me.”

You smirked up at him. “You really have no faith in me at all them, do you? Or you just underestimate me. I’m a little offended on both accounts, though.”

Thor smiled back at you. “Of course, I would never doubt you. Just a bit of fear is all.”

“When you two are done being gross,” came Tony’s voice from inside the jet, “we’d like to get back to the tower. I think (Y/N) needs a shower and a fresh change of clothes more than anything.”

~~~~~~

TONY STARK/IRON MAN:

“Miss (Y/L/N) incoming Mr. Stark.”

“Tell her to come back at another time, J.A.R.V.I.S, I’m busy right now.”

“I don’t think it can wait, sir.”

Tony looked up to see you walking through the door to his lab, your body trembling as you clutched the gun tightly in your hand. There was a splatter of blood over your shirt and some on your face. You looked up at him, looking like a helpless child.

He quickly walked over to you, his hand automatically reaching for the gun. You gladly let him take it, feeling like a weight had been lifted the moment the weapon was out of your hands.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I-I was attacked at-at home,” you stuttered. “I don’t know how they got in, I don’t know who they were. I walked into my house and was blindsided by these two men trying to attack me. I got the gun out of the hands of one of them and I...I...”

Your hands moved to mimic the action of shooting your attackers, but you couldn’t actually bring yourself to say you had done it. You didn’t want to admit to having shot anyone, even if it was in self defense.

Tony placed the gun aside and took you into his arms. You stopped fighting against the lump that had formed in your throat and began to sob into his chest. He ran a hand through your hair, calming you down.

“It’s okay,” he said, soothingly. “It’s alright. I got you now. I won’t let anyone else try to hurt you.”

~~~~~~

WANDA MAXIMOFF/SCARLETT WITCH:

You didn’t think of Tommy and Billy. You didn’t think about the perfect neighborhood Wanda had created. You didn’t even think about Vision, or the version of Vision she had created. Your only thoughts were getting to Wanda before Hayward and his people could.

She was horrified when she opened the door. Of course she was; you were stood at her doorstep, a ghost from the life she wanted to forget, holding a gun with blood splattered on your face.

“You have to get out of here,” you said before she could speak. “You have to break down that boarder and you need to get out of here now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice still in its sitcom mode. “Please leave before I call the police.”

You grabbed hold of her shoulders before she could walk away, startling her.

“Wanda, you have to listen to me. You know what’s happening here because you are controlling it all. I know that, everyone outside the Hex knows that. Including the S.W.O.R.D director Hayward, who is trying to break through your barrier right now to kill you. I know you don’t want to lose this perfect life you’ve made, but your are in real danger. You need to get out of here.”

It seemed like she was understanding. A hurt look passed over her face as she turned to look into the house where her perfect family was likely residing. She took a deep breath and turned back to you.

“Let’s go.”

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #bruce banner #bucky barnes #clint barton #loki odinson #loki #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #thor odinson #thor #tony stark #wanda maximoff #imagine #preference #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

192 notes · View notes

cloudybarnes · 3 years

Text

Birthday Presents | S.S

Pairing: Stefan Salvatore x reader

Summary: Stefan hasn't seen his two best friends y/n and Lexi for years. Upon his return to Mystic Falls (set in season 1), Lexi and Y/n decide to surprise him for his birthday.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

A/N: this will not follow exactly how Lexi met up with Stefan for his birthday!

✰ ✰ ✰

You couldn't stop the grin that was eating up your face as you packed your small bag. Lexi stood leaning on the doorway, watching you with a smirk. "I don't see why you're even packing. We could just get new clothes when we get to Mystic Falls."

You shook your head, still smiling, and turned to her. You zipped your bag shut, and sauntered over to her. When you were close enough, you poked her nose. "You silly goose, I'm not packing clothes. These are for Stefan's birthday." You placed your bag down and unzipped it, crouching to open the flap and show her what you packed. "A framed picture of the three of us from 1948, the first letter I wrote to him in the war, a framed photo of him, Damon and I, and this," you pulled out a dangling sword pendant.

Lexi gasped, crouching down next to you. "You didn't." She grabbed the necklace from you and very gently examined it. "There's no way you could have found this. I watched Stefan throw it into the ocean during one of his ripper phases. Is it a dupe?"

You smirked and lifted the matching one you wore out from under your shirt. Grasping the necklace back from Lexi, you held them side by side, and looked at her expectantly. "Come on, put yours here, too."

She grabbed hold on the tiny sword that was dangling around her neck, and brought it closer to the other two. When placed together, the tips of the swords linked from a magnetic pull, and changed colors. Lexi laughed, "Oh my god, this is amazing. How did you ever find it?"

You shrugged, zipping your bag and standing up to leave. "After Stefan threw it into the ocean, I just swam down for it. Honestly, I forgot I had put it in my box for when he was back to normal, so now his lost friendship necklace is a birthday present."

Lexi shook her head a grinned, slinging her arm over my shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You chuckled, "Yes, but keep reminding me; it inflates my ego."

She cackled, and shoved your shoulder away from her. In a flash, the two of you started on your run to Mystic Falls.

Once you arrived in Mystic Falls, your first place to look was the old Salvatore Boarding House. At the front door, you turned to Lexi. "We aren't actually going to knock, are we?"

She chuckled, "Hell no. I say we give Stefan a scare. Nothing like lurking vampires to get your blood pumping, right?"

You smirked. Lexi and you together were a devilishly good combination. You get into trouble, pull pranks, and just have a load of fun. "Let's do it."

You silently opened the door of the boarding house, and used your vampire hearing to locate those inside. You could hear Stefan talking, and after waiting a few seconds, you heard the sounds of his brother Damon arguing with him.

You snickered, and Lexi rolled her eyes at the sounds of them bickering. You set your bag down in the living room, and motioned up the stairs for Lexi and you to get up with the Salvatores.

You used my super speed to get up the steps and into Stefan's room where the brothers stood. Lexi trailed behind you. Without them seeing, you sped in between them so they could just make out the flash of someone running by. Then, you hid behind a dresser waiting for your time to come out again.

"Looks like we have company, brother." Damon stated, looking around the room wide-eyed. "Guess your rant will have to wait."

Lexi sped behind Damon, causing him to spin around, trying to see her.

Stefan growled, "Show yourself! Quit playing games and come out."

His eyes scanned the room, as Damon not-so-stealthily grabbed a wooden stake and threw it to Stefan.

You rolled your eyes and super sped up to Stefan, pushing him back against the wall, pinning the hand of his that held the stake against the wall. You grinned as he took in the sight of me, "Hello, Stefan."

His eyes were wide, but his smile was even wider. "Y/n," he breathed out.

Next to him on the wall, Lexi pinned Damon, hitting his head in the process. "Ugh," Damon groaned in pain, "and Lexi."

You giggled, releasing Stefan from the wall so you could give him a hug. "Happy Birthday, Stefan! Lexi and I missed you and wanted to celebrate together."

Lexi released Damon, and you stepped out of Stefan's hug so he could greet her as well.

Damon came up to you and lightly punched your shoulder. "Finally decided to come pay us a visit, Y/n?"

You grinned, and jokingly slapped him upside the head before pulling him into a hug as well. "Yeah, yeah. A girl's got a life, Damon. I've been really busy these last few years."

Damon chuckled as you pulled back and walked over to Stefan to give him a light punch in the shoulder. "I missed you, dude. It's been too long since I've actually been able to come with Lexi and celebrate with you."

Stefan grinned, "Yeah, finally you decide to pay your best friend a visit."

Damon shook his head, "Are we sure Y/n is really here to see you, Stefan? I mean, we all know she likes me more than she likes you."

You rolled your eyes, "Sure, Damon. That's why in 1942 I pushed you off that cliff; cause you're my favorite Salvatore." You teased with a light smile.

Damon chuckled, "knew it."

"Anyway," Lexi grinned, "Stefan, because it is your birthday, we're spending the entire day together!"

You perked up, "Oh! I also got some things for you for your birthday."

Stefan groaned, smiling. "You didn't have to get anything for me, Y/n/n. Just you two being here is good enough."

Lexi scoffed, "Yeah, right. Y/n, go get the presents."

You giggled and super sped out to the living room and back, returning with your bag in hand. "Okay, I didn't have time to wrap anything, so just close your eyes and I'll place things in your hand one at a time."

Stefan rolled his eyes, but complied. Once his eyes were shut, and his hands were outstretched, you placed the first gift in his hands.

Opening his eyes, he saw the framed photo of him, Lexi, and you. Stefan stood in the middle of you two with his tailored suit. You and Lexi stood wearing old dresses, and matching hats. Your hair was perfectly curled to the style of the 40s.

"Wow," Stefan gasped. "I can't believe you have this picture, thank you so much, Y/n."

Lexi peered over his shoulder to look at it. "Wow, we looked so posh in the 40s, Y/n."

You smiled, "Yeah we did. And you're welcome, Stefan. Now close your eyes again; I have a few more gifts for you."

He closed his eyes once more, and you put the framed photo of you, him, and Damon in his hands. This peeked Damon's interest, because he was now the one to look over Stefan's shoulder.

"Well would you look at that." Damon sighed.

Stefan looked at the picture and smiled sadly. Things must not be going so well with Damon, especially after that arguing you walked in on. "This is great, Y/n. It's nice to look back and see us all when things were simpler."

You nodded, "I'm glad you like them, but I have two more gifts for you, which I think you'll like more than the photos."

You giddily handed him the first letter you wrote to him before he even had the chance to close his eyes.

"The first letter you wrote to me when I went off to war." Stefan stated, amazed. "How do you even have this? I thought it got burned up in battle."

You grinned, "Have more faith in me, Stefan. You know I never lose important things."

"Brother, read it to us. I want to know what Y/n said while you were away." Damon said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Stefan looked at me, seemingly remembering what you had written on that sheet of paper. "Are you all right with me sharing this?"

You nodded, "Of course. It's your letter, you can do what you like with it." You smiled. Lexi came over and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, placing her head on yours. Seems like she remembers what you wrote on this as well.

"Okay then," Stefan cleared his throat and began reading.

"My Dearest Stefan,

We have not been a part from one another since before our initial meet, so you may be able to see how this is effecting me. I truly miss your presence more than anything the world has to offer. Your smile, your laugh, your wit, and your charm are all missing from my life, and I do not wish for it to be that way. I do not want to ever see another time we are not with each other. Alas, I sided with Lexi on the decision to send you off in search of finding your self, or I would be right beside you.

Lexi and I are taking care of Damon for you. (More so me; you know how Lexi feels of him). I will do my best to make sure he is someone you can depend on for when you return. If I am unsuccessful, and Damon is still Damon, you will at least have Lexi and I for the rest of eternity. (While I do think the time I am spending with Damon is helping, he is still ruthless. I will do my best to show him humanity and kindness before your return).

Though I do thoroughly enjoy my time spent with Damon, I tremendously miss my favorite Salvatore man. Lexi is great company as well, but she does not make me feel the way you do, Stefan. My heart aches to be with you again, and maybe when that day comes I will be able to confess how I feel. I am counting down the days til we meet again. For now, I leave you with this letter, and a piece of my love.

Yours,

Y/n Y/l/n"

A faded lipstick mark is left on the bottom of the stained paper.

Damon hummed, "Intense. I like the talk of me, though I thought you were spending time with me because you liked me."

You giggled, "I do like you Damon. You're a good friend when you want to be, and the time I spent with you while Stefan was away made my days more fun. I was never forced to spend time with you, Damon. You were my friend, not my experiment."

He smirked, "I know, I was messing with you. Now how about we talk about that little love confession at the end of your letter? I take it Stefan didn't feel the same? I don't recall you two ever getting together."

You rolled your eyes, "We just never brought it up when he came back."

Stefan lightly smiled at you, "we can talk about the letter later. Let's see my last present, yeah?"

You grinned and looked to Lexi who smiled back at you. "Okay, but you actually have to close your eyes this time. This is the one I've been waiting to give to you."

Stefan playfully rolled his eyes, but still shut them and held his hands out.

You giggled as you placed the sword necklace into his hands. When he opened his eyes and saw what it was, Stefan gasped.

He started slowly shaking his head, looking from the necklace, to you, to Lexi, then back to the necklace. "There's no way. There is literally no way this is my necklace from 1874. I, I threw it into the ocean. How did you get this?"

You smirked, and grabbed it from him. You walked over and stood behind him to fastened it around his neck. "I told you Stefan, I never lose things that are important."

Taking out your necklace that dangled under your shirt, you motioned Lexi to come over. She grinned and pranced over to us so we stood in a close triangle. You stretched yours out and touched tips with both of theirs. The metal sword tips stuck together, and the necklaces started to glow different colors.

Pulling yours back, you looked at Stefan who couldn't stop the grin from eating up his face.

You giggled, "I take it you like your birthday gifts?"

Stefan didn't respond. He instead pulled you into a tight hug and whispered in your ear. "These are amazing, Y/n. You're amazing; I can't believe you're here and you brought all of this back for me."

He pulled away and stared into your eyes. With your super hearing, you noticed Lexi and Damon leaving the room.

"I never did get to address your letter. I was scared to talk about it when I got back home in fear of your mind being changed." Stefan lightly smiled.

You stared up at him, your heart beating. Stefan definitely heard your heart rate pick up because he chuckled. "I still have feelings for you, Stefan. I know not seeing each other for a little while may have put a strain on our relationship, but I feel as if we never parted."

He grinned, "I feel the same way. I've loved you since you first said hello to me, Y/n, and I'd be a fool to turn you away now that I finally have my chance to be with you."

You giggled, "Technically you had a chance back when you came home from war, but I'll let it slide."

Stefan playfully rolled his eyes and cradled your cheeks in his warm hands, "Good. That means I can do this."

Stefan confidently closed the distance between your lips. You eyes fluttered shut as you felt the soft touch of Stefan's lips. You trailed your fingers up to his hair and got lost in the moment. Kissing Stefan was like riding on top of clouds. He was soft and light with his kiss. It was confident but not overbearing.

Out of breath, you pulled back from him, but kept your faces close by resting your forehead on his. Your eyes slowly opened and saw his already staring back at you.

He grinned, "I think that was my favorite present of them all."

427 notes · View notes

fandoms-galore-yall · 3 years

Text

MatachaBlossom as Gods Au pt 2

Greetings! This fic is based off the wonderful art of @shaky-mayhemm (Check it out here!)

This is pt 2, pt 1 is here

________

The plan, while requiring a lot of preparation, was fairly simple. Kojiro would pretend to be drunk and distract Ainosuke and Tadashi. Carla, in her invisible form, would gently guide Miya to a secluded area and Kaoru would talk to the boy.

Since discovering Ainosuke’s intentions, Karou had been sending Carla to the boy’s town to get an idea of why he had caught the God of Destruction’s attention and how to help him get away.

Karou hated to admit it, but he had felt uneasy every time she left his immediate area. Like a part of him was being cleaved. He had gotten used to always having Carla, if no one else, by his side.

While he didn’t say anything to Kojiro, the God of Earth hadn’t made any trips to Earth during the last few months before the festival and had spent every night that Carla was gone, with him, holding him and comforting him.

It had been the only way Karou could sleep without Carla’s singing.

He would be glad when this would be over, for many reasons.

Though he supposed that having Kojiro’s voice lure him to slumber hadn’t been the worst thing.

Still, he was worried about the plan. The thought of Ainosuke or Tadashi catching Carla in the act and then harming her terrified him.

Furthermore, while he knew that Kojiro could take care of himself, he didn’t want him to get hurt ethier. Ainosuke couldn’t do anything to him physically during the festival but words can still cut even a God down.

And perhaps, his biggest fear, was that he would fail in his role.

Ironically, despite being the God of Life, Karou was not the most comforting of Gods.

Oh, he could play the part for a crowd of humans- a pretty shiny beautiful thing for them to admire from afar, never really seeing the truth behind the gentle smiles he wore as a mask.

But when faced with genuine feelings?

Helping people with their emotional state?

Well, his best was leading the person in distress to Kojiro and having the other God fix the problem.

His worst was patting their shoulder, from a short distance away, and trying to make comforting sounds whenever Kojiro wasn’t available.

Karou is big enough to admit that dealing with feelings isn’t his strong suit.

Which is why he thinks it ludicrous that Kojiro had insisted it be him to talk to the young boy, Miya.

Karou assumes it has more to do with Kojiro’s determination to keep his lover as far away from Ainosuke as possible than it is his faith in Karous's ability to handle the situation if Miya were to start crying.

Karou sighed as Carla faded from his side, seemingly disappearing into the air around her. Karou could still sense her presence but no one else would be able to unless she meant for them to.

As she got into position near Miya, Kojiro began to ‘drink’ heavily.

Karou made his way to the gardens on the lower level of the grand palace made for the Gods when they weren’t in the Heavens.

Carla began to gently pull at Miya’s sleeve to subtly lead him there as well.

During Carla’s trips to Miya’s home town, she had learned that the boy loved animals which is why the God had borrowed one of the minor Gods Oka’s pet fox Sketchy for this conversion.

He hoped that it would help distract the boy from any awkwardness that might come from having this conversation.

Karou heard the boy enter and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

Miya took one look at who stood before him and breathed out, perhaps with relief? With wide eyes the boy stepped forward without fear.

“I thought you were going to be Lord Ainosuke”.

“Ah, so then he’s spoken to you about his intentions directly?”

“He has, Lord Karou.”

Karou wrinkled his nose. He normally didn’t react when humans used honorifics but for some reason, it bothered him, when this boy said it with no emotion whatsoever, face now blank.

Karou hummed at his admission and then gestured for the boy to follow him. He did.

Karou sat on a patch of grass, near a fountain, and placed Sketchy down on the grass for Miya to see. Previously hidden, bundled in a cloth, the boy lit up at seeing the fox before seeming to remember himself and schooling his features.

“You may sit and pet him, if you are gentle with him.” Karou told him and Miya quickly walked over, sat, and began petting the fox.

“You’re an intelligent boy,” Karou began, “I’m sure you know how most of Ainosuke’s disciples do not find their story to have a pleasant end?”

Miya’s shoulders were hunched in and his face hidden when he answered, “I do.”

“And you’re still interested in being his disciple?”

“He said he’d grant me my wish.”

Karou hummed again, lost in thought.

One of the reasons Ainosuke continued to get disciples, despite his reputation, was that he would grant wishes that no one else would.

Of course, it was rarely worth a year stuck under his thumb, but often greed or desperation blinded them to the warning signs.

“I might be wrong, but I’m assuming your wish involves the boys who your parents think you’re with when you're not studying or practicing your future craft that you actually seem to avoid as much as possible?

Miya’s head shot up and he couldn’t mask the look of surprise on his face, “How...?”

“I’m no God of Knowledge or Wisdom but I am a Higher God. There is not much that mortals can hide from me.”

Miya narrowed his eyes, perhaps in suspicion but then caught himself and smoothed out his expression once more.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“How so?”

Miya sighed. “I thought you already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” The God said as gently as he knew how. “I need you to fill in the final pieces.”

“They… We… They were my friends and then my parents started pushing me to be ‘perfect’ and so I was and they hated it and then they hated me… I just want my friends back…. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Miya seemed surprised by his own honesty and his eyes started to tear up.

