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rengoku-loves-you · 3 years

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Jealous! Kyojuro x reader!!

Had to ask this, I love your writing way too much and I'm looking to forward on how you write it!💘

(do I need to specify more?)

(hi hun! you don't need to specify more, don't worry! i only encourage being more specific so i can give you lovelies exactly what you want, and the more details, the better! but short and sweet is good also, as long as you don't mind me taking creative liberties, haha :D i hope this is alright! thank you so much for your request! ❤️)

jealous!kyojuro x reader

he doesn't realize he's jealous, not at first. he's never been a jealous person at all, and he was always happy when the people he cared about got along with each other. he does, however, consider himself protective, and that's what he thought he was when he first felt that pang in his chest after he saw you talking to uzui, smiling and laughing away.

of course, he was glad to see you laughing! he knows he’s not a funny person, he doesn’t understand jokes at all, nor does he make any himself. he was just... concerned about you. uzui was his friend, and so were you, and he knew how overwhelming uzui could be at times if you weren’t prepared for his flamboyance.

yeah, he was just concerned. he wasn’t wishing that he could make you laugh like that. and if he was, it was only because he wanted to make you happy!

nothing else.

so when he gets that same gross feeling when he sees you talking casually to sanemi after a pillar meeting - sanemi, of all pillars - he does his very best to ignore it because he’s not jealous and he’s truly glad for you two! he just maybe, sorta wishes he were a part of the conversation, too. you, him, and sanemi.

without the sanemi part, preferably.

then sanemi wraps an arm around your neck and scrubs his knuckles against your head, making you squirm and sputter out protests through your giggles, and. okay.

maybe he’s a little jealous.

sanemi spots kyojuro over your head, and he must say something about it because when he lets you go you turn around and see him, too. you smile, raising a hand to wave, and he returns the gesture with more enthusiasm than necessary. then you wave for him to come closer, and, well, it’s not like he can not listen to you, so he hurries over and keeps the smile plastered on his face.

“fancy seeing you two here!” he says, staring directly at sanemi. “i wasn’t aware you talked!”

“well, yeah, we do missions together,” you say. kyojuro raises his brows, still not looking at you.

“really!” he exclaims. “i didn’t know this!” sanemi’s eyes narrow as he shifts into a slightly defensive stance, refusing to break the staring contest kyojuro seems to have drawn him into. normally, the flame pillar is much more adverse to eye contact, and the sudden intensity unnerves him. especially paired with that big, blank grin that feels like a threat.

“our regions are right next to each other,” he explains tersely, trying to figure out why kyojuro seems to be so off. “our missions overlap a lot, so we help each other out sometimes.”

“really!” kyojuro says again, louder than before. “how very interesting!” you can believe he sounds sincere, but sanemi has known him longer, knows better, and he scoffs as he folds his arms.

“what’s your damn problem?” he demands, stepping into kyojuro’s space. kyojuro blinks up at him, not moving away even when their noses nearly touch.

“problem? what problem? i don’t have one!” and it would be convincing, too, if he hadn’t glanced over at you, only to realize you were staring at him with open concern. his attention snapped back quick, his cheeks turning pink.

say what you’d like about his temper, but sanemi shinazugawa is not stupid.

“yeah, sure you don’t,” he growls, but he can hardly bring himself to really be annoyed.

“i don’t!” rengoku insists with a wide, bright smile. sanemi gives kyojuro’s shoulder a punch that’s a touch too aggressive to be friendly, then gives you a much more civil nod as kyojuro rubs his arm.

“i’ve got things to do, anyway, so i’ll see you bastards later.”

“aw,” you say with a pout. “see you later, sanemi! stay safe!” he pats you on the head as you walk past, making you smile and playfully shove his hand away. you don’t notice how kyojuro watches your interaction with sharp eyes, pressing his lips into a thin line. he’s jealous, alright.

and you’re not stupid, either.

“alright,” you say once sanemi is out of sight, “what was that about?”

“what was what about?” kyojuro looks in your general direction, eyes big and innocent. you sigh, propping a hand on your hip and frowning at him.

“that. between you and sanemi. i thought you were actually gonna throw down for a second there. so, what happened? did you two have a fight?” he’s nervous, now, gaze skittering all around your face but never settling.

“of course we didn’t,” he says. “if he’s upset with me, he attacks me until he gets bored and goes home!” which is true. you know it’s true because you’ve seen it happen. you’ve even stepped between them on occasion when you think it might be going too far.

“okay,” you say slowly. “so if you didn’t fight, what was it? i was sensing a lot of tension there.”

“i couldn’t tell you!” kyojuro crosses his arms. you continue to stare at him without a word, replaying the situation over in your head while he sweats. and before long, it hits you.

“you were jealous.” the way his eyes snap to yours far too quickly tells you everything you need to know. his mouth opens. then it closes again, and you raise an eyebrow, more amused than anything else. kyojuro never struck you as a jealous friend, but after practically chasing sanemi away from you, he proved that assumption wrong. honestly? it’s cute, if a little inconvenient to your social life.

“i... may have thought that i wanted to be talking to you instead,” kyojuro admits, very slowly, like the words cause him physical pain. “and maybe i was thinking that i want to make you laugh the way uzui can, or the way sanemi does. maybe i just want your attention sometimes, but you’re talking to someone else and i don’t want to interrupt. maybe i...” he looks down, his face flushing, and his voice gets so soft you have to lean closer. “...maybe i like you very, very much, and i want you to like me, too.”

your heart leaps.

“of course, i understand if you don’t feel the same!” he says loudly as he lifts his head again, throwing on false confidence the same way he throws on his haori every day. “the other pillars are all very amazing and likeable in their own ways, and i wouldn’t blame you if you happened to be interested in any of them instead! i only hope we can still be friends, and that you-!”

“you’re so stupid,” you interrupt, and he doesn’t have time to be offended before you move in and press your lips against his.

it visibly takes him a moment to process, standing stiff and unresponsive, before he’s forcefully kissing you back, his hands rising to grip your forearms. you only pull back once your breath starts to run out, but he chases you, making you laugh as you turn your face away.

“kyo, come on, i need to breathe,” you say, and he retreats enough to give you the biggest, warmest grin in his arsenal, outshining even the sun. you breathlessly smile back, more than relieved that your feelings are mutual. you’re not sure how he didn’t notice you crushing on him pretty much since day one, but you’re here now, so you don’t particularly care anymore.

“you don’t need to make me laugh,” you tell him once you catch your breath, and his grin falters. “you don’t need to be like uzui or sanemi or shinobu or giyuu or anyone else. you don’t need to tell me weird stories or help me out on missions or hug me all the time to make me like you.”

“who hugs you all the time?”

“the point,” you emphasize, putting your hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your foreheads touch, “is that i like you the way you are. you’re sweet, you’re passionate, and you’re always so happy to see me that it makes my day. you’re likeable in your own way, kyojuro. and i just happen to like you more than everyone else.” his golden-red eyes are wide, so wide and shiny that you’re afraid he might cry. his hands come up to cover yours, gently holding them against his face. he whispers your name, and you kiss him one more time.

“so no more of this jealous stuff, okay?” you say, and he laughs, hiccuping and wet.

“i can’t make any promises!”

#demon slayer imagines #demon slayer rengoku imagines #rengoku imagines #kny imagines #kny rengoku imagines #kyojuro rengoku imagines #rengoku x reader #anon request #hehe this was really fun!#kinda hard since he doesn't strike me as the jealous type #but fun!#i hope i did him justice!!#thank you for your request!

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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No Fun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Everyone knows there’s no fun in friends without benefits. (Inspired by the song Friends Without Benefits by Chloe Collins) Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, drinking, oral sex (fem receiving), mention of male receiving oral sex, penetrative/unprotected sex, creampie Word Count: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello! Sorry my scheduling has been all over the place lately, as I’m sure you’re probably tired of hearing about at this point 😅 But, No Fun is finally out!! (It was also a very good way for me to ease myself back into writing after recovering from my cold alsdjflsdkjf) Also, if you don’t follow Chloe on TikTok (or any social, really) you should! She’s super sweet and writes all her songs about Criminal Minds. This one’s my favorite, though! It’s such a vibe, I hope you’ll all give it a listen! 😊❤

***

Her eyes opened of their own accord. No alarm, no ring of the cellphone, no hand on her shoulder accompanied by the voice of one of her co-workers saying they'd finally landed... She liked it that way. Not only because it meant she had that rare peace and quiet first thing in the morning—though that was definitely a perk. It also meant that she was most likely at Spencer's apartment.

In his bed.

In his shirt.

As her eyes adjusted to the golden warmth that beamed through the curtains, she stretched out her arms and legs, knowing full well that he was in the kitchen; He was always in the kitchen, ever the early bird.

Speaking of, the smell of coffee started to permeate into the bedroom, and it comforted her further as she rose into a seated position. In a matter of minutes, the coffee would be ready, and Spencer would be waiting patiently, sipping from his own cup while hers sat untouched at the spot across from him.

Normally, she would get dressed and meet him out there, but upon remembering all the delicious things that happened in that kitchen the night before, she was feeling a little devious.

So she got out of bed and removed her underwear, leaving her in just his shirt, which barely covered her ass. She was going to leave them in the bedroom, but after a split second decision, she ended up striding out into the kitchen with the garment dangling from her fingers.

"Good morning," she sang, standing in front of the kitchen counter. It covered her lower half, so the only indication of her indecent exposure took form of the fabric in her hand.

Spencer was reading something, not bothering to look up as he spoke. "Good morning. Your coffee's how you like it. I thought we could stop at the gas station on the way in to get something to eat."

"Yeah, that's fine," she responded, setting the underwear on the counter and picking up her coffee. "But I was hoping you would eat me instead."