Karou silently cursed Kojiro and turned away to get control of himself.

“Ainosuke won’t make the loneliness go away, not really.” Karou said in his softest tone. “He’ll spend the year breaking you down, then he’ll grant your wish, but he’ll do so in a way that is as twisted as him…”

Karou was silent for a moment as he thought about how Ainosuke would “solve” Miya’s problem and noticed how Miya refused to look his way when he turned to fully face the young boy.

“He’ll probably make it so that your old friends are like puppets, they’ll act like they love you but there will be no life behind their eyes. Which isn’t really what you want, is it?”

“No,” Miya whispered, trying to hold back tears. Karou hoped he was being kind by not pointing it out.

Miya buried his face in his hands and mumbled into them.

Karou raised an eyebrow with a gentle chide, “I’m not sure if I was supposed to understand that?”

Miya snuffed, raised his face just enough for his words to come out clear, “What do I do now?”

“Well, to not offer yourself as a disciple at all would be one option.”

“My parents want me to.”

“Even if it were with The God of Destruction?”

“No risk, no reward.”

Karou hummed again, “Another option would be to join my or Kojiro’s service instead.”

“The God of Earth?”

“Yes, he’s currently acting as a distraction so that we may have this conversation” Karou explained.

Miya nodded, “And yours? You haven't taken a disciple in over three decades?”

“That’s true, but I would be willing to make an exception for you”.

Miya seemed angry with his response. “I don’t need your pity.”

The God sighed, “I apologize. I phrased that incorrectly. It would not be pity. I don’t need any disciples but I’ve seen you as you work on your craft. You are a talented young man, I’d be glad to have you in my service...

“Though, perhaps you would prefer Kojiro’s service instead? He tends to be better with” Karou waved his hand around, “people.”

Miya giggled but tried to pretend he hadn’t when Karou glanced over. The God of Life gave him a small smile to let him know it was alright.

“But most of all, whoever’s service you enter, our main concern is your safety. Even if you decide to serve Ainosuke you may come to us at any point, for help”.

Miya nodded, listening but clearly getting lost in his own thoughts.

Karou stood, “The ceremony will begin soon.” Miya stood as well, and handed Sketchy over.

Karou plucked a flower, from a nearby tree, and placed it in Miya’s hair.

The flower glowed for a moment, becoming a blessing from a God, “For safety and for luck.” Karou told Miya.

Miya stood shocked for a moment before bowing to the God and exiting the Garden, once again led by Carla.

Karou thought about the ceremony as he made his way to his throne. Each God had their own, where offerings were left and where any chosen disciples would go to after being taken into their God’s service.

There were a couple ways one could offer themselves as a disciple.

The first would be to offer themselves to any God. Any God interested would light a flame next to their throne, then if only one God had shown interest, the human would enter their service. If multiple had, either the human would choose which God to follow or sometime the other Gods would back down.

No God had ever fought over a disciple with Ainosuke before. If Miya opened himself up to any God’s service, he and Kijiro would be the first.

The second way was for the potential disciple to specifically offer their service to a select God or select few Gods. Then as before, if multiple of those Gods were interested the human would choose, unless any Gods backed down.

Karou assumed that Miya would use the first method, he just hoped that the boy would choose Kojiro’s or less likely, his own service.

He sat on his throne. Kojiro’s was right next to it.

The God of Earth looked over and Karou nodded, letting him know that the conversation had happened and that he thought it went well.

Kojiro gave him a smile, the one that said he was proud of Karou. Karou scoffed and looked away.

Kojiro’s response was to try and play footsie with him. Karou rolled his eyes, kicked at the other’s ankle, and ignored the other God’s pout.

Now really wasn’t the time.

Karou allowed himself to be distracted, knowing Carla would let him know when the boy was up.

Carla’s hand landed on his shoulder and he schooled his mind back into focus.

Miya was walking up and a Minor God was listing off his accomplishments.

After that, the Minor God was supposed to immediately explain if any God could express their interest or if they were only hoping to serve a specific God or Gods.

However, the Minor God frowned at the paper before him and Karou felt his heart sink.

Perhaps the conversation hadn’t gone well after all?

Kojiro took his hand and Karou held on tightly, allowing the other God to ground him.

“Miya Chinen offers his service to only one God…”

Karou stopped breathing and thought he might have heard Kojiro grunt from how hard he was holding onto the other’s hand but too much of his attention was on the Minor God speaking to truly notice.

“Karou, The God of Life”.

Karou let himself breathe again.

The God of Life shifted so that his hair covered his face so that no one could see his amused grin.

The boy was testing him, seeing if the God of Life was really in his corner.

Normally, that would annoy him but...

Karou waved his hand, igniting the flame next to him, to let everyone know he had accepted the boy’s service.

No risk, no reward indeed.

From his peripheral vision he saw Kojiro shake his hand and stretch his finger now that they were no longer in Karou’s death grip.

Miya, from the stage below them, bowed to him.

I’m having a lot of fun with this story, so I’ll be adding more!

Whatever Miya’s craft is I think will be the stand in for Skateboarding in this story.. which means I just have to figure out what his craft should be lol!

Hope you all enjoyed! :D

#matchablossom #sk8 the infinity #sk8 anime #karou sakurayashiki #kojiro nanjo #Ainosuke Shindo #Miya Chinen #Reki Kyan #Langa Hasegawa #Hiromi Higa #Tadashi Kikuchi #gods au

61 notes · View notes

chaoticneutralwriter · 3 years

Text

GD!Jimin Extras: Golden Hour

As they say, taking a picture lasts longer.

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, fluff, romance, angst, slow-burn

word count: 2.2k

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

A snapshot of the days before The Storm

A/N: Shout out to @azulamakesmeblank because this was partially inspired by this ask! As promised, a fluff chapter before the literal shit storm that’s about to take place in the story (butisitreallywhenyoureadthelastlineofthispromptwhat:’)) I hope you enjoy it! it’s kinda half edited dkfhgha I love you guys as always for your support and patience for this story! 💖💖💖💖

Tags: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway @indiesy @disn3yfreak @oerangdoongi @definitelynotshady @youmaiiwasherebeforeu

You arrive at the front door a little too breathlessly in your haste. It should be embarrassing but blaming your increased pulse on your lack of fitness has your mind and, ironically, your heart resting easier than having to think that you're actually half-nervous and half-excited to see Jimin again.

Even though you literally saw him just yesterday.

You really need to pull yourself together better; you'd rather not have a repeat of pouring tomato sauce all over the counter because your hands got too shaky from Jimin watching you cook dinner (and after you insisted on him not needing to do anything too!)

You take in a fortifying breath, appearing to be squaring up to take the final stand in saving the world instead of simply seeing your boyfriend for what's essentially a stay-in dinner date. You punch in the pass code to the lock pad with practised ease, almost not giving enough time for the beep to chime as you push the door open.

“Jimin?” You call out in greeting once you toe off your shoes and slip on your pair of house slippers. Your eyes scan over the vast living room, spotting the head of raven locks peeking out from the end of the couch. Stepping closer, a smile sneaks its way onto your lips when you realize that he's most likely resting, given his lack of response. Quietly, you step into the kitchen area to set down your bags of grocery on the counter before you make your way to peer over the back of the seat. You're instantly smitten at what you see.

The sun is beginning to make its descent below the horizon, dying the clouds in an ombre of fiery oranges, pinks and reds against the remnants of soft pale blue sky. Thanks to the generous amount of window space the penthouse has, the golden glow easily washes over the interior of the living room and bathes everything with its light; Jimin being no exception.

It cascades over his skin like honey, high-lighting the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheeks, and the shape of his cupid's bow. It makes his long lashes stand out so delicately and the equally dark strands of hair that falls gently over his forehead. Your fingers itch to sweep them away yet at the same time, you don't dare risk disturbing this sleeping beauty.

So unconsciously, you silently settle yourself on the top of the couch, resting your elbows on the cushion with your head propped up in your hand.

He looks so completely relaxed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped over his stomach. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, forearms toned and the first few buttons undone to expose a teasing view of his collarbones while black slacks hug his thighs perfectly (as per usual). If someone were to take a picture of him right now and slap on some big fashion name on it, you're pretty sure anyone who would see it would believe it to be a legit advertisement or a cover of a magazine.

Now that the thought has crossed your mind, temptation begins to rear its head. From the beginning, it's a no brainer what you imagine one would do given the opportunity of having a guardian demon that looks like the carbon copy of your favourite idol; do whatever you can to prevent said demon from stepping out into the world and risk slandering the actual person they're parading around as, or indulge in your wildest fantasies now that you have the means.

It's....a rather unique position to be in, with a plethora of mixed feelings to say the least.

After the initial shock of it wore off (which was really just taking three business day to process it all), you've come to the conclusion that this whole thing was, more than anything, weird. Some people might be able to turn a blind eye and though you're grateful that he had decided to look like Park Jimin from BTS, no matter how good of a disguise it was, it still doesn't change the fact that it's not Jimin.

You were grateful, but it made you a little resentful towards him.

With such a stark contrast, it's as if all of the good things you associated with that face had been sullied for something colder and unfeeling. You hated that he had chosen to use someone like Park Jimin – the perfect example of a good human being – to mask his much more sinister nature. You were sure it was part of some sick joke, and it felt...wrong.

Like you've lost part of a safe space in your world to the uglier side of the universe.

So in an attempt to preserve Jimin's good name in your heart, you were adamant in keeping your guardian demon at arms' length, hence why doing something as simple as taking a picture with him was out of the question. Not only would it not be in good faith, you can't begin to imagine what would happen if it got out to the world somehow.

And you succeeded....in the most unexpected way possible.

Maybe it was the deep rooted connection you had for Jimin, but there was always, without a doubt, a part of you that was soft to him. At first it had irked you, however over time, you realized it allowed for you to see another part of him that you wouldn't have otherwise. It made you open up to the idea that....he's not as bad as he seems.

You were afraid of losing a piece to your safe space when really, you ended up gaining an entirely new one instead, one that had become just as important.

So maybe that's why, as the longer you stared at Jimin (who's not Jimin but that doesn't mean he's worth anything less), the more you wanted to preserve this memory of him to keep for yourself. It's selfish you know, but things have changed, you've changed, and this is too good of a chance to pass up.

Your phone is out, hands steady as you pull up the camera and you want to laugh at how the image on your screen does no justice in capturing just how ethereal the sight before you is (of course it doesn't, should you really be surprised?) That doesn't stop your finger from tapping the snap button, because as they say, taking a picture lasts longer. The shot is satisfactory enough, getting him at an angle that show him from the waist up. You wonder if you can get another one, this time a little wider....

Well, you'll never know if you'd ever get the shot because your guardian demon chooses to wake up at that moment, locking piercing eyes with you through the phone. You immediately freeze.

There's a pause on his end before you see him pinpoint exactly what is going and a sly smirk tugs imperceptibly at the corner of his lips. “Cherub....” He greets, the low drawl sultry and irises pools of rich melted chocolate.

You gulp, straightening up while trying to inconspicuously put away your phone, a sheepish grin stretching across your face. “Rest well....?”

Jimin pretends to hum in deep thought, shifting so that he's facing more comfortably towards you. “For a good while yes....until my demon senses started tingling, telling me I was being watched. Should I be mildly concerned that you like watching me sleep?”

You scoff, “I don't always watch you sleep.”

“And you totally weren't snapping stalker photos of me.”

Your jaw drops, affronted but you don't go on to deny the claim. “Hey, calling them stalker photos is a stretch. And I'm just saying this because this was the only time I've ever – oof!”

Without warning, his hand had shot out to grab a hold of one of your wrist hanging over the back and with a strong tug, you fall face first onto his chest, an arm encircling you to keep you in place.

“Whatever you wanna call it, doesn't change that I'm still going to charge you for them.” You hear him playfully chastise above you. When you tilt your head up, you see him quirk an eyebrow at you expectantly. You blink, then roll your eyes, pretending to be inconvenienced by his stinginess, as if you're not ready to give him everything if he so much as breathes a word of it.

“Alright, what do you want?”

Jimin doesn't say anything in response, simply staring at you with those bottomless eyes, a smoulder simmering beneath their surface that it has you drowning in their depths. He watches you, unperturbed by your squirming (actually amuses in it) before you practically hear him purr, “What do you think I want?”

Your heart easily skips a beat (or more) and you're sure he can feel it beating frantically from your chest to his. While you're internally combusting, Jimin remains the picture definition of smug, free arm still propped behind his head the same time the other is wrapped around your waist, your face heating at the way you feel his thumb stroke at the strip of warm skin peeking out thanks to your shirt riding up a bit in the tumble.

He's actually infuriating, you think. Why's he gotta be so damn good at what he does?! You don't think he's even trying. Ugh, get it together, this is nothing new so it's not even a big deal! You can be cool about it too!

Giving yourself a chaotic pep talk apparently is what helps you find the courage to scooch up until you're able to land a chaste peck on the centre of his lips. Before you can fully withdraw, you already see the unimpressed look Jimin is shooting your way.

“I know you can do better than that.”

You puff, chewing on your lower lip into a pout; the deadpan in his voice makes you grumble at being called out, your neck and the tips of your ears burning now. Seeing you so flustered though, Jimin couldn't help but be endeared, then finally decide to ease up on the teasing he's been relentlessly subjecting you to. Slowly, he lowers the arm behind his head to gently take a hold on your chin, bringing your attention back to the adoring smile softening his features.

“Pretty cherub,” He coaxes, “Won't you give a little sweet treat for me?”

It takes everything in you to suppress the small whimper that wanted to jump out from the base of your throat at hearing those words. Whether it's teasing, cocky Jimin or loving, doting Jimin, you really aren't built to handle any of them at all, seemingly defaulting to a blushing mess no matter how hard you try be unfazed. Which is why after a moment of resigning to your fate, accepting that there was no point resisting when your heart and body have already betrayed you, do you close your eyes and give in wholeheartedly.

He welcomes you, carefully lets you mould your lips to his for a proper kiss and you helplessly melt against him. You don't think you can ever get used to the feeling but it's like Jimin doesn't mind one bit, pace unhurried to savour every press like it’s your first. Your mind becomes muddled the longer it goes on, and when you feel the swipe of his tongue, you're nearly gone. But as tempting as it is, you can't get too carried away here – you still have dinner to cook!

You allow yourself a few tantalizing licks before you part with great reluctance. Through hazy eyes you meet Jimin's, the little breath you have hitching from the sight of his swollen, moistened lips and dark brown irises now glowing a muted maroon, on the verge of igniting into full blown desire.

“Can't have you spoiling dinner so early.” You say, then embarrassingly avert your gaze at how your voice comes out raspy and thick.

You miss the way the corner of Jimin's mouth twitch, but catch the mischievous glint that's no doubt from mentioning the word 'dinner'. You put on your best scolding face, smacking his chest lightly in reprimand.

“No.”

“I didn't even say anything.” His incredulous retort is drowned out by the laugh he lets out with it, the sound has you struggling to maintain your 'serious' front.

“You were thinking it.”

“Are you sure it's not you projecting your own thoughts onto me?”

You humphed, about to turn away and get off your personal body pillow but Jimin's hold remains steadfast. He sneaks a quick kiss to your forehead once you settle back down again as a means to placate you, chuckling softly, “Okay, okay, I'll behave.”

You giggle lightly, cheeks pressed into his collarbone as you give an approving hum, cuddling even closer to his person and you both lapse into a comfortable silence, breaths in sync. Outside, the final rays of the setting sun disappears below the city's horizon, taking the warmth of the day along with it.

But you find no lack in that when you're lying here in his embrace, because whereas the sun comes and goes, yours remains unwavering.

114 notes · View notes

knchins · 4 years

Text

The Sacrificial Lamb - Chisaki Kai

Summary: The Vampire Chisaki has been searching everywhere for the one, but when he finally finds her she is taken by the League of Villains. He strikes a deal with them in order to get her back.

Pairing: Vampire!Overhaul x Fem!Human!Reader

Rating: E+

Word Count: 6.7k

Server Collab: BNHAREM - Fantasy AU

Warnings: Virgin/Virginity Kink, Blood, Extreme Dubcon, Mysophobia, Kidnapping, Implied Sexual Slavery, Noncon Choking, Biting, Pelvic Examination, Virginity Testing, Mentioned Necrophilia, Marking, Bondage/Restraints, Hair Pulling, Condom Usage, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Mild Aftercare

Notes: Please heed the warnings listed above. I classify this as a dark fic and want readers to take care while reading. <3 My first ever collab with this server and I’m super hype about it! I hope you enjoy!

All over the world, over the past few decades, vampirism had spread across the land like a rampant disease. Once mortal humans were turned into eternal monsters with powers unique only to their kind. The media tended to call them quirks, hoping that a lighthearted term would quell the fear of what the gifts truly were. An abomination, a curse among mankind, and weapons of mass destruction.

Of course, there were a select few (really, a rare few these days) that used their vampirism for good. They fed only on donated blood, vowed never to take human life, and even protected mortals against others of their kind that were not as righteous as they were. Truly it was a world made up of heroes, villains, and powerless bystanders that were often victims.

In relation to eternity, Chisaki Kai was rather young. He had only spent his life as a gifted fanged menace for about two decades now, but that didn’t make things any easier. Chisaki has had mysophobia for as long as he could remember. It plagued him as a human long before he was turned by the former leader of the Shie Hassaikai.

Vampirism had always been nothing but a curse to him. While it was true that his quirk was extremely powerful and was capable of great destruction, the fact that he had to drink blood in order to survive was pure hell. The only blood he could bring himself to consume was that of young virgins, those who had never been tainted with drugs, alcohol, or even sex.

Members of Shie Hassaikai would kidnap victims for him, but Kai would never feed on them outright. No, touching their commoner skin with his mouth just seemed completely out of the question. He very rarely sank his teeth into anyone. Instead he’d keep them captive, draining a few pints every few weeks until eventually bleeding them dry when he grew bored of them.

The blood would be stored and consumed as needed by their leader, a small portion of it would be meshed with grapes and fermented into wine. A delicacy that many vampires enjoyed and was graded on both the source and taste. Naturally he only drank that of the highest grade as that ensured there were few (if any) impurities.

The issue Chisaki was starting to face however was that his food source was dwindling. In this day and age it was difficult to find people that haven't spent time poisoning their bodies. Everyone seemed to enjoy living in filth and he really just did not understand. He was half tempted to start breeding his own livestock to drain, but that would just be too costly at this point. The organization was struggling to get back on top, and while he was a fearsome and ruthless leader, there were still connections that needed to be made.

As of now he had a...tentative (but tumultuous) relationship with a group of vampires that liked to call themselves the League of Villains. The leader, Shigaraki Tomura, wanted to be equal to Kai however Kai felt that he was equal to no one. He was above all of them, his power to destroy or create on a whim was better than anyone quirk that the league could offer. Negotiations were still being made and every time they took one step forward, they seemed to take two steps back.

Shigaraki was about the same age as he was and he too was capable of mass destruction. If the two worked together, they could bring down all of Tokyo with ease. Perhaps this would help with Chisaki’s lack of food situation. With the entire city under his thumb he could easily create some sort of facility to house and breed the purest of humans. He’d no longer have to limit himself as he did now.