She nonchalantly lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip as he finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes glanced down at the counter as if to say, Look...

And he did.

The seductive sparkle in his eye at the sight in front of him sent a drip of excitement into her bloodstream that rippled throughout her whole body. It always had.

That's initially what drew her to him in the first place. Yeah, it was common knowledge to anyone that Spencer was intelligent, endearing, and handsome, but it was his flirty side that really got Y/N going. It didn't come out often, if at all— unless he was drunk or with the person of his affections.

Y/N found this out when the team threw him an impromptu birthday party last year. After discovering that he hadn't reminded anyone of his thirtieth birthday, Emily immediately called Penelope back home to start planning, and she looped everyone in before they landed later that night. Y/N herself was kind of disappointed with herself for even fathoming the idea of forgetting her friend's birthday, especially since she'd known him for years and celebrated his birthday with him and their friends before.

So before the party that night, she decided to go out and get him something. Only, she couldn't find anything, and it was on her way back when everyone was wondering where she was that Y/N started to question whether or not she really deserved to be considered his friend.

It didn't stop her from putting on a happy face and celebrating his birthday to the fullest, though— She showed up and hugged him immediately, holding onto him perhaps a little too long before offering to give him anything he wanted as compensation for forgetting his birthday, and his thirtieth at that. Of course, he insisted that she didn't really have to do anything for him, but she knew that was just him being himself.

Nonetheless, the party moved along, and with pretty much everyone out of his apartment after a long night of drinking and cake and celebration, Spencer and Y/N were the only two left, buzzed and sitting a little too close.

After convincing him to let loose and have a little fun on his 'special day', Y/N had managed to get him to help her finish an entire bottle of wine. And he'd been making his way through a few beers as the sun set and the stars came out.

And then he started looking at her weird.

That was the only way she could have described it in her drunken state, but it was certainly true, if only for the fact that it wasn't a look she'd ever seen from him before. His eyes were wide, pupils blown to almost full dilation, and his tongue kept dancing behind his lips like he was tracing out some sort of invisible pattern.

When she confronted him about it, drunkenly giggling and asking why he was looking at her like that, he laughed back and flat-out told her, "Have I ever told you how pretty y'are?" And she didn't even get a chance to respond before he continued. "Y/N, you're really pretty... Like, you're the prettiest woman I-ever seen."

"You're pretty, too, y'know, birthday boy," she laughed, smiling incredibly wide. Her whole body was practically on fire, and it only got hotter when he leaned in and kissed her, hard and sloppy, and with purpose.

They went on that night, stumbling around every square inch of his apartment while mumbling drunken compliments and haphazardly throwing aside their clothes until they woke up the next morning in his bed, naked, hungover, and absolutely shocked by what had happened.

Things at work were significantly more awkward, as to be expected, but as the days went on, the more they started to catch little stolen glances and shared recovered memories of what really happened.

More specifically, Y/N couldn't stop replaying these few sentences in her head, on a loop in between flashes of hands in hair and tongues on skin...

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, right? What if I want you?"

"Then go ahead... Have me."

...Have me...

They met up in the parking lot one day after work and simultaneously blurted out in their own words how they couldn't stop thinking about what happened and how much they wanted to do it again...

And they did.

That seductive sparkle in his eye was there when he kissed her that first night on his birthday, it was there just before they started making out in the parking lot just a week later, and it was there now as he looked down at her panties on the table and then flitted his gaze up to meet hers.

Y/N's body buzzed with a thrill as Spencer made his way around the kitchen counter and dropped to his knees as she sat on the barstool and spread her legs for him.

***

They were late for work that morning.

To make it inconspicuous, Y/N showed up ten minutes after Spencer did— maybe a little exaggerated, but it didn't raise any suspicions. It might have sucked when as soon as she walked in everyone was on their way out to go to the airstrip, Hotch with his phone in hand and ready to dial her number, but nobody suspected a thing.

Spencer threw a little smirk at her as he passed, and she resisted the urge to smack his ass out of spite.

She would have done it, too, but there were two specific rules they'd set once they decided to regularly sleep together, and one of them was that nothing could happen at work or around their friends. And regardless of how badly they wanted to steal kisses or touches at work, their arrangement meant too much to compromise. Once either rule was broken, their little friends with benefits excursion would be immediately void.

Unfortunately, after a flight that was absolutely laced with their sexual tension and once they'd landed in Minnesota for this latest case, they both shared a look that practically set in stone the undeniable, inevitable truth.

They were obsessed.

The whole ordeal was incredibly exhilarating, already an inevitable outcome when it came to regularly sleeping with a co-worker, but what they weren't counting on was just how thrilling it was. Almost a year into their extracurricular activities and they were spending just about every free moment attached by mouths and hands and limbs. And as time progressed it became increasingly more difficult to keep to themselves, needing to be in proximity to one another constantly.

That's not to say they weren't excellent at handling it, though.

Sure, the burning in their veins at the sight of one another after knowing what it was like to be intimate was excruciating, and being paired together on cases knowing that they couldn't break any rules had them feeling like they were going to drown... But the pay-off after a long period of time with no physical contact was absolutely worth it.

All the secrecy and the holding back made it that much explosive when they finally got a decent moment alone.

Right now they were on their way back from a week-long case in Georgia.

And maybe it was fucked up, but once the team realized it was going to be rather grueling, the first thing Y/N thought was how better her stress relief was going to be when they finally finished. The second she thought it, she briefly glanced over at Spencer and saw that he had the same look on his face.

Even during the jet ride home, they were sitting on opposite sides while everyone slept around them, staring at each other and only breaking eye contact when someone rustled in their sleep.

Grueling images of the things they'd seen in the past week danced between them alongside flashes of all the things they wanted to do to each other as compensation. They heard faint screams and gunshots muffled by the high moans and shouts of each others' names, heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin...

The only word that sat between them as they clamored into Spencer's car and drove off was, "Drive."

It was late. They were exhausted and alert all at the same time. Their bodies were practically on fire. Y/N's leg bounced rapidly as Spencer's fingers tapped the steering wheel with fervor and impatience. And when he knew there would be no one around to pull them over for speeding, he stepped on the gas harder, and their heartbeats picked up right alongside their speed.

Even the walk up to his apartment was laced with impatience, Y/N's leg still bouncing as Spencer unlocked the door.

They rushed through it the second there was a tiny sliver of light from the dim nightlight she knew he kept in the entryway.

And then it was beautiful, heavenly chaos.

The door slammed loudly as Spencer leaned his whole body weight against Y/N, sending her flying towards it. They were drawn together like a magnet to a fridge, a moth to a flame, days of pent-up frustration and tension beginning its firework show right there in his entryway as their mouths clashed together.

No amount of contact was good enough it seemed, because it was just constant movement. Their hands wandered and their bodies pressed into each other continuously as they kissed the breath out of each other. Even still, they continued all the way to his bedroom, grunting while bumping into furniture and walls and doorways, but never daring to separate an inch all the same.

"God, I needed you," Spencer whispered once his bedroom door was shut. His hands tugged at her shirt and tried to get the buttons done as he continued. "All fucking week, you were just right there and I couldn't touch you..."

Y/N pressed her mouth to his and started hastily unbuttoning his shirt as well. After a few seconds, he pulled his mouth away and started to speak again, his fingers still trying to get her shirt undone. "I need it bad..."

With a frustrated grunt, Y/N pulled him in closer by the collar of his shirt and hissed into his mouth, "Then shut up and fucking take it..."

Her words kicked him in the ass and shot him forward, sending them flying towards the door once again. She yelped at the sharp pain that came and went as her back hit the wood, but with Spencer's hands finally tearing open her shirt and settling on her bare waist as he practically shoved his tongue down her throat, she couldn't complain.

Both of their shirts came off, and as soon as they hit the floor her hands went to his hair. She tugged on the wavy locks, a soft moan escaping her as he dipped his hands under the back of her bra and worked the clasp. It came off quickly, as it always did, and once it hit the floor he leaned down and gave her breasts all his attention. His tongue swirled around her nipples one my one, littering her skin with kisses in between and reveling in the way she kept tugging on his hair each time he gently tugged a nipple with his teeth.

Eventually, they both couldn't take any more, Y/N pushing his head down while tugging down her slacks and Spencer being glad she did, using his hands to assist her.

Having known for about a year now how heavenly his mouth was when it worked at her wasn't even a fair warning for the intensity of the shudders that soared through her body when his lips made contact with her clit just then. She let out a loud, broken cry of relaxation and relief and pure ecstasy as he practically devoured her.

His tongue was gliding through her with ease, ravening groans erupting from his throat and sending more sharp waves of excitement through Y/N's bloodstream with every passing second. His ministrations were quick and greedy, sloppy yet precise. And when he added his fingers to the mix, she gripped his hair tight and cried out his name, tensing at the sweet, burning stretch they provided.

That only drove him more wild, his tongue flicking over her clit faster while his fingers pumped, curled, and dragged languidly inside of her. He worked to pull every ounce of pleasure from her body, all while squeezing his eyes shut and losing himself in the taste of her, the way her thighs lightly trembled over his face and the desperate clutches of her fingers in his hair...

He wanted all of it. All of her.

He also wanted to hear that sound she made when he was helping her through the peak of her orgasm— a high, dreamy cry that boiled his insides and turned him into an animal.

And there it was, with just three more quick pumps of his fingers. It started off soft, though he knew the second he sucked on her clit and grazed her g-spot with his fingers it would careen higher and louder, right into that perfect pitch that he wished he could hear for eternity. Her thighs shook almost violently around his head, her fingers clawing at his scalp so tight that he felt little pinpricks of pleasure run down the back of his head and through his neck.

Y/N came down soon after, her voice resorting to small whimpers and pants as she tried to push his head away. But it wasn't until she actually tugged his hair up that Spencer finally retreated and got up off the floor.