Presently he was waiting to hear back from his most faithful underling and assistant, Kurono. He was out looking for what would be Chisaki’s next meal, though it had been a few hours since he departed. When his phone began to chime, he half expected to hear that he had been unsuccessful in finding someone to suit his boss’s tastes. However, it was quite the opposite.

“I have found a girl you would no doubt enjoy.” Kurono said in a cold tone that portrayed no noticeable emotion. “However, there is a situation.”

Chisaki was almost always cool headed. He very rarely lost his temper, though when he did it could be quite murderous. “What is it?” He asked monotonously.

“The League of Villains has taken her for themselves.” He said, and while true he could just find someone else. He had a feeling that his boss would particularly love the sweet little thing he had found. “I believe she may be the one.”

The One. Chisaki had been searching high and low for a delicate creature to treat as his live in blood source. One that he would control one hundred percent. What she ate, what she wore, when she slept. He had so many plans for this one woman, if she were to ever be found. Hearing that Kurono may have found the one and had lost her to none other than that foul Shigaraki was almost enough to boil his black blood. Almost.

“She’s pure?” He asked cryptically, though he knew that if she had been selected already then Kurono had already vetted that information himself. He heard his subordinate give him a quick affirmative. Chisaki let his thoughts process for a moment longer, “come back. I will call Tomura and see what he has to say for himself.”

Clearly this was a ploy to get Chisaki to formally align with him. That much was obvious. However without seeing the girl first it may as well be pointless. He’d need to look over her with a fine toothed comb to determine whether or not she was indeed the one he could make his blood bride or not. A human companion for him to divulge in at any time. If Kurono knew him as well as the thought he did, then he would be correct in thinking that she was special enough to keep around.

He ended the call with Kurono and looked for the number he had for the league of villains. He pressed it, letting the phone dial the numbers itself before waiting for an answer. A moment later, an annoying but familiar voice cut in. “Overhaul. I was wondering when you’d call.” There was clear devious intent that made Chisaki question again what he could possibly be up to. “I have something I think you’ll just love to sink your teeth into.”

Kai didn’t appreciate the joke. Shigaraki knew very well that Kai didn’t drink directly from humans. He drank blood through plastic straws because he didn’t even want his lips to touch it unless he wanted to break out in hives. “What do you want for her?” Kai asked, getting straight to the point. “I have plenty that you could have.”

It was true. Shigaraiki needed to bolster his numbers and with Kai’s help then he could easily achieve that goal.All he needed to supersede the arduous negotiations between them was a little leverage. Leverage Tomura now had in his possession. “You know what I want, Chisaki.” Shigaraki said in the smug voice that grated the yakuza leader’s last nerve.

But what Shigaraki wanted most was to have Chisaki and his gang of men to work under him. To have control over the small legion of vampires that was ruled by Chisaki’s hand. Of course, Kai could always agree to the negotiation and cut ties as soon as he had what he wanted (if she was indeed the one). Though there was no telling for sure of that now.

“I’ll need to inspect her first. Bring her to the compound for a thorough examination.” He instructed hoping that Shigaraki would at least agree to that. “Do not touch her with those filthy hands of yours until then. If you defile her then the deal will be off.”

Shigaraki tutted into the receiver of the phone, “So picky. You want to see this little wallflower so badly? Alright, I’ll bring her in an hour. Be ready for us then, would you? Maybe have some of the delicious blood wine of yours ready to celebrate our long awaited union. Until then I’ll have all of my people keep their roaming fingers to themselves. Does that sound like a suitable arrangement?”

Chisaki sat back in his chair. While Shigaraki couldn’t truly be trusted, he saw no other choice than to agree to this. “One hour. Don’t be late.” He hung up before the petulant man could say anything else, He let out a long sigh before standing. He had a lot of preparations to do before his visitors arrived.

An hour later, Chisaki had just picked out one of his finer bottles of wine when a subordinate brought in his guests. Shigaraki was alone with a girl bound in rope standing next to him. She had a cloth gag tied around her mouth to keep her from talking, something Chisaki thought was a little barbaric but it wasn’t that surprising given who her captor was.

Despite her bindings, he could already tell just how beautiful she was and more than that she smelled absolutely divine. Chisaki felt his mouth water, hunger panging in his stomach. This visceral reaction was incredibly rare for him. The urge to sink his fangs into the tender flesh of her delicate neck roared in his brain, yet he did his best to silence it. Outwardly his masked face remained the same, though his mouth twitched into an unseen smile.

He held his hand out, but Tomura hesitated before handing over the rope leash. “You break our deal then I’ll snap her pretty little neck. Got it?” He asked, putting a gloved hand on the back of her neck and squeezing lightly for emphasis. Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, already he knew that no one would ever be taking her away from him. Shigaraki just didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“If she passes the examination, then we will have a deal.” Chisaki reminded him, “if I find that she is unclean, then you can do what you wish with her. I do not care.” Though the words came out bitter and assured, deep down he knew that that was untrue. Something about her was so captivating already. He didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of her not being the one. Kurono had seemed so sure of himself when they spoke last.

The young yakuza leader led his potential pet into a back room that was made specifically for examining humans. He had it built shortly after he took over in order to sort out his cattle in any way he saw fit.

After ushering her inside, he cut on the harsh bright lights that nearly blinded her. Shigaraki chose to perch on a stool in the corner while Chisaki untied the ropes that bound the girl’s arms and then the gag. He let the thick braids fall unceremoniously to the floor, noticing how she shook with each brush of his fingertips. Scared already? Well, they always did taste better when they had adrenaline coursing through their veins.

“Take off your clothes and get on the table.” He ordered, watching her eyes dart to a table adorned with stirrups. It was similar to one you might find at a gynecologist's office. With much hesitation, his new subject began to disrobe. Her clothes puddled around her feet as she grew more and more embarrassed with each less layer covering her sensitive skin. An odd heat was pooling between her legs as she clenched her thighs together.

Chisaki was taken off guard by her arousal. He had been assured that she was a virgin, however if stipping down before two vampires was turning her on then certainly that wasn’t the case. Both he and Shigaraki could smell the slick that was accumulating within her folds. His sharp eyes cut to the snickering vampire in the corner who was nothing but amused by this turn of events.

After she finished undressing, she climbed up onto the steel table that had minimal cushioning. Chisaki changed his gloves out to a fresh pair, wanting to make sure that any dirt he found wasn’t something that had already been on the ones he had been wearing previously. A fresh slate was needed for this examination.

“Put your feet in the stirrups.” He said coldly, his doubts beginning to overwhelm him internally, though his face did not show it. Even if it did, the lower half was still obstructed by his black face mask. How could this girl possibly be the one if she enjoyed disrobing in front of two murderous vampires? Was she one of those that got off on fantasizing about creatures of the night? The thought disgusted him.

Her knees were shaking, causing the metal arms of the stirrups to rattle. Even curiouser she was this nervous while also being excited? What a peculiar creature indeed.

His eyes swept over her seemingly frail mortal body. There were no bruises, no cuts. There wasn’t even a scar on the flesh he could see. Hair was all neatly landscaped. Her outward appearance was up to par with his wishes, but it was time to check the inside of her to make sure.

Chisaki gently spread the moistened folds to see if that thin sliver of tissue was still intact. While true, it wasn’t uncommon for girls to rupture their hymen through activities other than sex, he still found it to be a great indicator. If it was torn then he would have to check another way.

To the vampire’s pleasure, there was the tiny half moon membrane just a centimeter into the vaginal canal. This was all he needed to see in order to believe that she was, in fact, a virgin and that he wouldn’t need to probe any further in order to find any inconsistencies that disputed that fact.

He delicately checked over the rest of her sex, searching for any indication that she wasn’t as pure as she seemed to be. Again he was thoroughly pleased to find none. He took a step away from her, walking around the table to closer examine her nude form. His sharp eyes moved over every last inch of visible skin, trying to detect any kind of abnormal marking or sign of dirt or grime.

The stirrups were still rattling with the tremors of her lower limbs, a tinny sound that bounced off the walls of the small room. Her eyes were shut tightly, afraid to look at the man looming over her. What the two villains in the room didn’t know was that she had been saving herself specifically for this sort of situation. Since she came of age she longed to be some vampire’s little fuck toy to use and abuse. Despite her pure body, her mind was anything but. Upon learning of the League of Villain’s intentions with her, she hadn’t been able to stop the grotesquely loud thumping of her heart within her chest.

She didn’t know exactly who the vampire they referred to as Overhaul was, but she could tell that he was especially gifted and powerful. The way he commanded a room was enough to make her weak in the knees. She kept herself meticulously well kept and it seemed as though all her work had been for something much greater than she could have ever anticipated.

“Put your legs down and roll over.” He ordered in that monotonous and apathetic voice that only made her shutter even more. She obliged, removing her feet from the pads of the stirrups and rolling onto her stomach after scooting back up onto the steel table a little more so that she could be more comfortable.

Shigaraki was watching with mild intrigue. He had never seen Chisaki look over a potential meal before. It was quite entertaining how thought out his observations appeared to be.

He inspected the areas that he could not see before, again finding nothing out of the ordinary. He even inspected her hair, looking for any signs of lice or debris. Nothing. Every item on the list within his mind checked off one by one. She was intact. She was clean. She was pure. And she would be his and his alone.

Chisaki left her side to order an underling to bring him a fresh clean robe for her to wear. In the corner of the room was a glass shower that he instructed her to go to in order for her to scrub herself down even further. He assured her that when she was finished he would have something for her to put on and to not worry about the rags she had been wearing.

After she had stepped into the clear shower and began to wash as per his instructions, Chisaki made his way to a nearby sink. He removed the gloves that had been soiled with her arousal and threw them in the bin to his right before scrubbing his hands clean and putting on a new pair. Once he was finished he made his way back to Shigaraki. “We have a deal.” He said plainly, not wanting to show how very important this girl was to him now. If he let on how great of a find this truly was, then there was no telling what his adversary would ask for in return. So far the exchange they had worked out was simple enough. He didn’t need for it to become any more complicated.

He couldn’t see the twisted grin on Shigaraki’s face due to the false hand mask obscuring it, however he could tell that it was there simply due to the way the seated man’s eyes creased with sick glee. “Let us toast to this new alliance then.” Shigaraki drawled as he stood from the wooden stool he had been sitting on.

Kurono stepped in to deal with the little lamb that was his boss’s new plaything as the two leaders left for the kitchen where Chisaki had prepped the dry blood wine. A servant poured them both a glass of the viscous burgundy liquid before handing it to them with a slight bow.

Both men removed the masks they were wearing, through they stood a good six feet apart. Chisaki was not about to breath in whatever sin Shigaraki exhaled. It was the first time Tomura had seen his full face and immediately thought that he looked even younger than he was. He waited for Chisaki to drink the wine first to make sure it hadn’t been tainted.

Chisaki took the first sip with an apathetic look on his face. Only once he had swallowed did Shigaraki follow suit. Both of them revelled in the bitter and metallic taste. Only once the glasses were half empty was a word spoken. “We will be making our next move soon.” Shigaraki said, “make sure you and your men are ready for my command.”

“Don’t worry about us not being ready.” He replied simply, “we are always prepared for anything.”

Shigaraki chose not to comment, knowing that there was an allusion to his own gang’s sometimes lack of preparedness. It could be hard controlling a group of particularly talented vampires. While he too had great power and they did listen to him, some of his subordinates could get out of control at times.

He threw back the rest of his wine, letting it flood his senses for a moment as it ran down his throat. He replaced the white hand over his face before standing. “And Chisaki, do not forget my warning. If you do not hold up your end of the bargain, then that delicious specimen will be all mine and your dick won’t be the only one that has been buried into that cute little cunt of hers.”

Chisaki finished his own glass before slipping the black cloth back over his mouth and nose. His eyes were fixated on his new partner, clearly irate to the thought of someone else having his new most beloved pet. He said nothing, letting his gaze say it all as Shigaraki took his leave finally, wanting to get out before his welcome was possibly overstayed. They’d talk more about the future of their alliance later. Now it was time for Chisaki to see just how great of a gift had just been bestowed upon him.

By now she was finished with her shower and Kurono had showed her to her new living quarters where she had been locked inside. Inside it looked similar to a medium sized hotel room. She had her own private bathroom, a closet full of clothes that certainly weren’t hers before but would be hers from now on. A full bed that was made with soft sheets and a thick duvet. The only thing she would have liked was a window, however there was nothing to suggest that she was even on the ground floor. It was much more plausible that she had been taken underground instead.

She was wearing nothing but a silk robe and the man who had brought her here had told her not to put anything on that his boss would be there in a moment. She took a seat on the foot of the bed, wondering if this was to be her life from now on. A slave to a vampire. Would it be everything she had ever dreamed of? If it wasn’t...would there be any way to escape? She had a sickening feeling that her fate was sealed either way. She could either please her new master or die at his hands. There were no other alternatives.

Being a living blood bag was not a conventional kink to say the least. Maybe it would be enough to keep her alive in this turbulent world.

The door opened and the leader of the Shie Hassaikai walked into the room, closing it behind her. His golden olive-toned eyes were fixated onto her, a thin inhale caused the black cloth mask to momentarily press against his nostrils. Hunger throbbed in his stomach and he felt himself aching to do something that he never dreamt of doing. Saliva pooled into his mouth as his gaze fixated on the untouched skin of her neck. He could see her pulse fluttering in her jugular, strong and healthy.

He was pleased to find her in the white robe he had chosen for her. An obvious symbol of what she was to him. The sacrificial lamb. Fuck, he’d drain every lost drop of that sweet innocent life force without a second thought. Sure he had come to make her his but his sudden need to feed was definitely making that difficult. Of course he could still do that even if she were dead. Though a compliant corpse wasn’t quite as much fun.

He shrugged off his green jacket, setting it on the back of a nearby chair. “What is your name?” He asked, though he already had the intent of giving her a new name already. He still wanted to know what it was.

She told it to him, voice wavering with anticipation. Was tonight the night she’d finally experience sex for the first time? The thought alone had her gushing again and the smell caused Chisaki to quirk an eyebrow with curiosity. He had only asked her her name, why did that make her so aroused?

He loosened his tie before taking it off completely, “Take off your robe.” He ordered as he stepped closer to the bed. She stood up and untied it from around her waist, letting it fall open before she shrugged it off of her shoulders. The white silk fell to the floor and immediately her hands moved to cross over her exposed chest in order to attempt some form of modesty. Even though he had already stripped her and examined her most intimate parts, it was still awkward to simply be nude in front of her new master. She did have some morals afterall.

Chisaki grabbed her arms and unfolded them before forcing them behind her back. He wrapped the fabric of his tie around her wrists tightly before weaving a knot into the bindings to keep her from getting out of it. Her shoulders pulled to accommodate the new position, causing her chest to lift and breasts to bounce in protest of his sudden and rough movements.

He observed the wince of pain that crossed her face and the look caused his cock to twitch inside of his pants, begging to be freed. “If you struggle too much, Angel, it’s only going to hurt you more in the long run.” He said, voice edged with a thinly veiled threat. She immediately stopped pulling at the tie and became still before him, eyes too afraid to look at his face as she felt the skin of her cheeks heat painfully with embarrassment.

He took off his shirt and unbuckled his belt, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to wrap it around her fragile throat. If he did so then he’d been obscured from possibly savoring it for himself, though the thought of that caused a sudden wave of nausea. His stomach urged him to tear open the flesh of her jugular while his brain protested at the mess it would make.

Chisaki decided to remove the black mask from his face and placed it on a nearby table where it would not get soiled. He heard her inhale sharply at the sight of his unblocked face. He was much more handsome than she had originally thought, and while all vampires had some denotation of enhanced beauty, his was truly magnificent.

His mouth opened and she saw the glinting white fangs inside of it. Both the canines and lateral incisors were pointed sharp, though the later was a fraction shorter than the other. Truly he could reduce her into nothing in seconds if he wanted to, all with the quick use of his dangerous mouth. She couldn’t help another wave of slick from coating her sex at the thought of what all he could do with it.

He didn’t bother to take off his pants just yet as he leaned in to gently sniff the flesh of her throat right above the pulse point. She felt a droplet of something wet hit her collarbone and instantly she knew it was saliva.

“P-Please,” She stuttered for him, “bite me.” She practically moaned the order and he growled at the distastefulness of it. He didn’t want her so willing. Not for the first time. He wanted this to hurt. She heard the small hiss that came out from between his teeth, felt the small puff of air against her neck. Instantly she knew she had made a mistake as his gloved hand wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze.

She gasped for air, typing to break free from her ties once more but was unsuccessful once again. Her vision blurred around the edges, dark black spots blobbing before her eyes randomly as she struggled for air. Now this was a sight for sore eyes, Chisaki thought. He could easily see the life in her eyes fighting to stay lit. If he held his grip for a few more minutes then she’d lose consciousness completely. Even longer and she’d die.

He released his hold on her suddenly and she inhaled sharply and painfully. Her lungs expanded fully as she gulped in the clean crisp air of the room. The vampire watched her closely, looking for any sign of long lasting damage. He didn’t even need to command her to not say another word. She got the point loud and clear by his actions alone.

It was then that he decided that it was better off if he marked her as his own. While it wasn’t a very common practice (his cattle literally got branded with an iron in the shape of the family’s crest), it was something that vampires did to protect humans that they were particularly fond of. While fondness wasn’t the right choice of words here, he did want it to be known that she was for him and him only.

The best part is that it would hurt. He wanted it to hurt, through fear he could have complete subordination. He wanted a helpless lamb, not a conniving wolf. The only downside was that it would require him to bite her. Though truthfully he could use his quirk to do it, he knew it wouldn’t have quite the same effect.

Without warning, Kai suddenly sank his teeth into her shoulder, around her right collarbone. His sharpened fangs easily tore through the soft flesh, sweet rich blood pouring into his mouth as she let out the most deliciously pained cry. She tried to shy away from him, tried to get him off, but his hold was vice.

Pain ripped through her entire body, not just her shoulder. Some sort of dark magic was pulling at her skin, making it hot with fever. Her forehead broke out into a sweat as large tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her neck. She had never known such pain before and she thought she may pass out at any moment.

He was pulling the blood from her, making her feel lightheaded and almost weightless. The taste was almost too much for him. The thought of just taking every last drop flooding into his mind at such an alarming rate that he was almost unable to stop himself from pulling away at last. Her eyes connected with his bloody mouth, a thick trail of blood seeping down his chin and dripping down onto her bare chest.

Unfortunately for her he could not use his healing quirk on this particular wound. He needed it to heal naturally in order for the mark to leave a scar. If he healed it completely then it would be all for naught.

He quickly disappeared into the private bathroom and scrubbed his face and lips clean, though wasting even a drop of her blood made him rage. The good thing about humans was that they could produce more. It wasn’t a finite source. He had to remind himself of that as he willed the hives that had crept up his neck to disappear. Nausea turned his newly full stomach. A glance in the mirror at his now clean face caused the urge to vomit to recede. He grabbed a hand towel and some medical supplies. He had to take good care of his little lamb if he wanted her to last.

Once back in the bedroom he began to clean the wound. Thankfully the blood hadn’t made it to the bedspread. He cleaned the wound with a surprising amount of gentleness, being sure not to hurt her as he bandaged it up with gauze and medical tape. Once the square of white material was firmly in place he took off his clothes and retreated back into the bathroom to wash his hands.

After drying them he returned into the bedroom to see her looking at him, her legs quaking beneath her shuddering frame. “Lay down on your stomach,” He said monotonously, watching as she struggled to get onto the bed without the use of her arms and lay down for him. Chisaki put on a new pair of gloves and grabbed a condom from the box that had been placed in the room. They had been specially made to hold up during the certain amount of zeal he tended to have in the bedroom, though he rarely found a specimen good enough for his tastes. Typically after he soiled them he discarded them, but this time would be different. Now she was marked, the skin of her shoulder still burning with pain.

Chisaki dropped his pants and underwear, watching her thighs continue to shake. “Up on your knees.” He instructed and she did just that, keeping her chest on the mattress with her arms tied behind her back. The view was absolutely magnificent. Her wet folds now on display for him, the tiny whines that came from her throat. How could a virgin be so fucking needy? He didn’t know and didn’t care, somehow her being more willing than he expected was a good thing. Going in dry could be painful and he detested the stickiness of lube.

He rolled the condom onto his hard cock, a thrill tingling up his spine at the thought of what he was about to do. He’d fix her up nice and good after working her over. Even if she was aroused, this was still going to hurt.

He positioned his tip at her entrance, looking over her shuddering form. Honestly he had never seen such a beautiful site before. All the virgins he’d taken before were nothing like this one. He kept one gloved hand on her lower back while his other guided his twitching member into her.

He wasn’t slow or gentle. In fact, he pushed his way in with brute force, knowing that it would be ripping that delicate hymen of hers. He could smell the blood spilling onto the bed and once more his mouth filled with saliva. His little lamb cried out in pain because there was no pleasure to be had here yet. It was much too soon for that.

Chisaki held back a curse at how tight she was, her pussy clamping down on his cock in a vice grip that had him wanting to blow his load already. He did allow her a moment to adjust to the new feeling of him stretching her out, though it wasn’t long before he dragged himself out and slammed back into her once more.

Another cry of pain, she wanted to beg him to stop and give her time. Let her get acclimated more before he moved, but she feared what kind of punishment she might receive for such an outburst. Her cries though were music to his ears and he wouldn’t let up, not when he could hear that precious sound over and over again.

The pain didn’t last forever. Not like she had feared it might. Which each powerful thrust it dulled more and more, until her screams of agony became moans of pleasure. Chisaki wasn’t sure which he liked more, they were both so sweet in their own way. Feeling her body relax, her walls loosening ever so slightly so that it was easier for him to move, did make the act much more enjoyable. He could increase his pace, pounding into her with relentless force that had her toes curling with delight.

She felt an odd pressurized sensation welling in the pit of her abdomen. It was so foreign and tense that she was at first worried something may be wrong with her. Chisaki grabbed a fistfull of her hair and yanked it backwards, pain searing into her scalp as her walls tightened around him enough to make him let out a groan.

He pulled her upwards more by her locks, making it so he was entering her at a new angle, one that had her feeling dizzy with ecstasy. The coil tightened even more and she felt like she was going to shatter into pieces if he didn’t stop. One more good thrust and it snapped completely, her first orgasm blossoming and overtaking her in waves. Her already dripping cunt flooded around him and the feeling of her juices on his upper thighs had him breaking out all over again.

Chisaki let out a grunt at the feeling of her coming undone around him. Her walls pulsating and fluttering had him unable to hold back as he hit his peak. His thrusts became incredibly shallow and without rhythm as he pumped white cum into the latex condom.

He released his hold on her hair, making her fall forward onto her face. She was in too much of a state of bliss to move as she caught her breath. He slowly pulled out of her, allowing her hips to fall onto the bed next. He observed the mix of blood and cum that dripped down her legs and onto the bedspread. Again the sight and smell of the ruby liquid was too much for him to hold back from. Besides, his little angel did so good for him. She deserved a little treat too for taking his dick so well for the first time.

He untied the tie in order to give her shoulders a break, though they hung limply as she was still dazed from the ordeal. He gently guided her to roll over onto her back, letting her get into a comfortable position as he moved his face between her legs. His nose was practically inside her as he inhaled her natural perfume, his tongue licking at the droplets of blood on her lips. His little lamb shuddered, too tired to make any sort of noise. She was still so incredibly sensitive that his probing tongue had tears leaking from her eyes.

Chisaki devoured every drop of spilled blood that hadn’t made it to the duvet. Tiny nips of his teeth over her femoral artery had a new wave of arousal building within her. She had no idea that she could feel so much at once. It was maddening already and only became worse when his mouth latched onto her engorged clit suddenly and sucked powerfully.

She let out a weak cry of protest, the overstimulation simply too much. How could someone want something and not want it so much at the same time? There was an ache between her legs from how much he had stretched out her innocent little hole and now his tongue swirling around her clit had her seeing stars.

Unable to stop herself, she rutted her hips against him, whimpering through her tears as his eyes snapped up to watch her squirm. Two gloved fingers snaked their way into her pussy, curling with her natural curve before coming back out. He repeated the process, forming a speedy rhythm of fingers and tongue until she was screaming for more. More, more, please, and she was cumming again in no time at all.

Chisaki removed himself from her, disappearing into the bathroom to clean up his face and take off his soiled gloves and condom. He washed his hands and penis though the hives were still taking over the edges of his face. He’d have to take a full on shower after he was done cleaning her up.

He came back out with a warm wet towel and a dry one. First he placed a hand on her belly, using his quirk to heal her lower half so that she would no longer be in any pain. He also took the time to repair her hymen so he could deflower her all over again sometime soon.

Her heavy breathing slowed as the pain dissipated. Though exhaustion was setting in, his delicate healing touch had her feeling warm. He wiped her clean, drying her off before discarding the dirty towels. “Can you sit up, Angel?” He asked in a soft voice that she had no idea he was even capable of. “I need to replace the duvet.”

She nodded, scrambling to the head of the bed so that he could pull the bloody blanket out from under her. “Get under the sheets.” He said, though it was an order it didn’t sound as cold as his previous orders had. She managed to get under the silken sheets, eyes growing heavy as she rested her head on the pillow. She had been too scared to sleep since she’d been captured by the other gang of vampires. Now the events of the day were making it very difficult to keep her eyes open.

Chisaki grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and put it over her so that she would not be cold. He observed her tired, frail face. “Sleep, little lamb. I’ll have food waiting for you when you wake.”

She didn’t even have the energy to nod, simply falling into a much needed state of slumber before he could say anything else. As he observed her, Chisaki couldn’t help but think to himself that Kurono had been right. She was definitely the one.

Mobile Masterlist || Request Rules || Collab Masterlist

Tag List: @dabi-hates-fish, @hawksward

#allygoesdark #overhaul #bnha #chisaki kai #overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul smut #chisaki smut #kai chisaki #bnha smut #bnha imagine #overhaul imagine #dubcontw #chisaki imagine #overhaul x you #chisaki x reader #bnharem collab #mha

355 notes · View notes

strangeinternetwasteland · 3 years

Text

Finding Home- Dabi x Fem! Reader

This is my submission for Day 6 Places of @konoblog-simps server collab

Warning: Angst, Lots of Fluff, Soft Dabi

WC:2k

Leaving everything behind was the best decision he’d ever made. He was finally free, especially after emptying the bank account his father had for him. Nothing was holding him back. The few days after the big fight the anger was still there. It didn’t come to any physical blow but felt as if there had been. There was no looking back now, he will no longer be the unwanted son. He could change his name, his personality, and his whole story. He could be the person he truly wanted to be.

His first destination was the small city of Takayama in the Gifu Prefecture. The city always held a special appeal to him since it was known for the olden style of Japanese Culture. Something he’d always been interested in since a young boy. He stayed at the Hida Takayama Hostel for a few days. On the last night, he decided to stay at the Takayama Ouan with its breathtaking view of the city. It was here where the two of you met. Both of you spent your time talking about your future dreams and plans, and just enjoyed one another’s company.

The next morning he was planning on moving to a small picturesque town in the southern islands of Japan. ‘It was the perfect beginning to his new life.’ he told you. You decided to join him before continuing your next adventure. Here, the two of you spent two days watching the perfect sunsets the beach was named after. Most people didn’t pay any attention to you both assuming you were lovers lost in the moment.

You two exchanged numbers, in case your paths were fated to cross again. He left for Singapore, and you to South Korea. The few days spent with you left a wonderful impression on Dabi. The following days since Japan Dabi couldn’t stop thinking of you. The way your face lit up when talking about something you were passionate about, or the way you giggled when you were excited. It was those honest and earnest emotions from you he truly enjoyed. The memories helped him on the long and tedious train ride from Singapore through Malaysia. He got off a few times to get food or walk around.

Every stop he thought of calling or texting but restrained himself from doing so. He didn’t want to seem needy or clingy. A week later, when he was staying at a little hostel in Kluang in Malaysia, sipping on the most delectable cup of coffee when his phone chimed from you. You had sent greetings and wished him well. You had traveled through Russian and sent pictures of yourself at the Kremlin. How happy you looked in your picture. He wished he would’ve just joined you at that moment. He sent back well wishes and shared that he was currently enjoying a cup of coffee, with the promise to be the first one to text next time.

As the world trek continued for him, he found himself wandering through China trying all the delicacies he had heard about as he traveled. He spent a few days looking at the pandas, walked along the Silk Road, and saw the Terracotta Army before making his way through Mongolia, and taking in the breathtaking scenery of the grasslands. From Mongolia, he headed to Russia.

When he arrived at the Kremlin in Moscow, he stood exactly where you did, and snapped an identical picture to yours. He texted it to you as soon as he took it. He wore a small smile. You had texted him you were enjoying the beautiful colors of the Grecian seas, and how delectable the food was. He promised to visit Greece as soon as he could but had wanted to visit Mumbai, India first. You smiled knowing that you weren’t truly on this trek alone.

A few weeks had passed after the last text. You decided to text him to check on him. You found out he had been to see Mumbai, and sat on the famous Konkan coast. He also went to Jaipur to try Rajasthani cuisine and the street food in New Delhi. From there he went to Greece to learn and see the architecture of Athens, see the beautiful city of Santorini and see the first university in Greece.

He currently was in Lyon, France, while you were staying in Paris. He had plans to come to Paris in a couple of days. You made plans with him to meet in three days in Paris at a little restaurant called La Maison Rose in Montmartre. You were excited to see him, to say the least. You spent that morning going through all of the clothes you packed only to choose basic black slacks and a black shirt.

When you arrived you saw Dabi sitting at a table he definitely stood out against the Pink building. Your breath caught in your throat looking at him. When he looked up he saw you smiling. You knew that most people stared at him most of the time, and he did a good job ignoring them most of the time. However, with you, he seemed to fidget under your gaze. You weren’t sure if it was because you made him uncomfortable or if he was just like that.

“Hello, Y/N.” He greeted you with a kiss on each cheek. You felt electricity run through your body.

“Hello, how have you been? How is your trip going?” You asked with excitement. The two of you shared the highs and lows of your adventures, the pictures, and every ridiculous story you could. When the day got later you and Dabi grabbed dinner and wine. The feel of the city may have gotten to you, or perhaps it was the alcohol. You took Dabi back to your room and participated in evening affairs, as two lovers would do. This continued for another week. Waking up in his arms, enjoying the Parisian life with tourist flair, and getting to know another human through scandalous endeavors, and philosophical discussions post-coitus were the highlight of your time together.

You two had not discussed what would happen afterward, but deciding to part ways was a mutual agreement. You traveled south to Portugal and Spain, and he went north to the UK, Scotland, and Ireland. Another month had passed before you two had contact. For you, it wasn’t the most wonderful of occasions, but the positive pregnancy test you held in your hand deemed the matter important enough. You hoped he would be some sort of knight in shining armor, but you didn’t put a lot of faith in it. When you reached his voicemail all hope deflated, and you abruptly ended your trip and headed home.

Two more weeks had passed, and while you were still debating on the fate of your unborn child, you wondered what Dabi was up to. After his time in Morocco, he had traveled to Johannesburg, Durban, and then Cape Town in South Africa. When he was finally able to charge his phone properly for more than an hour, he heard your voicemail. His first thought was to call back since it had been two weeks since you had left the voicemail. You didn’t leave any clues or hints to the importance of your message, but you knew he’d call when he could.

It was early when you received his phone call you were in the middle of getting ready to work. You picked it up assuming it was your mother asking you to run an errand after work for her, or your boss asking you to work another double shift today. When your eyes looked at the name on the screen, your heart stopped for a brief second. You grew more and more nervous as you brought the phone to your ear. Without thinking, you pressed the green button.

“Hello.” Dabi’s voice said on the other line. “Hello? Y/N? Can you hear me?” His voice melts your insides. You thought back to the week you spent in Paris together tangled up in one another not caring about anything else.

“Hello?” You finally said into the phone.

“Hey, I am sorry about not calling you back sooner. I haven’t been able to charge my phone properly for some time. How are you doing? How’s your trek going?” His voice seemed light and carefree with a hint of exhaustion.

“Yeah. I am good. I have been back home for about 6 weeks.” You told him as nonchalantly as you could.

“Is something wrong? Are you okay? I thought you had another two weeks left?” His voice was gentle and full of surprise.

“Actually, I have something to tell you. The reason I ended my trip so abruptly was that I found out I was pregnant.” You felt nauseated from telling him. On the other line, you heard some shouting.

“Sorry, Y/N. I have got to go, but I will call you again as soon as I can.” Dabi rushed to say before hanging up the phone. The news hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn’t remember exactly where you said you were from. He hoped he could find you on any social media site and figure it out from there. After an hour of searching, he figured out you lived in a small town in California. He immediately booked a flight to the closest Airport and hoped that would be enough.

Three days later without any phone calls or news from Dabi, you gave up. You figured that if he really cared, he would’ve called, or at least text you. You were in the middle of your day off when you heard the doorbell ring. Your mother was home for the day and you let her answer the door. From your room, you heard a deep voice speaking with your mother, but you couldn’t make out the words.

“I am very sorry ma’am, I was hoping to find Y/N here, but it seems I have the wrong house. Have a pleasant day.” Dabi spoke and turned around to leave. You rushed down the stairs and saw him.

“Dabi!” You cried out. He lifted his head at the sound of your voice. You tore down the stairs and straight into his arms. You hugged him as hard as you possibly could. You were astonished to see him standing before you, you started to cry. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your hair. He stood and let you cry. Your mom walked away to let you two have a moment. After some time, you seemed to have calmed down. Dabi got down on one knee and proposed to you. You happily agreed.

In the months following, Dabi found a full-time job and rented an apartment for the two of you and the baby. You had a small wedding with your family present. A couple of years after the baby was born and you felt more stable, you planned a vacation for the three of you. You wanted to surprise Dabi and try to reconnect him with his family. After many phone calls to his parents when he wasn’t home. The three of you made your trip back to Japan. You thought back to where it all began on that serendipitous meeting. When you arrived at the airport you were met with open arms from Dabi’s family. You learned about his life growing up and his real name, which you promised to call him only when he was in real trouble.

In a quiet moment alone, Dabi took you aside, kissed you passionately, and thanked you for bringing him home to his family. A few days later, his mother and father thanked you as well. They loved seeing him as a loving husband, and doting parent, but most importantly you brought him back to them. Now their family was whole again.

#dabi x reader #dabi bnha #bnha dabi #mha #dabi fluff #mha dabi #bnha todoroki touya

45 notes · View notes

bikerjongho · 3 years

Text

the library of wonder | ateez ot8

genre: historical fiction, horror, adventure, fantasy

characters: warrior!ateez ot8

description: Religious radicals in the Joseon Dynasty, the self-proclaimed Anti-Rhythm Riders cult does everything in their power to destroy anything and anyone that violates their sacred Code of Conduct.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: violence, murder, maiming, ableism, graphic description of a dead body, radical religion, blood

author’s note: what happens when you combine the library of alexandria with ateez? this fic. this is the third addition to the ateez music video series whose masterlist (which lists the rest of them) is here. Also to note that this is part 1 of a series that I will continue later. The subsequent parts will be connected to different music videos.

taglist: @itsapapisongo @mangomingki @irehlevant @blueprint-han @doievoir @bvlnoriyas

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Weapons were a way to show the power of a king. Mounted and gleaming, the spears of King Yoongi of the Joseon Dynasty stood on either side of his elegant and golden throne like guards at the ready. On the walls that surrounded the throne from the left and right were an impressive display of bows and an array of fine arrows to accompany them. On the floor, King Yoongi's head lolled, blood pouring out of its severed end as Hongjoong sheathed the King's sword that was on his wall only moments before.

Beside the King's head and body on the floor, his recently deceased personal guard lay with him. This was thanks to Hongjoong's two best short-distance fighters, Mingi and Seonghwa. The two of them eyed the royally red blood that gushed out of the King's severed neck as they sheathed their swords. The three of them wore nothing more than simple blue hanboks and had their long hair tied up in a topknot at the top of their head, traditional for common men of this age. But with the corpse of the most important man in the Dynasty at their feet and the smell of civil unrest in the air, the plain clothing and ordinary hair was far from an appropriate look for these men in this moment.

The King's sword was now sheathed at Hongjoong's side, but he was not yet finished with the king. Bending down to the severed head, Hongjoong ripped out all of the intricate pins and ties that the King's servants had put in his hair that morning. The King's luscious black hair spilled out at his feet, mixing with his blood and turning it burgundy. Hair was a symbol of status and power. Now that the King was dead, Hongjoong assumed he no longer needed his power. He extracted a dagger from a pocket of his hanbok and began cutting at where the King's scalp ended.

The hair obliged with the blade. Soon, the King's heap of hair rested in Hongjoong's hands, and he promptly tied it to keep the strands together. "Proof," Hongjoong whispered and shoved the hair into his hanbok. "Proof that the wretched King Yoongi is dead."

"May he rot in many Hells," Seonghwa murmured and bowed his head. Mingi followed suit, and then Hongjoong last. There was a method to their madness. They, along with a few other men, were leaders of an ancient group called the Anti-Rhythm Riders. They did no harm as long as no one provoked them. Their laws, while more modest and tight than most groups, religions, or cults, were mostly fair. But the Anti-Rhythm Riders were a bloodthirsty and arrogant group of people that took pride in their faith and murdered anyone that refused to also follow.

"You must understand," Hongjoong had said calmly to a screaming woman only weeks earlier. Despite his attempts to convert her, she wouldn't budge, leaving Hongjoong with only one choice. His eyes had darkened to a lifeless grey as he had stuck his hand into her abdomen and twisted her gut. "This is a death far more merciful than if The Chariot returned while you were still alive and not following Him," he had said, digging his nails into her body while she screamed. "Feel blessed that I have chosen to kill you and spare you of his wrath that is worse than this by tenfold."