"I thought you wanted me to take it?" he panted, already missing the warmth of her legs over his face.

She reached down and started toying with his belt, pulling him closer by the leather and throwing him a smirk. "Yeah, but now I wanna take it."

Before she could sink to her knees, though, he stopped her, walking her towards the bed and sitting her down as he finished taking off his pants. "Another time... Right now I need to be inside of you."

The urgency dripping in his voice and through his movements made Y/N burn all over again, and really, who was she to argue? Yeah, maybe she wanted to suck the living soul out of him, but his eagerness to get to the main event gave her the opportunity to treat him tomorrow morning. Spencer was always hard in the morning (at least on the rare occasion that she'd wake up before he did), and the thought of his sleepy groans and whines as she slowly worked his cock with her mouth was more than enough to keep her satisfied until then.

It also made her incredibly wet and ready, which was convenient when he climbed over her and bent her legs back, leaning forward and sinking into her in no time at all.

The sounds that came out of their mouths right then were exceedingly pornographic. It had been too long since their last sexual encounter, and even though they'd been at it plenty of times before, it still felt as intense and fresh as the first few times.

As aforementioned, they were obsessed.

Their song and dance of skink on skin never got old. Time and time again, it was like they'd never touched before, every feeling so intense it was like they were on the top of a rollercoaster that just kept falling and falling with no end in sight.

Every time he snapped his hips forward and and stretched her wide, her insides crumbled apart and gave way to his storm. She embraced his using of her body for pleasure, and he gave her the best orgasms in turn.

As of right now, she was caught between wanting to look down between their bodies to watch him fuck her and laying back to let it happen— take it all in that way and lose herself in the moment.

Though, she settled on the former, just as she always did, because watching Spencer fuck her was always the more exciting option. Especially when he was as urgent as he was now.

She watched with her bottom lip out in a pout as he fucked her, taking notice of how his hands looked gripping her waist and how his stomach tensed with every movement. Her eyes wandered over the planes of his body, and then finally his face. Usually he'd be so focused on the task at hand that his eyes would barely be open, taking in every ounce of pleasure that he possibly could, and that was exactly the case here. Fluttering eyes, pouty lips, flushed face, hair damp and wild as ever...

It drove her half mad.

"Harder," she demanded, reaching out and pulling him closer by the ass.

Spencer was more than happy to comply, a satisfied huff of laughter coming from him as he leaned down and sharpened his movements. His hips were heavier, pinning Y/N down into the mattress with every thrust forward, consequently drawing a little whimper from her each time.

To take it a step further and complete her request, he leaned back a little and pushed her legs open and wide, spreading her further and pinning her down that way to give his hips more driving force.

Unsurprisingly, neither of them lasted long after that.

Y/N shouted his name into the air, leaning her head back as her body tensed and gave in to his force. And he fucked her through it, his grunts gradually getting louder until his hips pushed into hers one final time, at which point he leaned down and put more of his weight on top of her.

As he filled her with his release, she sighed out, clenching herself around him and reveling in his warmth. Whether it was the warmth inside of her or the warmth he provided by blanketing her body with his own, she was glad for its presence. There was nothing else she'd rather have felt after a hard week at work—or any hard feat, really—than Spencer.

He retracted his warmth once they'd settled, however, removing himself from the bed on shaky limbs to grab wipes on the other side of the room.

And of course, Y/N admired him the whole way, flashing him a devilish wink when he inevitably caught her staring.

***

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH28

What does Chloe have in store for Marinette? Find out next week! As I stated on AO3, once I post chapter 30, I’m going to take another month off to let my betas finish up the last few chapters, then in October if we are all finished, I will be posting two chapters a week on Mondays and Fridays to finish this story out. It’s been a long journey rewriting it, but I’m much happier with the outcome this time. I hope you’re all excited to see the rest of the changes to this story. I know I can’t wait to share them!

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Chapter 28: End Game

Morning light streamed through the window, casting golden rays across Marinette’s cheeks. The urgent screech of her alarm blared on the shelf above her head, vibrating the loft in its tantrum. She blinked, then immediately squeezed her eyes shut again, sitting up out of the sun. Kicking the blankets from around her legs, she palmed for her phone, clumsily tapping the screen with a yawn. Sleep had eluded her most of the night for more reasons than one, and the previous day’s events replayed on loop as she slogged through her morning routine.

Had all of it really happened? The museum, her old friends, the akuma, Emerald Shell, Lila… And she’d gone to Chloe of all people for help. When had she fallen so low? And how long did Marinette have to be on this rollercoaster? Wasn’t there an emergency exit she could use?

She splashed water on her face, leaning against the sink with a sigh. Not all of it was bad at least. She and Adrien got to spend the evening together, though the sweetness diminished as a result of the afternoon’s events. Even still, there were worse ways to end a trying day than being spoon-fed chocolate mousse by the boy of her dreams.

Marinette stared at her reflection, droplets dripping from her chin like the countless tears she’d cried the past month. So much had changed since she left. Her face still looked the same, but the girl inside was different than the one who walked out of Francoise-Dupont a month ago. Her eyes carried a new determination.

Lila had gone too far, and Marinette wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. Starting today, everything was going to change.

“Marinette! You’re going to be late for school!” her mother called up the stairs.

Marinette dried her face and slipped on her blazer.

“Coming!”

Things were normal at school. People were buzzing about the latest akuma and the appearance of Emerald Shell. Martin held his head a little higher, though his cheeks never lost their rosy hue, especially when Macy gushed about how Emerald Shell saved her. It wasn’t until art class that they realized Marinette was being unusually quiet.

“How did things go with Adrien?” Eliott asked, looking up from the fruit bowl they were all painting.

“Adrien was fine,” Marinette said. “It was Lila I had to worry about.”

“Still?” Macy winced. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story…” Marinette sighed, wiping her brush on a rag.

“We’ve got a whole hour.” Martin pointed out, and they all looked at Marinette expectantly.

Marinette smiled, reassured by their eagerness. They really were the best friends in the world. She took a deep breath before diving in, and her friends listened to every detail intently.

“Whoa, she really did that to you?” Lisette asked when she finished. “And I thought Gabrielle was awful.”

“Lila is an attention-seeking manipulator, and she crushes anyone who gets in her way,” Marinette said bitterly. “I hate to drag you guys into this—mostly because I barely want to be dragged into this—but-”

“Oh, we’ll totally help,” Macy said. “If there’s one thing rich people love to do it’s brag about our accomplishments and make other people look inferior.”

“I can text around and try to set up a hangout with Prince Ali next time he passes through Paris.” Eliott offered.

“My dad’s in a group that plays tennis with a few ambassadors. I’m sure he could help us set up a youth program to push a Go Green effort here in Paris.” Martin added.

“Sometimes I babysit for the president’s niece, so I could see about getting her deported,” Lisette said with a cheery grin, and everyone turned to her with horrified expressions. “I’m kidding, but it’s an option.”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re kicking awful people out of the country.” Eliott nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

“Anything you need, Marinette, we’ve got your back,” Macy said, placing a hand over hers. “We’re behind you all the way.”

Marinette pulled her in for a hug, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Even though she regretted running from her problems, Marinette didn’t regret meeting her new friends. They helped her when she needed it most, and for that, she would always be grateful. With these people by her side, Lila wasn’t going to know what hit her.

♪♫♪ This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things ♪♫♪

Marinette paced the length of the living room a week later, chewing her nails. The awards show had finally arrived, and Clara would be walking the red carpet in one of Marinette’s original designs. It was the biggest moment of her life, and she couldn’t sit still.

Her mom smiled, setting the cake she’d just finished decorating on the table. “Everything is going to be fine, dear. Your designs were wonderful, and Clara loved them.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean all of the famous fashion critics are going to. People talk about award show outfits for weeks, mom! If everyone hates Clara’s dress, I’m going to be front-page news for worst-dressed all month!” Marinette groaned.

“There’s no way anyone will hate your designs. My daughter has all the talent in the world!” Her father scooped her up, planting a kiss on her cheek.

The doorbell rang, and Marinette rushed to answer it.

“Congratulations!” Her friends cheered.

Macy pulled her in for a tight hug. “I can’t wait to see which design Clara picked! They were all so good.”

“I can’t believe Clara picked you over Gabriel Agreste. You are so lucky, Marinette,” Lisette said.

“She’s amazingly talented. My father didn’t stand a chance,” Adrien said with a laugh. He presented a bouquet of roses with a shy smile. “Congratulations, mon ange.”

Marinette stretched up to kiss his cheek. Taking his hand, she ushered everyone inside where they didn’t hesitate to make themselves at home. Eliott and Martin moved for the snacks while Macy and Lisette settled on the couch. Marinette’s mother reached for a vase on the top shelf, stretching up on her toes.

“Let me.” Adrien stepped in and grabbed it with ease.

“Thank you, dear. Marinette picked such a sweet boyfriend.” Her mother beamed. “She used to talk about you so much. Every day, she’d come home from school and tell us all about how green your eyes are and-”

“Mom!” Marinette shot her a silencing look.

“I’m flattered. Marinette is a wonderful girl. You and Mr. Dupain must be really proud that a celebrity like Clara commissioned her,” Adrien replied smoothly. He shot Marinette a wink when her mom changed the subject. Why was he so perfect?

“Ooo! It’s starting!” Macy squealed.

Marinette and Adrien squeezed onto the couch next to Macy and Eliott. She leaned her head on his shoulder, twining their fingers together. Having her friends around eased some of her nerves, but her heartbeat escalated every time someone new moved to the front of the line.

“How long until we get to see your dress?” her dad asked.

“I don’t know. The red carpet doesn’t really have a set schedule.” Marinette shrugged.