The dead King at Hongjoong's feet was one of many who had been adamantly against the Anti-Rhythm Riders. But besides their penchant for murdering those that were not like them, their strict code of honor shaped them into contributing and positive members of society. Their code of laws requested that each member of the group brought forth the best version of themselves at all times. This included dressing appropriately and being able-bodied, so all Riders were in peak health and dressed like they respected themselves. But on the same side of the coin, it was imperative to closely follow the code of honor as a Rider, lest they be murdered in the same way a non-believer would. The Riders, no matter how devoted they were to their cause, could not step out of line.

Top physical health included never becoming blind, deaf, mute, or immobile, except in the cases of old age or a sickness, but even then, those members were socially separated from the rest of the Riders. Old believers and ill people dressed from head to toe in black clothing in order to not bring attention to themselves and their misfortune of owning a frail and weak body.

But King Yoongi had not perished because of his non-belief. Despite his non-belief, most Riders saw merit in a hierarchal leader. They had, with their teeth grit, kept him alive. What had caused his downfall was not a snap decision by a lone Rider. It was caused by The Library of Wonder.

"A man that has lost his way chooses to walk the path to eternal hell," Mingi quoted a founder as he kicked Yoongi's body as he walked by towards the exit of the throne room. Hongjoong gripped the hair in his pockets, then followed Mingi. Seonghwa followed last, shutting the doors to the throne room with a smile on his face.

When they walked outside, they were met with thunderous cries and applause. The rest of Hongjoong's elite and higher-up group stood waiting in the front of it all. Yunho, man with a spear and a smile that was a bit too comforting and cozy; Yeosang, a solemn man with a sword strapped to his side that was anything but that; San, producing an ugly and terrifying grin on his face as Hongjoong removed the King's ponytail from his pockets; Jongho, with his sharp eyes and sharper reflexes, infamous bow and arrows strapped to his chest and back, and Wooyoung, who thrusted his permanently bandaged and bloodied fists into the air and let out a cry of victory that seared across the mass of Riders and raised the temperature of their spirits.

"The King is dead, Riders," Hongjoong bellowed above the roaring crowd. "And now, we ride to the Library of Wonder." He was met with shouts of disapproval for the Library, and Hongjoong's lip curled upward. There was a section for arts and music in The Rider's code. It was allowed, but certain teachings of it, such as allowing it to manipulate emotions, was forbidden.

"There is a disease in the heart of man," The Riders heard all too frequently in their sermons and speeches. "The disease is human emotion."

The Library of Wonder promoted this diseased music. For years they had tried to defund the Library, encourage the King to focus his spending elsewhere, to change the Library so it did not promote these blasphemous ideas, and none had been successful.

"We can't have a King that has allowed such a violation of our code for this long," Hongjoong had said only a month before the assassination, neck deep in plans for the kill. His face had darkened against the flickering fire that was nearby, casting inhuman shadows across his features. The Anti-Rhythm Riders were not a majority in the Joseon Dynasty, and their following was hardly recognized as a religion at all, let alone the Dynasty's main religion - but they were a potent and loud minority.

And over the course of a year, Hongjoong had been collecting and persuading commoners with his silver tongue to join The Riders for the purpose of having an army. An army that would not only be large, but also be relentless and unstoppable. And as Hongjoong stood in front of these thousands of people fueled with anger for The Library, he believed his work to collect them all had been a success. San took over with controlling the crowd, his loud voice carrying over all of the chatter and yelling. He dictated to certain groups in the crowd to certain tasks, such as loading wood onto the backs of their traveling cows or oiling up weapons and lighters. Fire, Hongjoong had decided, would be the ideal move to destroy the library. It would burn all of the texts that he and so many others hated with no hope of replicating them.

Amidst the screams, Yunho saddled up next to Hongjoong. One of Hongjoong's most efficient and silent warriors in the team, he was an asset that had carried them far. He couldn't stop smiling. Hongjoong knew that this day was huge for him - huge for all of them. Killing the King had been a goal point of their plan. Now all that was left was to destroy The Library of Wonder.

"Do you have any hangwa?" He asked, and Hongjoong was mildly bemused at how casual he was. He had just seen him slice the arm off of a palace soldier only fifteen minutes prior.

"I do," Hongjoong answered anyway, shuffling around in his bag before pulling out a packet of hangwa, assorted Korean cookies. He pushed it towards him, and Yunho happily dug in. "Time to rally the troops," he said, starting up a conversation.

"Well, it's easy to do that when persuasion rolls off of the tongue like leaves blow in the wind," Yunho said, mouth full of cookie. Yunho was referring to The Riders' way of persuasion and how it borderlined with magical coercing. In many ways, it was magical. Hongjoong theorized it had to do with how devoted and powerful many of The Riders were. It was The Chariot's doing that allowed his followers the ability of masterful persuasion.

It was also the reason why they had amassed so many people for their invasion so quickly. Many of them had knocked on doors and preached in the streets. As long as someone could hear them, people joined their cause.

The Riders left immediately after their supplies and weapons were loaded into traveling bags and onto the backs of animals. Hours after they had left on their journey to the Library, Jongho was ready to rally the troops for a special tradition. Having just climbed onto a travelling horse, he was raised above the crowd. His long and dark hair flickered around his face as he assessed the mass of walking Riders. The time must have felt correct to him, for he then raised his arms over the crowd, a move he had done many times.

This move caught the attention of many Riders, but his projecting and powerful voice was what roped in the rest. Jongho sang a mid-range note that silenced what little noise was left from the crowd. The Riders stopped what they were doing in order to match his note. Hongjoong and Yunho followed suit out of habit. The earth rumbled with the thousands of voices of the Riders.

There was an air to the main vocalist now that all of the attention was on him. Something lurked in the darker hues of his eyes, something that looked like power, and it showed itself through how he now moved and sang. His voice, still louder than the crowd's, rose up a note. The dissonance of the pitches only lasted for a moment before the crowd went down a note, creating a harmony. Jongho closed the fingers on his left hand into a fist and the women of the Riders adjusted their note. A minor harmony emerged from the chord.

None of the voices were completely perfect, except for maybe Jongho's. But all voices bowed at the command of Jongho's hands that were, in a way, conducting an old vocal ritual created by and for their religion. The choir was used to grab the attention of all Riders, but it was used equally as a morale booster. Hongjoong glanced at Yeosang, his sword gleaming with menace at his side, and raised his eyebrows.

Yeosang caught his eyes and sifted through the crowd to him. "Why is Jongho doing the Chariot Chant?" He hissed under the singing as the swordsman came close to him. He had seen Jongho and Yeosang together only a quarter of an hour prior. And while the choir was mainly for enjoyment, it was sometimes used as a distraction from something that the higher-up Riders didn't want the rest of their group to know about. Hongjoong feared something had come up despite his meticulous planning, and he assumed that Yeosang knew about the problem if there was one. "We didn't plan one. What is he diverting?"

Yeosang, in charge of the artillery, looked at Jongho on the horse. "Some of our artillery is failing," he said, his eyes the color of stone. "Some of our men and women notified me of a few issues our cannons are having. I inspected them myself and have found that they are correct. I assume this was the throne's last stand against us." His frown deepened. "I theorize our original plan for the Library can't be used now."

A smile appeared on Hongjoong's lips, mirroring Yeosang's disapproving frown. The original plan was to partially blow up the library before burning it, suggested by Yeosang, but Hongjoong had been against it. He wanted the library to be aflame as soon and for as long as possible, but he had been outnumbered by most of his group. Hongjoong's method would endanger more Rider's lives at the expense of his selfish love for fire. Unprecedented death of Riders was certainly a reason for Jongho to begin a distracting chant. He wouldn't have started it if he had thought Hongjoong's plan would go to fruition.

"So we go with my plan," Hongjoong smirked at the artillery leader. Yeosang pursed his lips and, for a moment, said nothing.

"I will think about our other options," Yeosang murmured. "Ones that will, perhaps, be less taxing on us. Don't think for a second that Jongho's calling to action means your plan will now be enacted," he said with a hint of irritation. He said no more, sweeping himself back into the crowds towards the animals helping carry the artillery, leaving Hongjoong with his thoughts and a smile still plastered to his face.

Hongjoong was the unofficial leader of the Riders, but he still wanted to deal with decisions diplomatically. So, after an hour of caroling with Jongho, Hongjoong rounded up the seven of them to talk about their plan of attack on the library.

They formed a line as they walked and saddled beside the cattle and horses that carried the artillery. Seonghwa and Wooyoung gravitated towards Hongjoong in the line. The two of them had been the members to agree with Hongjoong's less rational plan of setting fire to the library immediately upon arrival, but they had ultimately been overruled by the other five that had agreed to Yeosang's safer plan.

"So, fire immediately?" Wooyoung asked everyone once Hongjoong explained to them their situation, but his eyes were locked onto Hongjoong. Yeosang raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Not quite," Hongjoong said evenly, turning his attention to Yeosang, who now had his arms crossed. "Let's see what our artillery man has to say."

"If the First Army successfully purged the library of people," Yeosang said, referring to a subset of the Riders that had left for the library a day earlier, "then we should have a clean and easy shot to do whatever we want to the library. Word won't spread that we invaded it until it's already a pile of rubble." Some of them bowed their heads in appreciation for that statement.

"That being said," Yeosang continued, "we have about half the amount of cannons I'd like to have. We still have swords, but that won't do much against the hard material of the building." He grabbed the hilt of his sword at his side instinctively. "We still have torches and the building is flammable."

"And bow and arrows," Yunho cut in, lifting up Jongho's bow from his back. Jongho glared at him.

"Arrows that can carry flame," Yeosang sighed, and Seonghwa's lip curled up. "I truly have exhausted my thoughts and exhausted them some more. Many weapons from home could have been used for a different attack, but we're too far to turn back now." They were all experienced enough fighters to realize where Yeosang was going.

"Fire," Hongjoong smiled, and Yeosang looked weary.

"Fire," he sighed in agreement.

Wooyoung and Seonghwa exploded into hisses of victory. Wooyoung punched his fist into the air. "Hell yes," he said, shaking his bandaged wrist in front of him.

"Should we tell them?" Yeosang asked, gesturing to the entire herd of Riders that were traveling with them as a few of the members dispersed from the group. Yeosang meant the increased danger that came with their sudden change of plans. Hongjoong adjusted the bag on his back and grinned.

"They know what they're getting into," Hongjoong smiled. "But even if they don't, they'll do it anyway. They love The Chariot too much to refuse to do something." Hongjoong flicked a cocky smile at Yeosang, who could only sigh and nod. While it was not his favorite plan, it was a plan that still accomplished the destruction of the library, which was a goal all of them wanted to achieve regardless of the means.

And while Riders didn't like injuring other Riders, self-preservation overtook any feelings they had for their lower Rider acquaintances. If Yeosang could remain without burn scars and seared lungs while someone else did, then it was simply a means to an end. The library was destined to go down by the careful hands of the Riders, one way or another.

It took another day for the riders to reach The Library of Wonder, and when they did, it was a wonder to behold. Sculpted with stone and wood, it was an incredible feat of architecture in the Joseon Dynasty. Great stone columns supported the front of the building, and a stone statue of a beautiful woman with long hair and a scroll in her hands greeted library goers at the entrance.

Wooyoung yanked out a club from the pockets of his blue hanbok and swung at the lady without warning. He took off part of her chest and her entire left arm and was met with roars of approval and laughter. "At the ready!" Hongjoong yelled over the laughing crowds, and Riders began fishing their weapons out of their pockets. These weapons were mostly bows and arrows, but like Wooyoung, a few clubs were seen. Jongho was among those with bow and arrows, slinging his trusty bow from around his shoulder to the front of his body.

But bow and arrows weren't the correct term for the weapon Jongho and many of the other Riders had. His bow and arrows were of a narrower Korean variety called the singijeon. The singijeon worked much like traditional bow and arrows, but gunpowder was held in the arrows.

He now had his bow cocked and ready and his hands clutched a wooden arrow with a ball of gunpowder nestled close to the tip of the arrow. Jongho pulled back with his left hand and released the arrow. The Riders watched as it soared through the heat of the sun and made contact with the middle of the entry wall of the Library. As soon as the arrow hit the wall, the gunpowder activated and blew a hole in it.

Many more singijeon became useful and created more holes in the Library and smoke in the air. It was almost too easy to destroy the Library. It crumbled more and more with each hit like it was destiny for the great building to fall. Soon enough, the wall was completely gone and the Riders rejoiced in their work.

Mingi appeared at the front of the crowd, a tall presence marked even more visible by the torch of fire he held in his hands. Behind him, Yeosang carried a similar torch and was passing the fire to other torches held by other Riders, who were then passing the fire to others around them like believers in a church service would. There was no fire in Yeosang's eyes despite the lit torch in his hands.

"Riders," Mingi shouted and stepped over the rubbled wall that the Riders had just destroyed. He tilted his head down and grinned while surveying the crowd. Then, he elegantly walked over to the first shelf of the Library and let his torch make contact with the last book on the shelf. It took the fire with no issues, becoming an incendiary in moments. The book was quick to share the flames with the paper around it, and soon the entire shelf glowed with fire. Mingi was quick to exit the library as Riders poured into the Library with their torches and began setting the books aflame.

Yeosang, though his eyes were grim with the disapproval of how the Riders were proceeding, was smiling. While their method wasn't the safest or most practical, the Library that had been up for so long was finally being destroyed. The eight Riders watched a safe distance away as their lesser brethren raced into the Library like packs of overexcited hyenas. Many of them likely didn't know what they were fighting for, but they were moths drawn to flame, entranced by the beauty and cruelty of destruction.

Wooyoung smiled while the fire casted red and orange light on his face. "The Library is not exactly a slow-burn, is it?" He said softly as the fire ravenously ate through the texts.

"It's not," Yunho agreed with him. "Especially with the leftover gunpowder from all of the singijeon. Gunpowder revels with fire."

The eight of them watched the Library eat itself in the flames from a safe distance away. It was comical how some Riders passionately drove into the collapsing Library with a torch in their hands and emerged with burns and much less enthusiasm. Sometimes they didn't reappear at all. That feeling caused a bit of discomfort to some of them, but Hongjoong reveled in their discomfort. It just showed how dedicated they were to The Chariot, and Hongjoong was proud of them for their dedication.

It took a half an hour for the great stone Library of Wonder to turn into a charred and wasteful hunk of rock. The papery books had succumbed too easily to the flames and all that was left on the inside of the Library were ashes and the remnant memories of books lost forever. The fire was less of a roar and more whispery and trapped now, only burning the book it was on and not passing its flame to other books.

San was now on top of a horse and rallying the troops to receive medical attention if they needed any and congratulated them on their efforts. "The Chariot is proud of us, Riders," he said, beaming. Some Riders returned a smile, others were too hurt to acknowledge San. "As our great laws say, the disease in the heart of man is human emotion. These books would have spread that harmful message had we not burned them down. For that, He is eternally grateful for your efforts."

San hopped off of the horse and joined the other seven Riders in preparing for the return trip. Behind them, the last of the flames were dying out. Riders still in the Library were stumbling out of the burned rubble. There were likely bodies of Riders that were dead inside of the Library and others that were alive but had succumbed themselves to imperfections of their physical features. And while they had given a valiant effort in destroying the Library, that was a violation of The Rider's code. They would have to cover up if they wished to remain a Rider.

But something else lurked in the rubble as well. All Riders wore blue, but a man in red was now present behind a collapsing and charred bookshelf. His ethnicity, like the Riders, was Korean, but his skin and eyes held heavy years and knowledge of many more cultures and lands that the Riders could only dream of touching. His long black hair was knotted at the back of his head, and beneath his bulging arm muscles was a lengthy silver sword with a red hilt.

But perhaps his most distinguishing feature was the long scar that travelled from his left eyebrow, through his eye, down his cheek, ending right at the tip of his lip. The scar made the left side of his lips permanently downturned. Such a scar directly violated The Rider's code, but this man was above that religion and the laws that it held. This man was Ares, the god of war. And Ares, who thrived in bloodshed and carried the spirit of warfare wherever he walked, was not impressed with the warfare that had gone on at this library.

Yunho noticed him first. He was surveying the Library's remains when he saw the man's hulking figure amidst the ashes like a phoenix. "Hongjoong," he whispered and nudged him. He nodded his head towards the Library.

Hongjoong, who was overseeing a group of Riders, looked over at the Library. Ares locked eyes with him and Hongjoong's blood ran cold. He had no idea who this man was, but he was someone that could send shivers down Hongjoong's spine. There weren't many people that could do that.

Hongjoong took a step forward to address this man, but Ares was already ahead of him.

"So-called Riders," Ares boomed across the land, his voice easily the loudest in the vicinity yet there was no visible effort on his face to make himself heard over everyone. His thigh muscles rippled as he stepped over what was left of the wall. His face was flooded with unfiltered rage.

The rest of the Riders, who had been focused on returning home, froze in their efforts. All eyes were on the giant and muscular man seething in front of them.

Seonghwa grabbed the knife at his side and glanced at Hongjoong for permission. In any other circumstance, Hongjoong would have let him have it. Instead, he softly shook his head, and held his hand in front of Jongho when he realized he was drawing his bow. There was something about this man that Hongjoong did not want to provoke, but the steam coming from his head was proof that he had already been provoked enough. Hongjoong gulped and tried to calm his racing heart.

"I'm Ares, the God of War," the muscled man thundered, and no one was brave enough to disagree with him. He certainly looked the part. Now that he was closer, Hongjoong could see the long scar across his face and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"You-" Ares began, but he was cut off as a singijeon arrow flew through the air directly towards his face. Hongjoong turned and saw that it was from a young and male Rider, gripping his bow so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Ares didn't flinch at this unexpected attack. With a practiced and weathered hand, he caught the arrow between his fingers. The Riders were stunned. His hand twitched and the arrow snapped in half. "Cute," he muttered, letting it crumble to the ground in his hands. He turned towards the teenage Rider who had shot the arrow and gave him a smile.

Hongjoong began to step forward. He wasn't sure what he was to do for the boy, he wanted to help - but Ares was too quick. With a flick of his hand not unlike the motion he had done with the arrow, the teenage boy jerked inhumanly backward with a loud crack. With his spine completely in two, he toppled over himself backwards onto the ground. His face was lifelessly frozen in shock, and the clear God of War smiled with satisfaction at the work he had done.

A few muffled sobs prevented silence. "Let me speak," Ares said carefully to the crowd, his eyes traveling over them all like he was sizing them up. This time, no one argued.

"Riders," Ares began. "You've burned down The Library of Wonder and all of the wonders it contained. Do you even understand the weight of that action?"

Ares looked directly at Hongjoong and he felt obliged to speak. "The books hold untrue and unsafe messages," Hongjoong spoke to Ares, his knees quivering underneath his pants. He didn't remember his voice sounding so small. "We had to rid them of this world. They have no place here except as smoke and ash. It is The Chariot's wish and creed."

"And your Chariot is nothing more than a weak and ailing minor god," Ares said cooly back to him. It took everything in Hongjoong's power to not curse him out for insulting his god - but he didn't want to end up like the young Rider.

"I know him," Ares continued. "He laughs at the lengths you do for him. He himself knows he is pathetic, but he enjoys seeing humans like you quiver and worship him. And I normally don't bat an eye to his or your shenanigans, I have better things to worry about, other worlds that are far more entertaining than this one," Ares said.

His eyes darkened. "But burning down my wife's Library broke her. So, in turn, you have to deal with me."

Hongjoong realized in horror what he meant. He idly thought of Wooyoung's gleeful act of smashing the statue of the goddess at the front of the Library. He wanted to throw up. Wooyoung looked like he wanted to throw up.

"So I've made it my personal game to make your lives a living hell," Ares said with a smile. "Because no one hurts my wife." He shifted his attention, not just towards Hongjoong, but to the other seven of his teammates crowded around him. They all froze. Hongjoong felt Mingi tense beside him.

"You Riders are simply too vocal for my taste," Ares glared. "The Chariot gives you the power of persuasion because it amuses him, so you all go around recruiting mindless humans to follow your so-called religion. But it is not funny in the slightest." His eyes swiveled to Jongho and his smile widened. "Doesn't this one sing?"

Hongjoong heard Jongho intake a terrified breath. He heard a sudden movement, and then Jongho had taken off running in the opposite direction as Ares. But Jongho was an ant and Ares was a stone. Hongjoong blinked and Ares was in front of the singer.

Jongho was strong, but he was nothing compared to a god. He began screaming as Ares picked him up by the throat, crying out to the Chariot, to his mother, to Hongjoong, to anyone that was listening, but he received no answer. Tears ran down his face and he kicked to be set free. Only his scream, which vastly contrasted his usual mesmerizing singing voice, cut through the air, and then he was abruptly silenced by Ares.

Ares dropped Jongho to the ground at his feet, and the boy continued his sobs in a crumpled mess. But his sobs lacked the voice, no matter how anguished it would have been right now, that the Riders had grown to love.

"He has no more use for his vocal cords," Ares smiled, and Hongjoong's heart dropped to his feet. Jongho had loved his voice. Everyone had loved his voice. Ares looked at the rest of them, and he realized with horror that he was not close to being done with them. "A shame, isn't it?" Ares laughed and stepped over Jongho's shaking body. "Your law says you are to never become mute, lest you want to remain a Rider. Seems like a bit of an issue, does it not?"

Hongjoong tried to move his legs, but he found himself frozen in place. He wasn't sure if it was his own body trying to protect him from harm or Ares immobilizing him, but he could only stare in sickening awe as one by one, Ares stole the voices of every Rider present. For some, he waved his hand and an entire group of people were silenced. Others, like those in Hongjoong's close team, had a solo maiming in front of everyone. No one was spared from Ares' destruction, especially not Hongjoong.

When he was finished, the sea of Riders were silent.

"Now I won't be interrupted," Ares said cheerfully, worlds happier than he was when he first arrived at the library. The hulking man had taken it upon himself to move Jongho's limp and shaking form back to the other seven of them.

"You eight are especially troublesome," Ares whispered, because there was no voice that could be above him. "For that, you have a special place in my personal hell. And now, I will take you to your own personal hell."

Ares raised his hand, and the library in the horizon vanished from view. For a moment, Hongjoong could see nothing, and then a beige wall of a house clouded his vision.

Hongjoong opened his mouth to cry out, but the attempt was fruitless.

"Your own personal hell," Ares said softly, suddenly beside him. The god placed a hand on Hongjoong's shoulder, a soft gesture that a father might do to a son. "You and your seven other friends are in, what I call, a timeout mansion. It is a place that you cannot leave or escape from, so I advise you to not even attempt that. You will sit and you will gaze at the fine art and architecture that this mansion has to offer," Ares said, his words puncturing. "You will be in aching emotional pain because all of this art is, as you call it, a disease to your human heart." Ares rubbed his back while Hongjoong held back tears. "And you will grow to love it."

The god stood up from beside Hongjoong. "That is your answer to escaping. An answer that you must vocalize and preach if you are to ever leave here." Ares smiled at him, and the scar that touched his eye, cheek, and lip curled up with it. And then he was gone, and Hongjoong's hope left with him.

For a few moments, Hongjoong stared at the floor. Then, shaking, he raised his right hand.

There is a disease in the heart of man, Hongjoong thought and touched his chest over his heart. His heart was racing like he had never felt before.

The disease is in me.

28 notes · View notes

readiajin · 3 years

Text

To Love Herself - Chapter 3: Hello

Synopsis: Following ACOSF until Nesta’s confrontation with Amren. Rather than going to hike and soul search with Cassian in the wild, Nesta uses her powers to disappear.

Masterlist

Chapter 3: Hello

Nesta - After Disappear

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta jumped to her feet and whirled around.

A woman stood a couple yards away. No, not a woman, a High Fae. The female had dark skin and her tightly braided hair was pulled back, revealing her pointed ears. Despite her ears marking her as High Fae, Nesta couldn’t help comparing her to the Illyarians. She wore fighting leathers somewhat similar to theirs, and they were form fitting around the muscles of her torso and arms. A bow and quiver were slung over her back, with a sword sheathed at her side.

Nesta froze as she silently cursed herself for not having any weapons of her own. She had no idea how she had used her magic before and had very little faith in it if the female decided to attack. She however, had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised at Nesta as she slowly looked her over.

“Do you speak? I asked who you are and what you are doing here.”

The arrogance in the female’s voice made Nesta grind her teeth but also stand straight and lift her chin.

“You didn’t actually.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t ask what I was doing here before. You only asked who I was.”

The female tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Nesta. “You know I don’t think you are in a position to have so much attitude.”

Despite Nesta’s rapidly beating heart, she forced her face to be impassive as she gave a dry smile. “Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing.”

Nesta wasn’t sure how she expected the female to react, but to burst out laughing wasn’t it. Her laugh was high pitched and infectiously jovial. At least it would have been if it wasn’t at Nesta’s expense. Nesta felt heat rush to her face but retained her still exterior as the female leaned over her knees while attempting to catch her breath.

When she finally calmed down enough to wipe tears from her eyes she took in Nesta again, her face softer than before.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but you’ve surprised me.”

Nesta had no idea what that meant, but she bit back, “You haven’t surprised me.”

The female snorted. “Nevertheless, if you want to live you should probably come with me.”

Taken aback, it took Nesta a moment to respond, “I don’t need your help nor will I go anywhere with you. Turn around and go back to wherever you came from.”

The female rolled her eyes. “Mother, you are a piece of work, aren’t you? We both know that you didn’t intend to come here or even know where here is. If you want food and shelter and help you will come with me, Nesta.”

Nesta stepped back at her name, trying to call to magic for help but it was silent. “How do you know my name?”

The female’s lips curved it into a tight smile, but she simply shrugged and turned away. “Welcome to the Forest of the Lost,” she said over her shoulder before heading to disappear between the trees.

Part of Nesta told her to let the female go, but another part screamed at her to get answers.

“Wait!” The female stopped. “Tell me your name if you want me to follow.”

The female turned back slowly, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“I’m Thalia. Now keep up.”

•••••

Cassian - After Appear

The Obsidian Isles were named so for the smooth rocks that made up the beaches instead of sand. Flying towards them from above, they looked like dark slashes dividing the rough sea and dense evergreen forests of the Isles.

Cassian glanced at Feyre flying to his right, trying to be calm as he flew towards his heaven and his hell. It had been decided that only Cassian, Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel would go to meet Nesta. Elain had made her feelings clear, and no one explicitly had said it, but it was understood that it is probably better to keep Mor and Amren far away from Nesta.

They had sent Azriel to scout ahead as usual, but the Northern Island and the rest of the Isles were all free of Fae. Azriel could find no evidence that anyone had even visited recently, or where exactly they were expected to meet Nesta.

So now they flew towards the dark beaches, all four of them on high alert.

They landed in the center and examined the tree line. “Anything?” Rhys asked Azriel.

Az shook his head. “Place seems as abandoned and cursed as usual.”

Besides from their location in the cold and gray north, the soil of the Isles were fertile, and the surrounding waters prime fishing. Despite that, no Fae settlement had ever lasted. Stories of tragedies befalling any settlement were plentiful, from lighting burning down a half built cabin to an entire colony disappearing. This fact had been pointed out repeatedly by Mor as she argued with him and Feyre to not be stupid by coming here.

Cassian wasn’t worried, as there had never been any tragedy for someone visiting the islands. Even if there was a curse, Cassian would settle down to stay here if Nesta asked him too.

Stupid. Cassian’s logical voice chided him. He couldn’t let his emotions influence him right now. He was still angry with his family for their mistrust of Nesta, but he also needed to think as the General he was. Nesta had managed to get into Velaris without anyone knowing, at least twice. How many times had she gone there besides the two times they knew about? Cassian didn’t want to consider she had been so close without him knowing while he worried about her, but he knew now not to make assumptions.

“Should we go into the trees and look for her?” Feyre asked as the beach remained empty.

“No,” Rhys replied. “We shouldn’t risk an ambush hidden among the trees.”

Feyre shot her Mate a dark look. “Nesta is not going to ambush us.”

Rhys and Feyre fell silent, speaking mind to mind. Knowing better than to get involved, Cassian turned to the trees again.

Cold winds swept off the sea, making Cassian shiver. As he looked at the trees, his gaze snagged on a boulder about 60 yards away, just slightly beyond the tree line. There was nothing special about it, besides it’s massive size probably being a foot higher than Cassian’s height, and just as wide. But as he stared at it, Cassian suddenly felt a tug in his gut.

“There.” He said, before moving toward it without waiting for a response.

Cassian walked around it, examining the smooth surface for any signs. He met Azriel at the back, as he had gone around the other side.

“Do you see something in this bolder we don’t, Cass?” Feyre asked as she and Rhy joined them.

“I…” Cassian frowned. “No, I thought something was telling me this was it.”

“This was what?” Rhys asked.

“A giant boulder of obsidian, of course.”

The voice that spoke those words did not belong to any of them.

In an instant Rhys had thrown Feyre behind him, his dark power surrounding them. Cassian and Azriel both drew their swords and siphoned up shields around them, jumping back.

However, they all froze upon seeing the figure now perched atop the rock.

Emerie sat there cross legged, an amused look on her face as she looked down on them.

“It really is just a rock,” Emerie said as she hopped down to stand in front of them.

Emerie turned to Rhys and Feyre to bow. “Good to see you again my Lord and Lady.” She straightened to look at Cassian and Azriel, smiling. “You two as well.”

Cassian thought back to the last time he had seen Emerie. After Nesta had disappeared, Cassian had stopped training the priestesses and Emerie. Had stopped doing a lot of things. His last conversation with Emerie had been a couple days after Nesta had gone, when it had become clear to him that neither Emerie or Gwyn had any idea how or where Nesta went.

Azriel had tried to continue to train them all for a while, but between looking for Nesta, Feyre’s pregnancy, the threat of the human queens, Koschei, and the talks with Vallahan, Cassian later learned training had been put on hold. That was another thing for Cassian to feel guilty about after they were also gone.

“Emerie,” Rhys said, looking her up and down. She wore leathers like the ones Feyre had described Nesta wearing, her wavy hair braided with feathers down her back. And the missing sword was hanging from her belt. “What are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Cassian felt the world shift. Every molecule of his being was suddenly pulled to the right as time seemed to slow down and he turned.

“She is helping me show you all what I told Feyre was the truth.”

Nesta said this from 10 feet away, standing between two trees where she had certainly not been a moment before. She looked as Feyre had described. Wearing well worn fighting leathers, molded to show off the sleek muscles of her arms, stomach, and thighs. Her golden streaked hair shone in the sunlight, with a silver feather braided into it. Her smooth skin now had a warm tan, making her glow. Cassian had never been able to take his eyes off her, but now there was no denying how devastatingly beautiful she was.

She stood straight, her arms crossed with the Great Sword at her belt. Her stormy grey eyes were bright like a thunderstorm as dusk as she surveyed them all. Except for Cassian. She seemed to be dutifully ignoring his stare.

“The reason I asked you all here is because this is the meeting point of those within the Night Court who are working with the Rising to steal the Night Court's power.”

“Hello Nesta,” Rhys said, his voice cold. “It’s been a while.”

Nesta took in Rhys with an equal level of disdain as he gave her. After a moment she simply said “Yes,” before turning to Azriel and continuing.

“The fact that your shadows have not picked up this group's activities tells me that they are probably already well established in Prythian.”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, stepping forward. “If you want us to believe you, why not start with how you left eight years ago and what you have been doing since them.”

Nesta sighed. “I ended up on the continent and met some people who… helped me. They also were interested in helping the priestess. Something I understand you lost interest in once I was gone.” Nesta still didn’t look at Cassian but he felt as if she punched him in the gut. “The group consists primarily of lesser Fae who want to upset the hierarchy of power between them and High Fae. Actually they really just want to flip it, and subject the High Fae to the same treatment they revived. They call themselves The Rising,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “So to answer your inevitable question as to how we know this, the former priestesses have been tracking this group's movement on the continent. We intercepted one of their correspondences to a contact here.”

“How do you know they have a source within the Illyrians?” Azreil asked, the only one of them not completely taken aback by Nesta’s explanation.

Nesta nodded to Emerie, who removed a parchment from her pocket. “This is the last message we intercepted,” She explained as she handed it over to Azreil.

Az brow furrowed slightly as he read the paper before handing it to Rhys.

“What is it?” Cassian asked as Rhys got the same look.

“The top part is Illyrian but the bottom part is in a language I don’t recognize,” Rhys explained as Cassian took a look for himself.

The part in Illyrian read: PEAK SUNRISE DROUGHT CEILING

“What is that supposed to mean?” Feyre asked after they translated the Illyrian for her.

“We aren’t sure either,” Nesta said. “We think it refers to another meeting place. And we were hoping one of you knew what the other language was.”

“Amren might know,” Azreil said.

Nesta stiffened at the female's name. “That would be helpful,” She said.

Cassian blinked in surprise. Nesta wasn’t one to appreciate someone else helping, especially Amren.

“And how exactly does the Rising think they can steal Prythian’s High Lords’ powers?” Rhys asked.

“Like I told Feyre before, by finding the physical manifestation of it in Prythian.” Nesta leveled Rhys a glare. “If you know, you might want to check it, and the Illyarians. And look out for Riding members infiltrating the courts.”

Rhys examined Neata with the High Lord stare that regularly brought Fae to their knees. “And what will you be doing, Nesta?”

Nesta held her chin high, weathering the power rolling of Rhys. “My friends and I will be handling them on the Continent.”

Cassian couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh, that’s all?” He growled.

Nesta finally looked to Cassian, her face impassive. That look made his blood boil, in conjunction with how it felt like she was ripping out his heart.

“We have been trying to stop this group from spreading on the Continent for years now. I have no interest in seeing Prythian become subject to their misguided revolution.”

“You sure you and your friends can handle it?” Cassian spit out. “Sounds like you have been failing for years.”

Out of the corner of his eye Cassian sensed Emerie step back. Silver flames danced in Nesta’s eyes.

“We’ve done a lot in the past eight years.” She said in a deadly quiet. “I’ve done a lot of things. I’m doing this to save the lives of innocents. I’m not interested in another war or anything else.”

Cassian fell silent.

In all the times he had imagined seeing her again, it wasn’t like this. He knew she was the queen of pushing people away, but even at her worst he knew what to expect from her. He could take her yelling and cursing at him. He hadn’t really believed Feyre before about Nesta looking good. Hadn’t truly believed she could be happy without him when not a day had gone by where he hadn’t missed her. But Cassian didn’t know how to handle her standing tall, strong, confident, and beautiful, telling him what to do. All without him.

Probably sensing Cassian’s coming breakdown, Feyre stepped forward.

“I’m sorry Nesta, I’m still very confused. How did you get into Velaris, and who are your friends besides the priestesses?”

“You are the one who wanted me to master my powers Feyre. I did.”

Feyre blinked. “Okay but who—“

Feyre was cut off by an ash arrow flying out of the trees to lodge in the middle of her chest.

•••••

Tag list

Thanks for being here :)

@bluassassin @my-fan-side @nehemikkele @vidalinav @dread3r @vasudharaghavan @laylaameer01 @little-shipper55 @aelinchocolatelover @mis-lil-red @missing-merlin @frosted-crackers @swankii-art-teacher @nessiantrashh @camnesta @purpleglitterypinecone @sayosdreams @notjustaverb @madie-max @haepaw @nyelareyelle @audreycressworth @ghostlyrose2

(Bold doesn’t work)

#nesta archeron #acosf #acotar #cassian #nesta x cassian #emerie #readiajin

36 notes · View notes

journalxxx · 3 years

Text

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #Toshinori Yagi #All Might #deku #izuku midoriya

25 notes · View notes

bella-caecilia · 3 years

Note

Purple (my favorite color)

Thank you so much for prompting me! I had multiple ideas for the various symbols for purple but I went with the one that complemented the discussion Cobert had about Sybil in the last drabble. It’s set in series 3 episode 7 (so naturally, a bit sad but I tried to make it wholesome nevertheless). I hope you enjoy what I made of your prompt :) (Parts of the dialogue belong to JF)

Purple – Spirituality

The lightness of the day was only hesitantly accepted by the Crawley family. The Crawley family and the Bransons. Tom and little Sybbie. Well, and Tom’s brother but he was more present in the whole occurrence than the Crawleys wished for.

It was the day of the christening, and they had gone a long way to perform it this concordantly now. The baby was christened after the first period of mourning. The guests of the catholic event were allowed to wear colours. The men still wore their black suits, and Mama opted for her all-black attire as well. If she was mourning the confession that marked this whole event and claimed her only great-grandchild or really still the premature death of her youngest granddaughter though stayed a mystery.

Cora and her two daughters (it hurt so much to say it like that and Cora felt horrible every time she had to accept once again that for the world outside, she had only two children now) wore costumes of different shades of lilac. They were truly beautiful dresses and it was the first time since the horror of a night that had been little Sybbie’s birth that Cora had deliberately chosen something charming to wear. She felt good and she felt like she was allowed to (maybe even deserved to) feel good. Sybil would want her to enjoy the day of the christening of her baby’s baby. She would smile about the fact that it was like a déjà vu to Mary’s wedding. Cora had been wearing nearly the same lilac look back then (it had been made for Mary’s wedding), and Sybil would love her child’s christening to be an event just as joyful.

Even if the day was slightly tense due to the multitude of people’s believes and goals, and even if this tension was veiled with forced amicability, Cora was at ease. Most of all though, she sensed that she was more at peace with everyone and everything around her – with life and its cruel acts – than she had been for months. She was at peace for a simple fact that helped her fall asleep later that day as she realised it.

The family had been driven to the church in nearly complete silence. A few words were exchanged here and there, and they held more excited anticipation than Cora had hoped for. She had been utterly relieved first when Robert had accepted the circumstances for Sybbie’s christening without a bigger fuss, and second, when she had got him into the motor without a conflict between him and Mr Branson, Tom’s brother, ensuing until then. Everyone wanted today’s day to be a happy and successful day but one couldn’t be quite sure with the potential for conflict that smouldered within the heterogeneous group.