“Okay, we’ll just wait,” he said, trying to seem nonchalant, though his impatience showed each time he shifted or cleared his throat.

Marinette chewed her nails as other artists and celebrities made their appearances, leg bouncing until Eliott reached over to stop it. She flashed him a sheepish grin but resumed tapping the moment he turned away.

Clara’s name flashed at the bottom of the screen, and Marinette cupped her hands over her mouth. Everyone leaned forward as she approached the camera in a colorful, flowing gown.

“She’s wearing my favorite!” Marinette squeaked between her fingers. Her dad patted her knee as her mom turned up the volume on the television.

“Standing here on the red carpet with Best Pop Artist nominee Clara Nightingale,” the reporter said, turning to Clara with a smile. “Clara, can I just say you look lovely tonight? Who are you wearing?”

“My dress was designed by someone sweet; a teen whose talent can’t be beat. More beautiful than any melody I’ve ever sang, this dress is by Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Clara twirled around, the skirt of the dress rippling with color.

Marinette buried her face in a couch pillow with a shrill scream. Adrien rubbed her back with a laugh. She shot up again, eyes glued to the screen as Clara gushed about the details of her dress before the conversation steered toward her award nomination.

“Can I just say? Stun-ning!” Eliott said.

“That dress is everything! It looks even better than it did on paper.” Macy agreed.

“A celebrity wearing my daughter’s original designs! I always knew someone would recognize how amazing you are.” Her dad pulled her in for a tight hug.

“We’re so proud of you, honey. We know how hard you worked,” her mom said.

“You did an amazing job, Marinette.” Adrien pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Well, we have to get back to the bakery, so we’ll let you kids watch the rest together, okay?” Her mother passed Macy the remote.

“Good night.” Marinette waved as they stood and took their leave.

“Actually, I should go too. I forgot to do my physics homework,” Macy said, standing up. “Martin, can you come help me? It’ll take me hours if you don’t.”

Martin flicked his gaze over to Marinette and nodded. “Uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Oh, ya know, I just remembered that I promised my dad we’d help him with that thing,” Lisette said.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, it’s like a big, complicated thing. We need to go too.” Eliott nodded. “Congrats again. You’re amazing and wonderful, and you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Thanks.” Marinette smiled.

“See you tomorrow!” Macy called as they all shuffled out the door.

“Is it just me or was that a lot of lame excuses?” Marinette tilted her head.

“I asked them to give us some time alone.” Adrien admitted.

“Oh.” Marinette’s cheeks warmed as Adrien wrapped an arm around her.

“I know things have been crazy lately, but in a way, I’m really glad all of this happened. I might not have ever realized how I felt about you if it hadn’t,” he said. “It’s a weird positive that’s come from everything.”

“Yeah.” Marinette leaned against his shoulder with a smile. “I’m happy things worked out. I never would have told you how I felt otherwise.”

“Did you really tell your parents how cute I was?” he asked with a smirk.

“I- Well, I didn’t- I mean-” She buried her face in his shirt with a groan.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you stammer like that. I forgot how cute it is.” Adrien chuckled.

“It’s your fault.” She jabbed his chest with one finger. “You’re so cute. It makes me all flustered.”

“Hmm, then I wonder how you’ll react to this.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve a long jewelry case, opening it to reveal a small pink diamond necklace.

“Adrien!”

“I wanted to get you something to remember me by since we go to different schools now. I miss you like crazy, so I thought that maybe you could at least have a small piece of me when we’re apart,” he said. “Do you like it?”

“Adrien…” Marinette cupped a hand over her mouth. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

The gem was warm against her skin as Adrien fastened it around her neck, a physical reminder of his love. They’d overcome so much together, and while their fight was far from over, at least Marinette had him.

Adrien turned her jaw to face him, brushing her cheek with his thumb. Those warm green eyes softened as he leaned in, and Marinette closed her eyes. His breath swirled hot on her lips when they brushed, sending a jolt up her spine. Her heart hammered in a frenzy, building rapidly in anticipation. But just as release came, his pocket buzzed, and they both crashed down to earth again.

With a short sigh, Adrien pulled back and retrieved his phone, quirking a brow at the caller ID.

“It’s Chloe,” he said. “Hell-”

“Were you two going to list Dupain-Cheng designing for Clara Nightingale among our assets, or was I just supposed to figure that out myself?” She scolded.

“Sorry. It was kind of-”

“No time for excuses. I need to propose this to you before I change my mind. I know the perfect way to enact your plan,” Chloe said with a groan. “I hate myself for even considering it.”

“What are you suggesting?” Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed.

“We’re going to make Dupain-Cheng famous, and I think I know the perfect way to do it.”

#mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Inside “The Pact”

Hello! For those of you that followed along with The Pact, I received a few questions and requests to get an inside look. I’ll link the post here that explains a bit more about what this is gonna be about.

We’re gonna break this down into sections: first will be answering your questions about The Pact & the characters. Then I’ll show you guys a little about my notes & decision making process (which is very obscure because I just tend to keep a hypothetical tab open in my brain most of the time lol) as well as some pictures of my ideas!!

Thanks for requesting such a fun thing to do now that this series is over. It’s been fun to look back!

Q. What song did the boys dedicate to y/n?

A. “Her” || This is a sad song, but I felt like it fit so well with how the boys had to hide a part of themselves (their feelings) away for the sake of the pact!

Q. Did the boys get mad/how did the boys react to Jungkook’s kiss?

A. Jungkook was a little shocked, and felt extremely guilty on the drive back home. He wasn’t sure if he could stand to tell his hyungs, but he also knew he couldn’t lie to them. Naturally, the second he walked in the house and everyone saw his face, they knew. It was just quiet, everybody was a little hesitant to say anything/bring it up because they were all upset. Only Jimin has heard all of the details of JK’s kiss, whereas the others are simply aware that he kissed her and that’s that.

Namjoon was the most upset, although he didn’t say anything. He just sat there on the couch and did the jaw-clenching thing he always does. Yoongi just tried to change the subject and ask about other aspects of the date. Taehyung was actually pretty pissed, especially because he’d been so good about refraining from kissing you even when you’d asked for it. Hobi had a chat with him later that night and calmed him down. Jin wasn’t angry so much as he was worried that he missed his shot & couldn’t stop replaying his date in his head.

Q. Who fell for y/n last?

A. Namjoon. He’d had a little crush, and that’s why he was willing to go along with the pact. But it hit a point less than a year ago when he fell hard and fast. (you called him in the middle of the night when he was on tour and he realized that your sleepy voice is possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard) The boys noticed and as a result teased him endlessly about it, because he doesn’t quite know how to navigate his feelings.

Q. Who did the boys bet on? (We already know that Jimin bet on Yoongi and won lol)

A. Namjoon bet on JK, Tae bet on Hobi, Hobi bet on JK, Jin bet on JK, and Yoongi bet on Jin, and JK bet on Namjoon (because we all know JK would pick Namjoon lol)

Q. Didn’t y/n ever date other guys? How did the boys react?

A. hahaha ok I actually would have such a fun time writing this Yes, she dated around a bit. For the first year of the pact, she had an on again, off again bf. It wasn’t very serious, and she always made that clear to the boys. They still hated the dude. After they broke up, she only went on a few dates here and there. Didn’t really seriously date. (except for that one time she went on vacation and had a fling, but everyone has decided to forget that) They just smiled and supported her, although Tae was always very clear that he didn’t like any of the guys she dated.

Q. In Namjoon’s date, who was the 1950′s author mentioned?

A. Agatha Christie, the queen.

Q. How did y/n meet Jimin? (he was the one that introduced her to the rest of the group)

A. She was a PR intern for Lee Hyun. Jimin and Lee Hyun are close, and they crossed paths fairly often until Jimin decided to invite her to hang out.

Q. What is y/n studying in school?

A. Public Relations (which will honestly come in handy with her new relationship lol)

Q. Where was Jin in the last chapter when y/n came to the studio?

A. Agh how could you ask me this and bring back all that pain?! Jin was at his brother’s restaurant for some much needed R&R. He ended up staying the night with him, not wanting to go home just yet and have to face his decision.

Q. Who would you personally choose to end up with and why?

A. KIM SEOKJIN. Date #5 was basically for me lol. Like, unapologetically wrote that for myself. Not just because he’s my bias, but because I personally felt like I could picture myself chilling on that couch watching Dateline with him. And it was beautiful. 🤧 Also, while Jin can be loud and goofy, he’s an introvert. I’m an extravert with introverted tendencies, so I just feel like his date would have been the most comfortable for me.

CREATING THE PACT - AN INSIDE LOOK AT MY NOTES

First thing’s first, I have an on-going page in my notes on my phone which is FILLED with ideas & half-formed thoughts. Before I began writing The Pact (or even Spooked, for that matter), this happened:

So you can see that I had no idea what I was doing lol, but I thought that it would be cool. Mainly I wanted an excuse to write OT7 and display all the members in a sweet light. Also, we see that not all of these actually made it into the series. (Tae w/ the family)

BUT THEN, “SPOOKED” HAPPENED, AND A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY POPPED UP

ngl, I cracked up when I looked back at my notes and saw this.

“Sweet Gloria what am I doing to myself” 😂😂 this was when I was pushing “Lost & Found” out and planning for Taehyung’s series (which is why so much is blocked out on my notes, because it’s riddled with spoilers lol) so I literally had no idea why I was jumping into another project as I was already super busy. That’s why I scheduled it for just Saturday’s! (and also why I sometimes posted super late at night lol)

As you can see, Seokjinnie’s date was literally always on my mind. From the very beginning. Which is odd, considering the fact that he didn’t end up being endgame. wow it’s like he’s my bias or something

Occasionally I’d take breaks from hw and work on getting to know how the boys were with y/n. Quotes and poetry serve as a great source of inspiration, and I assigned a quote to each member. (notice the little stars by Jin, Yoongi’s and JK’s names lol, they were my top three as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now)

There were a couple of things that I didn’t think of adding until I was reading through your theories and got an idea of what you needed to push the series in the right decision. i.e. bringing Gina back to explain that she closed the door in Spooked.

I have a whiteboard in my room that I use to map out what I need to do that week for whatever series I’m working on (as well as jot down ideas for new series, which I why this photo doesn’t show the whole board haha)

So here’s a peek at my thought process for writing about how the pact was formed. Sorry if you can’t read it haha

NOW, the last few questions you guys had:

Q. Did you ever change your mind while writing the pact?

A. Yes! I actually originally intended for Hobi to have written the note. It fit very well with how angry he was at first and how worried he was during the date. But by the time I'd gotten to Jin’s date I kinda knew that he wouldn’t be that petty but Jin would haha

I also planned on Yoongi kissing y/n on their date. It was supposed to be on a rooftop somewhere, which we know didn’t happen. In fact, I didn’t really intend for their date to be so disastrous until I was coming closer to having to write it. I think I was a mess, so the date was a mess lol

I had no idea what I was doing for Tae’s date until I wrote it, all I knew was that there had to be a museum. The rest I just made up as I wrote and hoped that it made sense. (also, for some reason I hated the museum portion of the date. Idk why, but it just felt so stark to me. still don’t like it lol)

Q. When did you know how it was going to end?

A. That’s a....difficult question lol. Honestly, I thought of just doing an audio recording and uploading it because it I didn’t really know how to put it into words, but then I realized that most people probably wouldn’t wanna listen to that lol. So here we are.

I had the ending scene in mind before The Pact even became a thing. I knew I had a series that I wanted to end with baking cookies. (weird, I know.) It didn’t exactly go how I planned, but I remember having the thought while writing Spooked (when I thought I was just writing a one shot) that it would be nice for y/n to be with Yoongi. I just instantly felt like they had a connection, when he was the first one she went toward. From then on out, I always kinda kept Yoongi in the background.

I had a crisis about halfway through (right before Jin’s date) when there were a bunch of people rooting for Tae, because he hadn’t even been on my radar. But then Jin’s date went much better than I thought it was going to/received better, so I think that got me back on track.

But from the beginning, Yoongi was #1. (I wrote this in the back of my Career’s notebook lol) when I was trying to figure out for myself who wrote the pact.

So yeah! There you have it! Just an FYI, I had to physically restrain myself from throwing caution to the wind and making Jin endgame. Especially when so many of you were on board. :( However, the survey helped because Yoongi was the majority of votes (closely followed by Jin & JK) and that showed me that we were still on the right track!

Ngl, my brain stopped working around Wednesday of last week, so writing the finale took FOREVER because nothing would compute. But I’m so happy you guys enjoyed it and reached out to me about it! This really is like a part-time job most days, and I really felt like this series paid off.

Hopefully I covered everything! To end, here's the most satisfying part of every project for me:

Thanks guys!

#the pact stuff #b:rants #about me #bts fluff #bts dating au #ot7 bts #bts x reader #ot7 bts x reader

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serendipitous-posts · 3 years

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Sacrifice you for nothing

Tubbo and Ranboo get a history lesson

title from Ain’t No Crying by Derivakat

"Damn" Tubbo says, staring up at the ceiling. "That chandelier really is fighting you every step of the way, huh?"

"And it's winning" Ranboo adds.

Foolish, hanging from the ceiling as he fixes the corner piece, glares down at him. "It is not winning" he hisses "I won't let it win." That declaration would have been a lot more solid had he not squeaked as the chandelier rocked dangerously.

If that fell and broke he would actually lose it.

Tubbo has no mercy for him. "You must hate that chandelier right now" he mocks "must be your least favourite thing in the world."

"Nah" Foolish grips a small chunk of gold carefully in his teeth to avoid breaking it "that would be cults" he mumbles. There's a brief bit of quiet below and then;

"Oh yeah, I heard that the Eggpire wrecked your buildings or something."

Chandelier finally fixed (for now) Foolish drops to the floor, a fall that would have shattered anyone elses ankles but just leaves him slightly winded. "Nah" he says "I've run into cults before; one's way worse than this one."

"Worse?!" Ranboo exclaims "worse than the parasitic chicken embryo?!"

"Far worse" Foolish confirms body language completely relaxed despite such a dark topic

(but outside the seas begin to froth and bubbles, rapids forming and pushing and pulling, crashing against teeth sharp rocks and punching away at the cliffs surrounding it.)

"they seem to keep popping up wherever I go. I-

(hate them hates them with everything he is and everything he is supposed to be divine blood in his body but he can't save them can't protect everyone can't heal everything some things can't be reversed)

"really don't like them. They suck."

(I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry, I can take your broken pieces and stitch them back, back together and it won't be the same but it will be similar and that is all I can give you)

(the totem in Ranboo's back pocket begins to burn)

"I'll say" Tubbo agrees, then, with childlike curiosity and teenage macabre "which one would would you say is the worst?"

Foolish falls still.

(the sea falls still. the totems stop burning.)

(it is somehow worse)

"Probably the one made for me" he says at last.

The story goes like this; there's a village that prays to him daily. It's not that uncommon really; he's the God of the Ocean and the Undead. People pray to him for safe passage on the seas or to help them find a totem.

But the people in this village are- to put it bluntly- really fucking annoying.

It's not uncommon for people without totems to pray to him for hours on end, begging him to revive their loved ones, but these guys have turned it into an art form, any and all hours of the day, banging around in his head.

And when words don't work, they turn to physical ways to show their devotion to their God.

Silly little mortals, trying to gain his favour with dead animals and trinkets, trying to gain his favour. He already gave them a way to cheat death, all they have to do is grab a totem. Why do they want another?

They have all they need to survive. He painstakingly carved those totems. He will not give too much of himself.

(lord foolish please my mother is gone i want her back lord foolish you can bring my husband back lord foolish fix this fix her i know you can)

So he ignores the animal sacrifices and the pretty trinkets offered to him in exchange for reviving a daughter, a son, a wife, a husband. He cannot revive the long dead, he learned that a long time ago.

The only real bearable one in the village is the child, and he doesn't even think the child knows what he is the God of, really, which is odd considering the inordinate amount of statues in the town. Whenever the child prays to Foolish, it's never about a dead loved one or the sea, it's always about what the child did that day. Foolish feels more like a diary than a God in those moments.

And at least that's interesting

(mister foolish i learned how to spell flower the other day f-l-o-u-u-e-r mister foolish i saw a dead cat on the side of the road the other day)

(mister foolish are you ever lonely)

The humans grow more and more frustrated with his complete and utter radio silence, and while he's out their festivals to him grow more and more complex, the animals growing bigger, rarer, more impressive.

(i offer you this ender dragon egg this elytra this nether star this emerald ore this music disc)

He's not gonna lie; the person who built that beautiful cottage had him for a solid minute.

But he's not really paying attention to any of that; he's not the only God to have festivals and sacrifices in his name. Definitely not gonna be the last.

(what do we have to do to bring back our loved ones?)

He's just happy to build.

Bargaining is a stage of grief, but so is acceptance, and they must learn to accept this.

(except their not accepting it, the town is just growing angrier, more desperate, going bigger and bigger, hunting animals around them to extinction.)

The first time they kill a human, he's pretty sure it's an accident. An old man, long past his time, probably just died from shock or disease.

They put his body on the altar and offer him up to him, not to revive but as a sacrifice. He arrives, cloaked in illusions as thick as the fog around the town. He still sees Death though, watching sedately from where she's sitting on the wall, her angel beside her.

They're gone in the next moment.

The town never buries the old man, keeps him on the altar, and, after three days, Foolish takes him, takes him far away to an old field and buries him there.

��(the leader of the town finds the missing body and smiles. their god has accepted their gift)

He hopes it's a one time thing

(because what did they do to that man how could they these humans these ants small and painfully easy to kill but flocking together working together how could they turn on one of their own)

(because what would he do then?)

(after the man disappears from the altar, the child prays to him again, telling him the man's name, and how he once stopped the child from getting a rash from poisonous flowers. he liked violets the child tells him)

(maybe the child really does know what he's the god of. maybe the child's just lonely.)

He doesn't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe they saw the child trying to make conversation with a God instead of praying to one. Maybe the child, in the way all children are, said something controversial, maybe about the man who was left on the altar to rot.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He isn't there when the child is dragged out onto the streets, and dumped at the feet of the altar in front of the whole town, trembling and shaking. And the child is a child but is no fool, has seen the sacrifices has seen what has happened, and does what any scared child will do-try to run.

And at the same time the child tried to back away, the leader swung his sword, and the whole town watched as the child screamed, eyes bloodied and slashed from the blade.

(he had been aiming for the neck)

(not a fighter, that leader)

"A life for a life!" The leader exclaimed and swung again.

(the child collapsed on the floor and the crowd pressed in, eager to watch as they choked and gagged on the blood spilling out of their torn open throat, arms scrabbling into the ground like a beetle like a cockroach like an ant whose colony had turned on it)

And- and then-

And at the same time the child tried to back away and the leader swung his sword, the child had had one last panicked, desperate thought.

(mister foolish, they're gonna kill me)

And at the same time-

And at the same time the leader slit the child's throat, a golden clawed hand grabbed him by his.

"So yeah" Foolish says. "Cults are, like, the worst."

Ranboo and Tubbo continue to stare at him. "Uh" Ranboo says, then promptly stops talking.

"Did you . . kill them?"

He nods, bouncing on his feet a little. "Yeah" he smiles "good times."

The two teenagers both look like they don't know what to do with that.