With her husband by her side, Cora looked forward to the ceremony itself. She knew it was what Sybil had wanted because it was what Tom wanted. So, Cora wanted to make sure things happened that way. She held onto Robert’s hand as the motor juddered over the gravel. He threw her a short glance before both directed their gazes out the car windows again. He looked a little strained. Cora knew it irritated him that he didn’t know what exactly they had to expect from the catholic christening ceremony, and even though, the entire event was no big deal for her she tried to understand what made it so hard for him. It wasn’t proper for an Earl’s granddaughter she knew. But she didn’t care for that enough to seriously waste her thoughts on that. She hoped, showing Robert how she was able to enjoy the day for her daughters’ and granddaughter’s sake would help him too. She covered their locked hands with her second one and gently rubbed his knuckles and the back of his hand. She turned around and searched his face for anything other than mere tension.

“I am very grateful that this day could be realised like this,” she said softly.

Robert furrowed his brow. “I don’t know if making Sybil’s daughter a catholic is the best start for her life we could give her,” he grumbled but without real conviction. He argued because it wasn’t fully his choice to set the day the way it was not because he really wanted to change something about it.

“You know that the best start for Sybbie’s life we could give her is a warm welcome into a loving family. With supporting her father, and even if this might be in first choices we don’t entirely agree with, we’re building the foundation for the love Sybil’s daughter deserves.” Cora’s vivid eyes had locked with his and their expression altered from imploring sincerity to soft fondness.

Robert squeezed his wife’s hand and his eyes swept over her face as he managed a tight-lipped smile. He then turned his gaze back outside.

“I just want it to be over already,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

The ceremony was even less of a deal than Cora had expected. Tom who mostly looked very strained and ruminative lately, and especially today, even had moments of blessed smiles. When Mary as the godmother got to hold the baby, Cora was at least as blissful as Tom. She thought Tom had made a good choice with Mary, and there had to be something about his brother Kieran that made him a reasonable choice as well.

Robert sat next to her, kneading his hands with an otherwise calm demeanour. It would be easier afterwards she silently agreed with him. Robert could see Sybbie just as Sybbie then, apart from everything that might separate grandfather and grandchild elsewise.

The moment they left the church they were greeted by inviting light weather. The guests of the christening were in a slightly more frolic mood, and chatter arose here and there before the photographer ordered them to get into place for the pictures that would be taken.

“If you could all form a group around the father,” the photographer said.

Mary, who had still been carrying the baby, handed Sybbie cautiously to Tom.

“Here she is,” Cora cooed. The little girl was really a delight, and Cora enjoyed that Mary took to the baby as well. She hadn’t been sure if it would be like that.

Mary, Cora, and Edith now stood at the side of the group next to each other. They must make quite the picture in their flowing lilac dresses.

“It seems so strange without Sybil here,” Edith mentioned in a light thoughtfulness.

Cora watched into the distance but she saw something else. Her daughters’ thoughts were wandering back to the present scenery meanwhile. Everyone was gathering more closely around Tom and the baby.

“She’s watching,” Cora said. “I know,” her words were spoken in calm certainty. Her eyes were glued to some point faraway. As if she had eye contact with Sybil standing behind the stone wall surrounding the church and its graveyard. Cora didn’t have to look out for her, and she wasn’t surprised to find her there. It was as if she had agreed upon it with Sybil beforehand. Sybil would be there, and Cora just reassured herself of that after Edith’s comment.

“I envy you. I wish I did,” Mary responded. Her voice was downcast, her tone little hopeful. Cora’s heart was warm with pictures from Sybil. She was vindicated in her faith that Sybil would still somehow guide the ways of her dearest ones. She looked over her daughter’s christening as she had an eye on all the moves of the family that needed a little more courage. The courage she always had. Sybil’s spirit wasn’t lost. She had provoked them to be better humans and her spirit that accompanied them would continue to do so.

A little part of Cora wished she had realised it before today. It maybe would have made things a bit easier to bear. It might have avoided how deep the rift between Robert and her had become. But they made it. And probably Cora would grieve just the same, no matter the circumstances. How much more bearable would a little more faith have made it truly? It was no use. What was left of Sybil was the little family she had left behind. Cora vowed once more that they had to cherish them. The little family and her blessed spirit.

When the picture was taken, Cora didn’t look at the camera. Her gaze was still set on that point afar. For a fleeting moment, after the flash had lit up, a light figure began wandering outside the wall of the cemetery. The purple coat and hat her dear daughter's figure was dressed in were exact copies of Cora’s own garments. With a smile, Sybil turned away from the church and slowly wandered into the distance on the path behind the wall. Her vision faded after a few seconds, a little bit later than the imprints of the camera flash on her retina. But Cora tried her best to imprint the last smile of her daughter on her mind for years to live off.

Cora’s days got easier with the christening, little by little. After having Robert back at her side, there was something else now that helped her immensely. Cuddling up beside her husband at night, she realised what it was. Her eyes fell shut with a small sentimental smile grazing her features.

She was at peace because her dear girl was with her.

Sybil was with her.

#cobert fanfiction #cobert drabble #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #s3 #s3e7 #downton abbey fanfiction #downton abbey

18 notes · View notes

princess-yuna · 4 years

Text

This Shall Pass

Chapter 1: Or’dinii

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Words: 2,471 Warning: A lot of angst and heartbreak. Rated: T, has some mild language. Summary: After the fall of your covert on Nevarro, you escape to Tatooine and become employed by the mechanic Peli Motto. You never expect to come across a certain Mandalorian again, and not so good feelings reach the surface.

Series Masterlist

You knew him, and he didn’t know you.

But he did know you.

He knew you in the armor that he wore, shielded by the eyes of many without being able to see appearances. He knew how you fought and made movements look so effortless. His admiration grew for you in the years of training together, becoming trained to take on dangerous tasks. That part of you he knew well. What he didn’t know was what underneath the armor. The armor that he thought you would never take off, but you chose to cast aside.

Death came to many Mandalorians in your covert because of the Imperials, but you chose to escape. The Creed was forgotten, it wasn’t your way anymore. Shame riddled through you once the helmet was off, but you knew that you couldn’t keep it on anymore. Watching the whole tribe being wiped out in front of your eyes with zero chance of survival made you take the helmet off. You weren’t like the Mandalorian you knew who kept strict to the way. If only he knew what you did, he would lose his respect for you.

It was unexpected when you saw the Razor Crest land in the little hangar of the mechanic you befriended on Tatooine. The familiarity of the ship made your stomach flip and your heart started to beat faster once the door opened, revealing the beskar clad Mandalorian. He wouldn’t recognize you because he never saw you without the helmet. Your armor was gone but replaced with clothing suitable for the terrain of the desert. He sees you as he approaches, but he doesn’t recognize you.

There were words exchanged, the excitement over the Child that you heard rumors of from the Armorer before you took off your armor. Your eyes watched the interaction, words didn’t come out because you couldn’t speak. His gaze was on you again and you barely caught him asking who you were. It wasn’t because of the shock that riddled you, but because of how upset you were to see him walk around like nothing happened to your clan.

The mechanic introduced you to him by a different name that he wouldn’t know, explaining that you came to Tatooine because you had nowhere else to go and she employed you because she needed the extra hands. You let her speak as he looked you over, studying you behind the helmet. It was a fleeting thought as his attention was back to Peli, explaining his business. He was trying to find another Mandalorian and you felt like saying something, but no words came out.

It wasn’t you because you haven’t worn the armor ever since you left it. No one could’ve seen you with Mandalorian armor because you left it back on that planet that you once thought was sanctuary.

However, it sparked your interest. Another Mandalorian on Tatooine? You’ve never heard of that rumor before, but then again, you never asked. Mos Pelgo had been wiped out, from what you knew of Tatooine.

Your gaze went to the creature that Peli had in her arms, seeing as his big eyes looked up at your curiously. That was the bounty that started all the changes and you couldn’t understand why. The Armorer gave the Mandalorian a quest to find its own kind and he needed the help of others to find the way. A lot of faith was put on this little creature, and you didn’t understand why. That was why you were upset. Your people sacrificed their lives to make sure that this Mandalorian got out safe with this small child. For what? That was why you lost your own faith. Your “name” was repeated, and a snapping of fingers brought you back. Wide-eyed, you looked up to your employer to see a concerned look on her face.

“You alright? We lost you for a minute there.”

“Yes, sorry, I am fine,” you responded. The first words you have spoken since the arrival of Mando, and you felt his gaze on you again. This time it was a gaze that felt hot even when his eyes couldn’t have been seen. You knew though, you knew the body language because his body went rigid the more you spoke. Agreeing to check on the speeder bike before his departure, you nodded your head and stepped away to where it was. Not once did you look at him directly, and you hoped that you wouldn’t have to for the rest of his small stay.

A shadow loomed over you as you were crouched at the bike, tightening up a loose bolt. The same sensation went through you, your stomach was in knots and your heart sank down. It wasn’t like you to be nervous but scenarios of his disappointment with you took over your thoughts. The feeling was strange because you knew that he didn’t recognize you. He couldn’t have when he has never seen your face. That thought was enough to calm you. You stood, turning to face him and the child you had seen was now in his arms.

“The speeder is ready,” you told him, stepping away just as he approached to start loading it with the things he would need for his journey.

“Thank you,” he responded, and you noticed how gentle he had been with the child.

You felt a sense of frustration the more you looked at the child. There was a lot of fault from that small bounty that made a shift in the fate of the Mandalorian. Many of your covert had perished, and it felt like you lost part of your soul. They chose to fight to give this certain Mandalorian an escape, all for this small creature they had known nothing about, and it made you angry. They sacrificed when you weren’t willing to because you didn’t understand. That was when you knew you lost your path, you couldn’t follow the Creed, and that was when you lost faith.

“Was it worth it, Din?”

His movements stopped as he looked at you, seeing your face riddled with pain. What threw him off more was the name that came from your lips. Not many knew his true name, and he knew you as a stranger. Immediately his hand was on his blaster, unsure of how to approach the situation when he didn’t understand what you were asking. You could sense the confusion, and you merely just chuckled.

“Babysitting was never you,” you tacked on. Bitter. The nerves you had when he first arrived were gone and the true feelings were coming from underneath. Without the helmet it was hard to shield those emotions, so he got to see every last one. Ever since you left the helmet behind, you learned to convey certain emotions to make yourself feel human again. You weren’t the killer that people knew Mandalorians to be, changing yourself to leave that buried in the past.

Your gaze went to the visor, looking deep into the black void. His eyes were there, and if only you could see the confusion that was in them. “Or’dinii,” you scoffed in your native tongue of Mando’a, twirling the wrench in your hand before gently tapping it against the beskar protecting his shoulder.

It seemed like your words were registering in his head, but you weren’t being patient with him as you turned on your heel to walk away. “Wait.” His hand grabbed your forearm, making you stop in your tracks, and then he pulled you back to make you turn around. You looked at him wide-eyed and slightly alarmed at the pressure of his grip. It wasn’t enough pressure to cause you harm, but enough pressure to tell you that he was trying to figure out if you were real. “Cyar’ika?” he asked now in a low tone, only meant for your ears. You’ve longed to hear him call you that again, but it felt so foreign now.

You let out a heavy breath as you pulled your arm away from his grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, feeling the need to get away from him.

“Why did you take off your helmet?”

Why did the question make you cringe? You knew why, but you didn’t want to tell him why. The back and forth in your head was driving you mad and you knew that you couldn’t keep him in silence for too long. Mando was an impatient man, he had always been. Questions needed answers at all times.

There you were, staring him down with silence that spoke a thousand words. The anger stewed within you because he knew the reason why you broke the Creed. He knew exactly why you were angry. The destruction of the covert was on his hands and he knew. “Go tend to your business, Mando,” you said, ignoring his question. Your hand gripped the wrench in your hand, your teeth gritting because of how uncomfortable you were.

“You’ve lost The Way,” he sighed, and you knew that his disappointment was hanging on him. Did he really not know?

You said nothing else, slamming the wrench down onto the metal table before turning away from him. “Bastard,” you seethed before walking away from him, leaving him to stare at your back as you retreated. A moment later you heard the speeder bike start up and then leave the hangar. The tears you felt were hot on your eyes, and your back leaned against the nearest wall as you let them fall before your employer could find you.

---

A heavy sigh left your lips as you worked on the Razor Crest, helping the droids fix whatever that needed to be done after they ran the diagnostics. Even when you were angry, you still needed to help because it was your job. A welder’s mask was on your face as you soldered something in the mainframe of the ship. You heard footsteps, but you didn’t look back as you worked diligently. It wasn’t until you were done that you looked back, lifting the mask up to look at the Mandalorian.

“Answer my question,” he demanded.

Rolling your eyes, you gathered up your equipment. “No, I don’t owe you anything,” you answered, not giving into him. Then you realized that he was blocking the only way out of the ship, making your curse in your head. “Get out of my way,” you warned him, prepared to use force to get past him. Even if he was bigger than you, you still had the same skills as he did. Anything and everything could be used as a weapon, and you had trained in combat.

He stepped towards you, making you root in your place. With one hand he reached out, gently grabbing onto your hand and brought it up. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, another soft tone that threw you off guard. Your gaze was down at your hands, seeing that he slid something that had been lost to you. “I just wanted to hear you say it, but I know.” He wasn’t stupid.

You stared at your open palm, registering the pendant that was in your hand. It was yours that you gifted him before he went on his travels. A silent promise that your pendant would be intertwined with his one day in marriage. He didn’t think he deserved it anymore when he knew you were mad. He had known from the moment he knew it was you, and seeing you that upset made him realize your anger was towards him. With a shake of your head, you pushed it back to his chest.

“Keep it,” you forced, your gaze wandering up towards his behind the visor. “I no longer have a right to have it, and it was a gift to you.”

His hand was over yours, keeping it there on his chest plate. What he did next made the air expel from your lungs and your chest tighten. His beskar metal covered forehead was on yours, a sign of affection that held many meanings. “Ni ceta,” he spoke, and you could hear the crack in his voice. He knew a lot of what happened was his fault and there wasn’t much else he could do to fix it. All he could do was hope that you would forgive him.

“Keep it,” you whispered, sliding your hand from his and leaving the pendant in his palm. Stepping back, you gave him a glance before walking around him to exit the ship. You looked up to Peli, seeing that she was trying to look for the Mandalorian. Pointing behind you, like it was on queue, he stepped out of the ship a moment later. You kept walking, but was stopped as she called your name.

“Hang tight. I have a job for you,” Peli spoke, and you let out a sigh as you stopped in your tracks.

And that was how you ended up in the cockpit of the Mandalorian’s ship as the translator for the frog lady. You sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window like it was the most interesting thing you’ve seen. This was what you didn’t sign up for, but Mando was grateful that he didn’t have to spend time trying to understand what was being said to him. However, the tension was in the air.

He’d left the cockpit after suggesting the both of you to get some rest, and you knew that you couldn’t. After a mere minute of sitting, you stood to your feet and headed down the ladder. You heard his voice, speaking to the child like a parent, and you rounded the corner to see him placing him in his bunk. The gentle side of Din was rare to see. You knew he was human, too, he had other emotions, but being a Mandalorian made him mask them. Just seeing how different he was after not seeing him for so long was foreign to you.

Your name was called, which broke you from your thoughts as you looked at him. It was harder now to hide stares when you didn’t have the helmet on and sometimes you forgot that you didn’t have that shield. “Refresher,” you said simply, not wanting to explain why you were just staring. He pointed, but you already knew where it was because it wasn’t your first time on the ship. Oh, he knew that though. Anything to get you from his gaze at that point. Muttering a small thanks, you went the direction he pointed and went inside.

All you did was stand in the small room, staring yourself in the mirror. “Or’dinii,” you muttered to yourself, letting out a heavy sigh.

This time you were referring to yourself as the idiot and not the Mandalorian outside the door.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

134 notes · View notes

haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 6

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alex comes home to find his world turned upside down; Max and Isobel struggle to save Michael’s life.

Excerpt:

How close did they come to that chest being stilled forever? The answer was clear, splashed rust-red across Michael’s clothes, and Alex couldn’t stand it, couldn’t reconcile it, couldn’t balance the equation made by Michael this morning and Michael here, now, this.

Alex stood sharp, with a purpose, stood over Michael whose eyes moved rapid behind his lids, Michael who flushed with life but hadn’t lived since being healed, Michael who could so easily be an illusion of hope, snatched away in a second, snuffed out. Jerkily, Alex shot out a hand, then yanked it back, checked over his shoulder for Max or Isobel or—anyone—like a kid with a hand in the cookie jar. A touch so innocuous, necessary, even; Michael shouldn’t be forced to rest with dirty clothes; but. Was he allowed? Was the universe watching?

His hands were heavy; purpose and gravity worked on them, yet with a weightless almost-faith they remembered the hill and valley of Michael’s chest, the texture and temperature of his skin, the cartography, topography of loving him and being loved.

Rain pounded the windshield, and pain pounded Alex’s head, from the back of his neck to behind his eyes. He huffed out short relief when he finally turned down his quiet street and settled back against his seat, no longer needing to squint through the panicked flutter of the windshield wipers at the too-bright lights of other cars as he coasted into his driveway. Parked, he rolled his shoulders back and stretched, heavy eyelids opening and shutting, brain ticking over slowly as it tried to marshal signals to his body to get him out of the car and to the door.

Exhaustion didn’t cover the way everything wore on him. Work, other people, the Project hanging over him like Damocles—how much longer could he hold Fields off without an answer before she took drastic action or moved on, maybe even called Flint in? He had a calendar in the drawer by his bed counting down the days to the end of his contract, hidden away so he didn’t have to explain himself when Forrest stayed over. Not that he relished everything about a return to civilian life, a life he’d never lived as an adult…

Even his loved ones wore on him sometimes. Guilt was another chain around his shoulders, from the way he’d ghosted Kyle for weeks, to shooting down offers from Maria to hang out, to letting his morning call with Liz this week slip from a real conversation to a perfunctory text confirmation that Arturo and Rosa were fine. On top of that, he still hadn’t texted Forrest since he landed, and now Alex was avoiding his phone, the tension of expectation he imagined on the other side of the line too much to bear.

And then there was Michael. Brilliant, stubborn Michael, who reminded him without meaning to how wide a gulf he still had to cross to regain his trust, the trust that Alex would always protect him, no matter what.

But—one day at a time. Hour by hour if he had to. Old advice from the counselor he saw after his injury, but no matter how high the papers piled up in his mental inbox (call your therapist), he hadn’t been able to get himself to book a new appointment with a new one, so he’d do what he could, and fall back on the somewhat insufficient tools he had in his outdated toolbox.

And one day at a time meant getting out of his car, carrying his groceries through the rain, and getting in the front door. Okay.

As he turned to leave the car, something moved in his peripheral vision, and he whipped his head around to chase it. Squinting through sheets of rain and twilight-gray haze, he could just make out a dark shape huddled beneath the overhang, but whether it was human, animal, or object, it was impossible to tell. Through the thundering static downpour, Buffy howled behind the door.

Moving slowly, he retrieved his combat knife from the glove box and cracked the door open. The rain rushed up from a rattle to a roar, loud enough to cover the scrape of his boots against concrete and brick as he crept toward the porch. He was soaked cold within moments, blinking water out of his eyes, still and smooth as a cat after decades of conditioning, every muscle locked to avoid tremor. The closer he got, the louder Buffy grew, barking and slamming herself against the door. A few feet closer, and the shape took form—human, definitely human, adult male by size, but whoever it was, they were slumped beside the door, not crouched, not lying in wait, so Alex lowered his knife.