"Well, at least they deserved it" Tubbo offers up attentively, and Ranboo nods

"Can't believe they executed a child. Nobody deserves to die like that" Ranboo mutters and Tubbo winces beside him.

"Y-yeah" Tubbo agrees nervously, twining his hands together "that poor kid. Hope it was peaceful."

Foolish blinks at them. "Wait, what?" Then he replays their entire conversation and laughs.

"Laughing at a kid's death" Ranboo notes, before turning to Tubbo "why are we letting him near Michael again."

"No, no" Foolish waves his hands "you misunderstood me; the child didn't die."

"You guys do remember I'm the God of Undying, right?" He raises an eyebrow at them both. "I healed the kid's neck wound right up." Ranboo just blinks at him in that slightly unsettling way that only an enderman can do.

"I thought you didn't revive people personally."

Foolish glances outside, past the both of them. "This was different" he says "this was-"

(my fault my fault i turned a blind eye i could have stopped this sooner you choked and gagged and cried out for anyone to save you but in the end the motivation for your murder had to step in.)

"-an exception."

"Good for you!" Tubbo cheers, shooting his hands in the air vehemently "the whole stinking town is gone and you and the child lived!"

Foolish makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Except the other towns had heard about the towns rituals. And it began to spread."

Tubbo's hands drop. "Oh."

"Yeah" he agrees "oh. But the worst part was the damage done to the child."

"Let me guess" Ranboo says, dry as Egypt. "Traumatised?"

"To put it mildly."

(the child had turned blind eyes towards him, and when he had reached out to grasp the pudgy hand it had recoiled, the small body curling up away from him and he had burned)

(the child hadn't seen or felt the tsunami that destroyed the entire town. but the screams- they had ears)

"But uh" he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot "not just that. I'm the God of Undying, so I can heal other's mortal injuries."

A long pause.

"Their mortal injuries" he repeats.

"Oh!" Tubbo jerks back "oh God! The child's eyes-"

"I healed them" he says, then winces "tried to heal them" he corrects. Better. "But uh, because they weren't fatal they weren't exactly, uh, restored."

(the mirror is broken and the cracks will show even when it's put back together and you'll never see the same way again my fault my fault i'm sorry i'm so so so sorry)

(this is all i can give you i am so sorry only child lonely child i cant take all you pain away but i promise you here and now you will be lonely no more)

"Damn." The closest Ranboo will ever get to a swear.

"It gets worse" Foolish chirps "the other towns found out that a child had been blessed by the Totem God himself. Were very interested in what exactly this child could do."

A long pause.

Then. "Cults" Ranboo says faintly.

"Cults" Foolish agrees cheerfully, thinking of a child screaming in agony with bloodstained eyes and a gashed throat as others looked on, indifferent.

Cults Foolish thinks grimly as that same child is dragged up to be executed by the Eggpire.

#dream smp #c!tubbo #tubbo #ranboo #c!ranboo #foolish gamers #c!foolish #mumza #philza #like #it's not explicitly said but it's implied #eggpire #eret #c!eret #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #dream smp fic

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

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ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴛ | ᴋᴀɪ ᴄʜɪꜱᴀᴋɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛ

Y’all thought it was oVER? lolol Blame Admin T--- I asked her who I should write for BNHA and she said this SO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ As always, thank you all so much for the love and support for this blog~! I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did with writing it~!

I do apologize if I don’t capture his character the best ;;”

I won’t lie, I was listening to Might U as I was writing this.

» » Admin Ko

Tedious. At least, that’s what it should’ve been. Yet instead of feeling the normal bouts of irritation at the lack of control he had over the situation at hand, he felt...unnerved. The imaginary seed that was implanted in his stomach all those months ago seemed to only gain in mass.

“...Who are you?”

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to grow these...feelings. Not only did he feel contaminated and utterly sick to his stomach, but the strange ache in his chest did nothing to help soothe his frazzled nerves as those curious yet dim (e/c) hues peered into his sorrowful golden ones.

“...My name is Chisaki Kai...”

“Oh! Hello Chisaki.”

A bout of coughing and another grimace as the pain in his chest amplified tenfold at the horrifying sound. It disgusted him. It truly did, yet instead of feeling the need to get away, he wanted to get closer to her. To comfort her-- hell to shake some common sense into her. Even if it meant he would break out, he just had to do something.

“I...apologize if this seems rude...”

“What is it?”

“...what happened to your arms?”

“...I lost them because I was careless. This...I suppose, is my punishment.”

Her curious stare continued to wash over him as he felt the prickle of goosebumps rise on his shoulders. Turning away, he kept his gaze on the vacant wall of the hospital ward. This was torturous. She was torturous.

Yet still she managed to worm her way into his heart, and he didn’t know whether or not if he wanted to ask for cardiac surgery or to embrace this newfound emotion.

All he really knew was that if he had only been smarter-- hell maybe even faster at coming up with the quirk-destroying drug he could’ve prevented this. He could’ve gotten rid of the parasite that lurked in her veins.

➽───────────────❥

6 Months Ago

“Patient name: (y/n) (l/n). Quirk: Amnesiac.”

Trudging down the corridor, the man once known as Overhaul, walked in step alongside his parole officer / attending doctor. It hadn’t been too long since his arrest and...amputation. In all honesty, he wondered why he was being granted this rare privilege.

An assistant for a patient. That’s all they had told him. Of course Kai had to scoff. How on earth was he supposed to help? With the lack of usable limbs and knowledge limited to that of basic medical needs he didn’t really find a real necessity in this patient’s apparent ‘recovery’.

“...Amnesiac?”

“As it’s name implies, it’s a quirk that deals the user amnesia--- yet in our patient’s case it not only forces her to lose her memories, but practically breaks down her body’s physical state.”

“...In simpler terms?”

“In short every time she loses her memory her body deteriorates along with it. It’s as if her body is, in a sense...rewinding itself forward to make up for the fact that she lost those memories.”

A grimace. If he could, he would’ve spat out that he had been right in his assumption that quirks were just an infestation to the world, this patient clearly being a poor victim of it.

“...And what is my purpose of ‘assisting’ you?”

“As far as I’m aware, you’re pretty damn heartless and selfish. So it should be easy for you to not catch feelings for her whilst being a constant in her life right?”

“A...constant.”

“Yeah, just someone who she sees everyday until well...”

“She passes.”

“I mean...yeah. Damn you really are heartless.”

“Tch. This is a waste of my time is what this is.”

“Hey, you’re helping me whether you want to or not man. It’s just a visit everyday for like, an hour or two at most.”

Another grimace was given as Kai felt a shiver run down his spine. Despite the place he would be in was a hospital, it still brought the ex-yakuza boss a sense of dread. Especially with the amount of infested bodies that littered the place.

“...how long?”

“Holy shit dude, I get that you don’t want to do this but seriously---”

“How long until she loses her memory you dumbass.”

“..Oh. Well, from what we gather they can last from a day, to a couple of months. Though the longer she stays in a...well, let’s call it a session, the more it harms her body.”

“So say she forgets me tomorrow.”

“Then her body moves forward a day.”

“....After a month?”

“She lurches forward a month.”

“Thus leading to a quick progression in her deteriorating health.”

“...Exactly.”

It was, to say the least, unsettling to hear. Never had he heard of such a sickening twist for a quirk. No matter, the deal was simple. If he was lucky, this would last a year-- as fucked up as it sounded, the sooner she passed the less she would suffer in the long run.

As they neared the door, the clear unease that settled on his features was one that his parole doctor could see from a mile away.

“Chill dude, it’ll be fine.”

With that, the door cracked open, and there seated quietly whilst reading a book was a woman. By any standards she was normal, average, easy on the eyes with a slight fae-like feel. Though really it was most likely the early evening glow that cascaded into her room the moment they entered.

All Kai really knew was that it was the moment when gold met glittering (e/c) hues that a seed lodged it’s way into his stomach.

➽───────────────❥

It had started off easy-- well in Kai’s opinion it had. Every other day seemed to be a new start to the ritual that was re-introducing himself to her and making small talk.

In all honesty, he wouldn’t admit it, but the simplicity of being able to have a normal conversation with someone brought a sense of peace in him. Of course this didn’t mean his usual snark and calculating ways-- or so he says.

For Kai, this change in routine was oddly enough, welcomed. With everything he had gone and the collogues he had imprisoned god knows where, the opportunity to engage in small talk was to say the least, enlightening. It had surprised him. As someone who sought out tactical moves in reading his opponents, he found himself at ease with the simplicity of where he was at.

Granted it was albeit dull in comparison to the interrogations he goes through, it was still a part of his routine that he refused to change. Not when he’s been so invested in it.

That changes when the day he enters her room to find that instead of having to reintroduce himself to her, she remembers him. She flashes him a gentle smile with an endearing, “How are you?” and that in itself has the former yakuza leader lose his breath as he can only comically blink at her before forcing himself to adjust to this strange change.

No later did another change occur that brought a wave of new emotions in him. She had touched him. A caress to his cheek, and unsurprisingly in that moment he broke out in hives. His sight blurring as panic shot through his system at the abundance of thoughts that struck his head as the irritation from the hives had him reeling away from her.

He didn’t see her distressed face. Nor did he see the tears that streamed down her cheeks as she desperately sought out someone to help him. Instead, he awoke to his room laying down with his hives treated.

He felt violated. Disgusted, yet still. Even with that he found himself at her door a week later. Prepared to start a new with her and a possible replay of what had happened a week prior. Instead, he found her bowed deeply at the waist as she tightly clutched at the thin fabric of her hospital gown.

“I’m so sorry Chisaki! I didn’t know...I deeply apologize for what had happened!”

“...You...remembered?”

“Of course! You’re someone I can never forget.”

The pit in his stomach grew tenfold as his feet began to walk towards the awaiting lounge chair. Golden hues met truthful (e/c) ones as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat before once again bowing.

“I really am sorry...I shouldn’t have reached out to you like that...”

“...just be more aware next time.”

And like that, the pit in his stomach continued to grow. With each passing day she retained her memories, the more the pit swelled in size, and the more she began to work her way into his heart.

➽───────────────❥

Present Day

He didn’t know why he felt an overwhelming pressure in his gut. The lack of food he ate was odd enough, but to actively avoid something out of his daily routine? It was unheard of. He even made that stupid request to ask his parole doctor to grab (y/n) that stupid drink she liked.

Mentally shaking his head, Kai lightly tapped his shoe against the door before sliding it open.

The sight bestowed upon him though was one that could’ve brought him to his knees as the pang in his chest seemed to duly ache as he dragged his feet into the room.

“...(y/n)?”

It was quiet. The warm beams of the spring sun settled on her pale features as dim (e/c) orbs glimmered at the sight of him. He should’ve seen this coming. Especially after she had remembered him the day it set everything out of pattern. Instead, he turned a blind eye. Out of pure ignorance? He wasn’t remotely sure anymore. All he knew was that she shouldn’t be like this.

She should be her stupid lively self, cracking jokes and sharing her stupid stories with him. Not laying there like a corpse.

“Ah...Chi-- Kai, sorry you caught me waking up from a nap. I’m sorry I don’t look more presentable...”

“Nonsense. Now, tell me what you’ve done today.”

“Straight to the point huh? Sometimes I wonder how you’d ever date anyone.��

Though weak, the teasing tone she held in her voice was one that added more weight to his chest as he seated himself in what she declared the ‘(y/n)’s best friend’s chair’. A stupid name if you asked him, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

And like that, she spoke of her day, simple tasks and duties she’s done during her stay at the hospital while Kai listened to her as the best friend she claimed he was.

As for the new name basis, Kai couldn’t tell anyone when it picked up. All he knew was that it didn’t piss him off as much as it should’ve.

As the time neared for him to leave, she stopped him. A look of hesitance on her face as irritation seemed to grow on his own.

“What is it?”

“....Can I hold your face?”

“What?!”

“With gloves on!”

The statement caught him by surprise. Already he felt the disgusting voices in the back of his head whisper at him yet instead of acting on those voices he found himself mutely staring at her as she fumbled over her words.

All he could really pick out was the light blush that was on her cheeks. The spark of color that brought his feet towards her bedside as she stared up at him with shock in those (e/c) eyes.

“Tch. What are you waiting for?”

Caught off guard, she could only stare at him for a moment before giddily shifting herself to get off the bed. A noise of distaste left his throat at her motion as she merely rolled her eyes and shushed him as she went to fervently clean her hands before snapping on the gloves.

Yet as she did this he couldn’t help but feel the ache in his chest grow even more at the sight of her frail hands and the subtle appearance of a bruise around her wrist at her careless motion of snapping the gloves on. This was immediately forgone as she walked up to him, mindful to keep a distance before she hesitantly held her hands out in a flower cup motion.

At first, Kai had no idea what she was doing, but as he grew to analyze the situation-- as well as remember the odd videos and photos she decided to show him as she sought a sort of relationship herself-- he carefully put his chin into her hands. The hesitancy of her fingers brushing his cheeks pulled a new sort of fondness in his chest as he finally relaxed his cheek against her shy hand.

Golden eyes peered deeply into glimmering (e/c) as he watched her face light up with the most color he had see on her that day. Satisfied, he waited until she finally let go.

“...Thank you, Kai.”

“No problem.”

“No really...thank you...for everything.”

Unease quickly overtook the fondness in his heart as he straightened himself out. Confusion was clearly matted onto his features as he stared down at her.

“...Why are you saying that?”

“What? I can’t say what I want for once? You let me all the time so just let me say this too!”

Finding the whole situation uncomfortable, Kai made his way to the door once more. Though before he left he motioned with his head for her to get back into bed. In response, he got her usual snark as she stuck her tongue out before carefully getting back into bed.

“If you’re on good behavior tomorrow, I’ll have your doctor bring you that drink of yours.”

The light in her eyes was enough to satisfy him and his worries as she nodded quickly before giving him a mock salute as she excitedly got herself comfy in the bed.

“Alright, you promised Kai~!”

➽───────────────❥

“Who are you?”

It should’ve have hurt him as much as it did, but after 6 fucking months. 6 months of her being a daily part of his life where she did not forget him for a single moment came crashing down. The tremble that clutched tightly to his words as he re-introduced himself went unnoticed as he slowly made his way towards the lounge chair that was once considered to be (y/n)’s best friend’s chair.

“...My name is Chisaki Kai.”

“Oh! Hello Chisaki.”

He could tell she was straining with keeping up a happy front. Her appearance was frail. So delicate that he feared anyone who touched her would be the cause of her disappearing before his eyes. The drink he had requested for her sat innocently on the bedside table as she gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’s going to be okay...”

“...what?”

“You look...distressed, I wanted to just reassure you things will be okay.”

No they won’t. He wanted to scream it at her, that the rasp in her voice was punching holes into his gut. That the frail breathing she had was worse than his quirk being taken away from him.

And in that moment, they stayed in silence. Merely watching one another with mixed emotions before he broke back into the routine he once thought would be meaningless.

“...What did you do today?”

Her words, though slow, told him of a peaceful day. One with little adventures and many simple moments that he’s come to slowly appreciate in his own life.

Though as the hour of his leave came, he found it hard to get up from the chair. His feet staying practically cemented to the floor as he watched her peer out the window as the warm rays of the early evening sun cascaded over her. Much like it had that day he first saw her.

Forcefully pushing himself up from the chair, he made his way towards the door. Yet each step he took towards it the more the aching feeling in his chest grew as the fear of his last day in that room came to it’s due date.

“...Kai? Can you turn around for me...just once?”

The words caught him completely off guard as he turned to face her. Those eyes no longer were filed with guarded walls. Instead he was met with the face of (y/n). The woman he came to slowly adore within the past 6 months.

He didn’t even think. Instead he surged forward, practically bruising his legs at the force he decided to stop himself with. Though he didn’t care. The bruises be damned, she remembered him.

“...Can I hold your face? One more time? I promise I won’t ask again. I’ll even wear gloves!”

“...No need.”

The aching in his chest grew tenfold as he found it hard to speak. The overwhelming emotions that sat in his chest were ready to burst out of him. Though he wasn’t sure how. Instead he bent down slightly, finding her confused face even more endearing before he rolled his eyes.

“Well?”

“B-But...the hives---”

“I don’t care. Hurry the fuck up.”

Like that, the confusion vanished as she gently put her hands together in that familiar flower cup motion. Worry was clearly evident in her eyes as she looked at him, but before she could even question again he placed his chin into her awaiting hands. Already the prickly sensation of the hives began to pool as he could feel them form across his skin.

“K-Kai--”

“It’s fine. Shut up. You said you won’t ask again.”

“T-That’s true...”

“Tch. You can make it up to me by getting better so I can show you the world.”

“...when you’re not in prison anymore, right?”

“Right...”

It was hard to speak now. The lump that once was in his stomach had traveled to his throat as he watched her warm (e/c) glisten with unshed tears as she gently caressed his cheeks, ever so mindful of his hives as she tried to at least move her hands. Instead, the male pressed himself further into her touch as the tears began to fall. If anyone noticed the strain in his voice, they didn’t mention it.

“...If you’re gonna be greedy that do what you’ve been wanting to do you romantic obsessed moron.”

With that, she shifted forward before pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead as the tears came down harder. The lump in his throat making it almost unbearable to talk.

“...Thank you Kai...thank you so much for these six months...”

“.....”

“Don’t forget me...okay?”

“Idiot...as if I could even forget the one dumbass that made me breakout after my imprisonment.”

A weak laugh was given as she finally pulled away. With her eyes rimmed red, she shifted to make a call for a nurse, though that was cut short as Kai surprisingly climbed into her bed. No words were exchanged as she reluctantly shifted herself down into the bed-- though it did take time, she managed to curl herself in a way where she left distance between them.

“...aren’t you supposed to go?”

Featherlike and faint, he strained to hear her as he shifted himself down to properly face her as he melted in her (e/c) gaze. The slow dimming of life in her eyes was enough to tell him that it was time. However, he refused to believe it. If anything he’d find her awake the next day with that silly smile on her face. Yet even as he thought about this, the tears that he once thought were impossible for him, slowly began to stream down his cheeks as he nestled himself closer to her.

“....one day won’t kill them.”

“...mmm...”

“....go to sleep angel, I’ll be right here...”

“...and...you’ll be next to me?”

“...always.”

➽───────────────❥

Patient Name: (y/n) (l/n) Chisaki Quirk: Amnesiac

Time of Death: 6:05PM

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki x reader #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #mha imagines #bnha imagines #chisaki angst #we about to drop more angst in this bish #i know i should be working on wips and requests but i can't help it ksksksk

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years

Text

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 8

AN: This one took me so long but poor Rowan is just so confused!! After this, chapter 9 will have a slight delay but that’s because I have a Lysandra POV coming in the next few days! Enjoy!

masterlist - ao3

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The sounds of slamming cupboard doors and the clinking of glasses drew him into the kitchen, eager to find out which one of his roommates was determined to break every item in the shambles that was their crockery collection.

There were two people in the kitchen; Lorcan was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee and a smug smirk on his lips. His smirk grew at Rowan’s entrance and an anticipatory look came across his dark features as he settled himself in to watch, leaning back into his stool.

The other occupant of the kitchen also had dark hair but had his back to Rowan as he routed through the kitchen cupboards, on the hunt for something Rowan didn’t know. Rowan knew he didn’t live with anyone else with dark hair.