Still creeping closer, he spoke up, “Hey! Do you need help—”

But before he could get out a single word more, the person lifted their head, and—

“Michael?”

Alex bounded forward the last few feet, dropping his knife with a splash, flinging himself to one knee beside Michael’s huddled form, grasping at his sopping clothes, seeking injury, something, anything.

“Michael, what’s wrong? What—”

He tipped his face up and his head lolled back; his breath rattled in his chest. The only color between his ashen face and rain-black hair was an ugly streak of red from the corner of his mouth across his cheek and chin, and a gust of wind blew the storm against them, washing his blood pink, and then it was gone.

“Michael!” Alex repeated, more urgently, frantically. How did this happen? Who could have done this? Alex’s mind shot straight to his own earlier question—how long would Fields let him go without answering. Was this his answer? Tripp’s dog tags hung leaden around his neck. He could choke on them, on the cold tin symbol of his own inaction, even now.

“Max is already on his way,” Michael said, voice breathy and labored, then laughed, a bizarre and throaty caricature of his normal laugh, and his elbow bent robotically to let him tap his temple. “Called him.”

“Why didn’t you go straight to him so he could heal you? Michael? Michael!”

But he was gone; his eyes rolled back to whites, and he slumped strings-cut so Alex almost dove to catch him in his arms; his hand fell from his head to the brick patio and struck the ground with the force of gravity, skinning his knuckles.

It took seconds for Alex to process his shock—seconds Michael might not have to waste, but nonetheless--the rain had his hands slipping on his skin, so Alex held on tighter, clutching Michael’s head to his chest, curling his body around him on the most animal instinct to shield, shelter, protect.

Despite the cold downpour, Michael’s skin was feverish, his breathing bad and worsening, his pulse fast and weak. Bracing his weight on his good leg, Alex pulled Michael over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and stood and unlocked the door.

Buffy’s barking stopped as it swung open; she scrambled around Alex’s feet, pawing at his legs, herding him inside, sniffing at Michael’s fingertips that dangled inches from the ground. Panting, Alex hauled him to the couch and set him down.

Inside, out of the rain, Michael somehow looked worse. His entire front was soaked with blood along with rain; he stank of it, all copper and salt, and bile rose in Alex’s throat. He held his breath and grabbed a towel.

“Gonna ruin your stuff,” Michael rasped. “Gonna ruin…”

Milliseconds before pressing call to figure out how far away Max was, Alex dropped his phone from numb fingers as Michael—there was no word for it, for a second, a heartbeat, Alex lost all faith in his own eyes—as Michael blurred and disappeared and blurred and reappeared a few feet away, whining like a shot doe.

“What the f—Michael!”

“Alex!” Max’s voice bellowed. A fist pounded on the door, shaking the entire frame.

“It’s open!” Alex called back, dropping to the ground beside Michael again and lifting his head into his lap. “Michael,” his voice broke as Max threw the door open. “Michael, what happened? What’s happening?”

His only answer was a babble, words Alex couldn’t understand, words that doubled, tripled in on themselves, moved backwards to forwards and slid out of Alex’s mind the second he heard them, alien, unknowable.

“Michael!” The word wrenched out of Max’s mouth. Buffy paced behind him, whining, letting out a single loud, anxious bark that went unanswered as all the energy in the room funneled toward Michael.

“Hey—[][][][][][][],” Michael said, a horrible, gasping laugh rattling out of his chest.

As the words left his mouth, he groaned and curled in on himself, choking, splattering himself with more blood as it bubbled up between his teeth; then Alex had to strain to hold him still as his back snapped into an arch. Light flashed, then flashed again, and Alex’s logical mind wanted to call it lightning but—but it wasn’t. It came from inside Michael, as all the strength left his muscles and he collapsed, again, limp against Alex. He was so feverishly hot, even for him.

“What the fuck,” Alex whispered. His mind came up blank for anything else to say; his hands tightened, one hand’s nails digging into his bicep, a fistful of bloody shirt in his other. Michael tipped his head to the side, nodding against Alex’s chest.

“Alex,” he croaked.

“I’m here.” To Max, he repeated, “What the fuck? I saw him just a few hours ago, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Max said, reaching out to grab him.

Alex’s hands tightened more, on pure instinct, clutching Michael to his body, but then he forced himself to let him go, to let Max lay hands on him.

Max continued, “I heard him in my head, like he screamed in my ear, and I just—knew he’d be here, somehow. It’s not normal, it’s not—we never hear Michael, he’s always closed off. I don’t know what happened.”

As he spoke, his hands wandered over Michael, across the bloodstains on his chest and neck. His brow furrowed; he moved as if on autopilot, until his hands found purchase on Michael’s temples, and he closed his eyes. Softly, his hands began to glow, and Alex held his breath.

If Max couldn’t fix him…

No. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought for a second, not when his body still tingled with the sense memory of Michael’s living heat. He couldn’t die; it went against nature.

Max grunted, and his exertion pulled Alex back down to earth. He couldn’t do anything for Michael that Max couldn’t right now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be helpful. Levering himself to his feet, he headed for the bathroom, Buffy following, barking anxiously. Wrenching open the medicine cabinet, he downed two Tylenol dry to head off the pain in his leg and hip he knew was coming, then from under the sink he snatched a fresh bottle of acetone and marched back to the den.

There, it was something out of a horror movie, rain lashing the windows, lit only by the artificial twilight of an afternoon storm, Michael spread out, skin grey, blood red, Max hunched over him looking half as sick, and Alex thrust the bottle at him.

“Drink,” he ordered, and as Max obeyed, guzzling the acetone, gasping between gulps, Alex returned to where he belonged—at Michael’s other side, holding on to him as if their bodies touching would be enough to keep his spirit tethered to this world—the only world—that is, the world they shared together, rendering all others that may exist utterly meaningless.

As nightmarish a scene as they made, Alex let out a sigh of relief when he clutched Michael’s wrist and felt his pulse strengthen. His eyes moved rapidly under his lids; his breathing was regular.

“It’s working,” Alex said, voice croaking out through a thickened throat.

“I hope,” Max groaned. “His mind is like—it’s like an animal fighting back. I need Isobel, I called her, but I’m afraid if she went in we’d lose her too. I can’t think—” his eyes met Alex’s, terrified. “It has to be Jones. Jones did something, I can’t think of anything else that might have done this.”

Alex could. But he seized on the opportunity to have an enemy he could exact answers from, one that didn’t lie at his own front door.

Absentmindedly, searching for soothing and knowing on a base level where it lived, Alex ran his fingers through Michael’s rain-soaked, sweat-soaked hair, stroking it away from his forehead. Blood was drying in rivulets now on Michael’s face and neck, and Alex followed the path of one with the tip of his finger, from the corner of his eye down his cheek.

How close had he come to losing him? If he’d been stuck in traffic, if he’d stopped for coffee on the way home, would it have been too late?

No. No thinking like that now. Stay in the moment.

“What do you need?” he asked Max, who finished off the acetone and tossed the bottle aside, reaching for Michael again.

“I think I won’t know until Michael wakes up again. If he does. If not…Isobel will be here soon.”

“When you heal, can you feel what it is you’re healing? Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“Sort of?” Max’s hands began to glow again. “I’m healing burst blood vessels—all over his body. Internal scarring, almost like burns, it’s—bizarre.” He shuddered. “What I can feel from his head is separate, and I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

Michael shivered in Alex’s arms as Max placed his hands on his head again and filled his body with light, and Alex kept his eyes on Max, watching for any sign he was hitting his limit.

“How’s your heart?” He asked, though the concern flowed bitter and false over his tongue. Even at his coldest, most calculating, he wouldn’t bring himself to sacrifice Max outright, but if Max had to give his life to save Michael’s, would Alex truly stop him?

“I’ll live,” Max replied through gritted teeth.

Over by the door, Buffy rattled off a series of barks, getting louder and louder until the door slammed open. Alex flinched at the sound, hand flying to where his gun would be if he was wearing it, even though he knew with near-certainty who it would be.

“Where is he?” Isobel shouted, red-faced and panting as she rounded the corner into the living room, Buffy jumping and barking at her heels. “Michael!”

“Iz!”

The glow from Max’s hands faded, and he struggled almost to his feet, but Isobel was there before he stood fully, folding him into the hug he was trying to give her. Then Isobel reached for Michael, shoving Alex aside so she could cling to her brother, and Alex went.

She made a strangled noise when he was in her arms, limp and lifeless even after all Max’s effort.

“I’ll get more acetone. Maybe he’ll drink some,” Alex said, using the couch to pull himself to his feet.

Isobel continued to ignore him, but Max grabbed Alex’s wrist and said a quiet thank you as Alex left the siblings alone.

The bathroom door snicked closed behind Alex before he turned the light on, and in the dark he breathed in deep and deliberate until his lungs no longer caught on every inhale against his aching ribs, his galloping heart. He white-knuckled the sides of the sink to keep himself upright until the shaking stopped.

And when he checked all his welds and seams and found himself still watertight, he turned the light on, met his own eyes in the mirror, just once, and got back to business, grabbing the rest of the eight-pack of acetone.

Before he opened the door, his phone buzzed, and he flicked it open. It was a text from Forrest.

Hey! Just got back to the hotel after dinner. Having a great time so far…but I keep thinking I’d have more fun with you here. How’s my girl doing? And how’s my man?

Alex’s thumb hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds, lips pressed together, head blank of anything to say. Then, a lump in his throat, he shut it down without replying, and headed back to Michael and the Evanses.

He breathed a little easier when he re-entered the room and was met with a different scene than before. Max and Isobel had Michael laid out on the couch—and Alex’s mind flashed back to the way Michael had disappeared and reappeared and what the fuck was that?—and he rested more peacefully than he had before. Color was coming back to his skin.

Isobel sat on the arm of the couch, stroking Michael’s hair off his forehead, while Max sat on the floor at the other end, back against the couch.

“Thank you, Alex,” Isobel said, acknowledging him for the first time.

Alex acknowledged her back with a nod, as Buffy paced from the couch to the door and back again a few times, finally settling with a whuff against Max, resting her head on his thigh, looking up at him with huge, soft eyes.

“Hey girl,” he said softly, petting her ears.

“How is he?” Alex asked.

“Alive. Sleeping.” Isobel ran her hand across his forehead again. “We’ll see where his mind is when he wakes up.”

Alex sat on the piano bench, folding his hands between his knees. “Max kept saying he’d never felt anything like this before. Can you describe it to me?”

She groaned and rubbed her temples, and Max nudged a bottle of acetone closer to her. “It’s almost like interference, but not. There’s nothing in there that isn’t Michael; he’s not possessed. But it’s like Michael’s been repeated. A thousand different Michaels all shouting at once. He’s quieter now. But…I don’t know.”

Watching Michael’s face, approaching peaceful in an unconsciousness Alex was too fearful to be fooled by, Alex spoke slowly, uncertainly.

“When you discovered you could use telekinesis alongside your other powers, what was that like? Was it spontaneous, or…?”

“Not really? Noah said that we all had the potential for much more than we imagined, and—after—I was so angry, I thought, if Michael can use his anger this way, why not me?” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “So I wouldn’t call it spontaneous. I could always have done it, I just never thought to, until I did. Like knowing how to swim and learning a new stroke. I was clumsy at it at first, but I was just doing something I already knew how to do in a different way.”

“Hm.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Before you both got here, Michael was…”

“He called me. Like your psychic scream, Isobel, except he’s never done that before. And he kept emitting light. While I was healing him,” Max said, looking up at Isobel. “Flashes of light. Not electricity.”

“And before you got here, he—teleported. Only word for it. Something none of you have ever done.”

“What?”

Isobel grabbed Michael’s shoulder tightly, like he might disappear right in front of her, like she could stop him. Max just shook his head silently. He really did look awful, eyes red, dark bruises beneath them, a shakiness to him that hadn’t been there last time Alex saw him, some random Thursday when he brought marshmallows to Michael’s because he’d never actually had a smore that wasn’t made in the microwave. Maybe his condition came down to the rigors of saving someone’s life with your own, but considering how worried Michael had been for weeks, Alex thought not.

“I don’t know,” Alex said, dragging his hands over his face. “None of us know. We’re just talking in circles.”

“I guess we just have to wait for Michael to tell us,” Max said.

“Or we go beat it out of that bearded f—”

“No, Isobel.”

“You can’t keep defending him.” Her voice went high and loud, zero to a hundred. “Look what he’s done! He almost killed Michael, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m not defending him!” Max shot back, wounded. “I’m telling you not to go running off on some half-cocked vengeance scheme when Michael still needs you here! If he’s lost inside his own head somehow, there’s no one who can help him but you. We’ll deal with Jones later, when we know Michael is safe.”

Isobel growled but capitulated.

Not letting any ugly silence settle, Alex got up and said, “I’ll put some coffee on.”

They watched over Michael for all the rest of that evening and into the night, as the storm quieted and the sun set and Michael’s hair dried into a familiar halo of curls. At some point, Isobel brought Alex’s groceries in, half-ruined, and Max made dinner with whatever could be salvaged. While they worked, Alex sat with Michael in a chair pulled up to the couch where he lay, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

They started slowly. He eased up the hem of Michael’s ruined t-shirt with a pinch of fabric, without touching his body at all; he inched it up his back where it rested against the couch, until he ran out of room to work with cloth alone. The shirt bunched around his underarms.

Alex had no choice but to touch, so he did.

His hand still fit the circumference of Michael’s arm, and he lifted it. Michael moved without resistance, idle art in living warmth, velvet skin, liquid veins. Alex moved as if he was as delicate as glass. The second arm was no easier; Alex worked just as tenderly, every inch of his skin lit up with sensation. Leave no trace, like Michael’s body was some untouched scrap of woodland in Alex’s brief custody rather than the sweetly historied path toward home. But that was where Alex was right now, what time and choice made of them.

He pulled the shirt over Michael’s head, and it came away easy in his hands, and he went to his bedroom to get a new one.

The whole thing took less than a minute.

Michael slept on.

“Any change?” Max asked softly, handing Alex a plate of the dinner he’d already forgotten about. Buffy followed him from the kitchen, but she didn’t go after the food, opting for her bed beside the piano, where she continued to watch Max with adoring eyes. He didn’t comment on Michael’s shirt, for which Alex was pathetically grateful. In the kitchen, the water ran as Isobel did the dishes.

“No. Can…you sense any change? Through your bond, or through a handprint?”

“No. Maybe? When I first got here, he took up so much space, metaphorically, psychically, that it was almost hard to breathe. He feels more like himself now. Like he fits inside his body. So that’s probably good.”

“Probably,” Alex agreed.

The water shut off, and Isobel appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “I’m going in,” she said flatly.

“What?” Max asked.

“His head. I’m going in. I need to see what he’s seeing; to try and pull him out. This?” she waved a hand at Michael. “Isn’t normal. Liz died and she wasn’t out this long. I’m going in to get our brother back.”

Take me with you? Alex almost said it, almost begged, as much a violation of trust as it would be to walk Michael’s mind uninvited. But as Max healed his body, as Isobel healed his mind, Alex was helpless to do anything, and he never wore helplessness well. It clawed its way out of him. It destroyed things if he failed to catch it in time.

But he held its leash tight, for now, and gave Isobel an equally tight nod.

“What do you need?”

“Space. No interruptions. It seems like you’ve got enough acetone”—five bottles were still left at the foot of the couch—“so I just need time.”

“You can have the guest bedroom,” Alex agreed.

He and Max carried Michael between them, sharing his weight. Some rearing and needy part of Alex wanted to do the work himself, bundle Michael in his arms and hold him close, but he’d already carried him once today, and Tylenol only went so far. Once he was situated on the bed, Max went to get acetone and water for Isobel.

Weak in the legs, Alex sat beside Michael’s head, never taking his eyes off him. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t. And neither was it a possibility for him to reach out and touch his hair, his forehead, his cheek, so he only watched.

In the door, Isobel cleared her throat. She held both liquids—Max had put them in different-colored cups—and set them on the bedside table before sitting on Michael’s other side.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alex said, but made no move to go.

After a few seconds, Isobel made a frustrated noise and tossed her hair. “Whatever. You can stay.”

“I—really?”

“It’ll be boring, and if it freaks you out, you can’t interrupt. But yeah.” Alex opened his mouth to respond, but Isobel just held up a hand. “I don’t pretend to understand your weird alien soulmate bullshit. Yours or Max and Liz’s. And I don’t really care what your deal is with Forrest Long, but if you mess my brother around, I’ll end you.”

“I’m not—”

“Again, don’t care. I just know…” she softened. “…I just know how much you mean to Michael. So you can stay.”

Alex swallowed, the lump in his throat too big for him to answer with words, so he nodded, and Isobel nodded back.

“Okay. Starting now.”

Her eyes slipped closed as she lifted Michael’s hand and pressed it between both her own.

The world didn’t change; no power within Alex’s senses rippled between the two of them. Isobel wasn’t wrong to call it boring, as even the uncertain anxiety of what was transpiring in Michael’s head couldn’t keep his attention from wandering. Half an hour in, Max came into the room to stand beside the bed as well, and he clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, an attempt that reassured neither of them. But it was a brother’s touch, and that meant something.

In that room, throughout that silent ordeal, they were family. Alex was part of that family. It was a feeling he had no room on the shelves for; it fit in none of his boxes. He could barely comprehend it, so it sat in the center of the floor, and for a few hours, everything rearranged itself neatly around the new centerpiece of his world, like it was meant to be there all along.

The night deepened on, pain and exhaustion graying Alex’s vision. Discretion and strategy overtaking his determination, he was close to calling it quits and attempting a few hours of sleep when Isobel surfaced, bone white and nose bleeding as Max scrambled to hand her the acetone.

“Did it—”

Max didn’t even finish the sentence before, with a drowning, sucking gasp, Michael followed her out. Alex shouted, elation, shock, fear, everything, as Michael coughed and coughed until a clot of blood dislodged from his throat, guzzling the water that Alex passed him. His bloodshot eyes met Alex’s over the rim of the glass, confused and shocked, and Alex just nodded, trying to say without words everything that…just everything.

Everything.

On Michael’s other side, Isobel was laughing, breathless and triumphant.

“I’m going to kill you! I’m going to fucking kill you,” she wheezed, throwing herself into Michael’s arms.

Michael’s eyes fell shut as he rested his head against hers. “I know,” he rasped in return, but his lips pulled into a smile anyway. “I know.”

“Michael,” Max said weakly.

And Michael replied, “I know.”

Max rounded the bed to fold the both of them into a hug. Alex might have even joined them, if he wasn’t—he realized only now—shaking too badly to move. But in the midst of all the sensory overload, the misfiring nerves electrifying his helpless flesh, one sensation rang true.

Alex’s hands rested on the bed, stiff and motionless, until one of Michael’s crossed that untouched skin, light at first then more firmly, finger atop finger, knuckle nestled into soft palm, and Michael held his hand and gave it a squeeze, and Alex squeezed him back.

#malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #roswell new mexico #rnm fic #max evans #isobel evans #my fic

28 notes · View notes