Rowan raised an eyebrow at his roommate, a request for any information he had on who this stranger was tearing their kitchen apart, but Lorcan merely shrugged before taking another swig of his coffee.

The male putting their kitchen at risk finally turned around and Rowan felt his heart sink.

Dorian Havilliard took a moment to take Rowan in, clocking the way Rowan stood taller and broader than himself before eventually smiling, straight white teeth shining as he flashed his Hollywood grin.

“Hey, Rowan right?” Rowan nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak until Dorian revealed more about the reason for his presence in their kitchen. “I didn’t wake you did I? I just don’t really know my way around your kitchen.”

Dorian let out a breathy laugh and Rowan blinked, taking in the scene before him.

This was not what he needed after the spectacle he had made of himself the other night, the day before too if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t meant to push Aelin away so, he had thought that was doing what she would have wanted.

He had thought that she would have wanted to sweep it under the rug, not acknowledge it out of fear of ruining what they had going so far. He had assumed that she had just been going along with it, maybe that was the way she had thought to deal with his mistake. When she had leant in, her slender fingers lightly brushing his neck he hadn’t known what to think, had barely even known how to keep breathing.

Forget it ever happened.

The way her face had fallen at his words had been a catastrophe he hadn’t been able to think fast enough to stop. A car crash he had only been able to stand by and watch.

The evident hurt that had flashed across her face when he had wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist to halt her had shown him he was wrong. He had been wrong to assume she wanted to move past it. Or had he? Fuck, she was impossible to read sometimes.

Aelin was physically affectionate with all of them, sometimes sidling up to Fenrys on the couch when she was cold or throwing her feet over his own lap when a movie was playing on the tv. He had assumed that was just how she was and that being tactile with them was how she showed her affection. Gods, sometimes she’d even tuck herself under Lorcan’s arm on their walks home from the bar.

That was a relationship Rowan feared. The two of them could argue until they were red in the face and a minute later burn down the world together. The pair were just as stubborn as one another and the fallout from their arguments could have the other residents of the loft walking on eggshells for days. Or, other times, they would team up, playing a number of outlandish pranks on all of them. He had cursed them the day they had replaced all of his beer in the fridge with alcohol free versions, but Aelin had only laughed loud and bright, and he hadn’t been able to keep a hold of his anger at the sound.

He truly hadn’t intended to hurt her, and the way she had jerked back from him had replayed in his mind all day and night, twisting the knife through him even further with each replay. He had thought he was doing what was right, stepping back and taking responsibility for the situation he had caused, but no.

Again he had fucked up.

And now Dorian Havilliard was in his kitchen, sleep rumpled in a pair of loose grey joggers and a creased white polo shirt.

He sent another brief look to Lorcan, a request for assistance, but the bastard only rested his chin on his fist, half-heartedly attempting to hide his grin.

“What are you looking for?” He managed after clearing his throat, taking another step further into the kitchen.

Dorian paused, briefly looking around himself to take in the state of the kitchen. A number of cupboard doors were left half open in his search. “I found mugs for coffee, and I was thinking of making Aelin breakfast, but you guys don’t have much food in.”

His voice trailed off at the end as he took in Rowan’s growing frown. Any hopes Rowan had that Dorian had been here for Fenrys were destroyed with a single sentence, he knew it had been a slim chance, but he hadn’t been able to hold back the hope that he hadn’t messed up completely.

But Dorian was in their kitchen and was wanting to make Aelin breakfast. His chest burned at the idea of what had taken place in the room across the hallway from his own while he had been sleeping. Sleeping and dreaming about Aelin while she had slept with Dorian.

“Yeah we normally leave it to Aedion to do groceries, but it seems he’s been a bit busy recently.” Lorcan was going to get a punch in a minute, he was having far too much fun.

Rowan shook his head, attempting to assemble his thoughts.

Aelin had clearly taken his advice, almost painfully well, and had forgotten all about their moment at the bench Lorcan currently sat against. He hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did, he had been the one to press pause after all, and yet it seemed Aelin was happy now while his chest hurt.

“Right,” Dorian began, slowly glancing between the two roommates. “I guess I’ll go and see what she wants to do. I’ll see you guys around.”

With that he was gone, scooping two cups that Rowan hadn’t even noticed off the counter and sweeping out of the room.

Rowan only turned to Lorcan, who let out a dark laugh.

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed as he skirted around the breakfast bar to come closer to Lorcan. It only caused Lorcan to laugh even harder, letting out a rough guffaw.

“You really should see your face right now,” Lorcan said. “You and Little Miss Sunshine having trouble in paradise?”

“Fuck you,” He said, but it was resigned. “What paradise anyway?”

“I heard about your little sexcapade the other day, in this very room.” Another smug smile.

“It wasn’t a sexcapade,” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Who even told you?”

“Um,” Lorcan scratched behind his ear. “No-one.”

Rowan cocked his head, he sure as hell hadn’t told anyone.

“You need to find something more interesting to do than gossip about me in your spare time. Get a hobby.”

“I have many hobbies; gossiping about you just happens to be one of them.”

Rowan shot him the middle finger as he crossed the space that led to Aedion’s room, having dealt with Lorcan enough for one day. All he received back was yet another burst of dark laughter.

He paused before knocking and calling Aedion’s name, hoping the golden haired man was inside and not still at his mystery lover’s. Aedion would always be more of a help than Lorcan.

“Who is it?” He heard Aedion call before there was a frantic rustling of bed sheets.

“It’s me,” He said, a hint of confusion bubbling inside, it wasn’t like Aedion to make them wait. He had no modesty at the best of times, choosing to walk around the loft constantly in various shades of undress.

“Right, come in.” Aedion’s voice sounded eventually.

He pushed open the door to find Aedion lounging in his bed, chest bare and hair unbrushed.

“Hey man, what’s up?” His best friend was stiff.

“Just haven’t seen you in a while.” It wasn’t like Aedion to disappear, he normally hung around the loft and the bar most days, and it had been at least three since Rowan had last seen his best friend.

“Yeah, I’ve just, uh, been busy.” He said, shooting a nervous glance off to the side of his room. Rowan grinned and took a seat on the office chair by Aedion’s desk, bracing one elbow on the table at his side.

“I heard you’ve been seeing someone new.” He probed, expecting Aedion to delve into the gritty details of his sex life, anything to take Rowan’s mind off what was probably happening in the other side of the apartment.

Aedion lifted a hand to scratch lightly at his hairline and tugged his duvet up to cover more of his chest, unusually shy in a way Rowan hadn’t expected.

“Hmm,” He hummed when Aedion didn’t respond. “You like this girl then? Aelin said it was a girl.”

Aedion chewed on a lip, again looking away from Rowan, his eyes darting again to the corner of his room before saying, “Yeah, a little bit.”

“Alright!” He exclaimed, leaning forwards and bracing his elbows on his knees. “What’s she like?”

He was curious as to what kind of girl had entranced his best friend, normally Aedion went for blondes, short and slim. Normally quiet girls who would smile politely as Rowan would show them the door in the mornings after. He never normally seemed quite this smitten though.

Aedion blushed slightly and Rowan’s grin grew. “She’s pretty great actually.”

“Yeah? You’ll have to introduce us to her soon.” He wanted to meet this girl, if she had Aedion under her spell so quickly Rowan was intrigued; it had been a while since his best friend had had anything serious.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll have to ask her. We’re taking things slow.”

Rowan nodded his agreement, not wanting to push Aedion too far when the signals were well received.

“Did you know Dorian Havilliard is here?” He asked, changing the subject and moving on to the reason he had come in the first place.

Aedion wouldn’t steer him wrong, and it was time enough for him to admit the way he had been feeling about Aelin. He’d take Aedion’s annoyance, but he wasn’t sure how much Aedion could justify. It wasn’t like there was any chance of him making progress in that way with Aelin now. He cursed himself again.

“No,” Aedion shook his head. “Why?”

“Yeah,” He let out a bitter laugh and looked down to pick at his fingernails slightly. “With Aelin apparently, and I think it’s my fault.”

A noise sounded from inside Aedion’s closet and Rowan paused as Aedion’s eyes grew wide at the sound.

There was a beat while Rowan’s brain worked to catch up. He took in Aedion’s tense posture, his fingers tightly gripping his sheets and his wide eyed expression as he glanced quickly between Rowan and the built-in cupboard.

Rowan sighed a soft laugh, “She’s here right now isn’t she?”

Aedion opened his mouth before closing it again. He took a breath and ran his hand down his face.

“You can’t tell Aelin okay?” He pleaded.

“Why–”

Rowan’s question was answered when the door of Aedion’s closet slowly swung open, revealing a scantily clad Lysandra covered only in a large t-shirt, clearly one of Aedion’s that left her long legs bare. Her face was free of any make-up and her hair was unbrushed. She bit her lip as a slow blush spread across her high cheekbones, nodding at him slightly in a shy greeting.

Rowan’s mouth dropped open, swinging his head between the two.

“No,” He began, unable to stop the mischievous smile from taking over his lips.

Lysandra came fully out to perch on Aedion’s bed, tucking her exposed legs under the covers and leaning next to Aedion at the headboard.

“You can’t tell Aelin yet, okay,” She looked to Aedion before turning back to Rowan. “I’ll tell her soon I promise, I just… This is new.”

Rowan took in the sweet smile on her lips and the adoration in Aedion’s gaze as he watched her. He hadn’t seen his best friend behaving like this in a long time, not since their first year of college and Aedion had been stunned by the new proximity of beautiful girls.

He had come a long way since then, learning how to charm and how to sleep with guys and girls without any level of seriousness, but his expression as he took in Lysandra was a throwback to his years of innocence.

It was that look that had Rowan pausing, he didn’t want to keep secrets from Aelin when he knew they could upset her, but he couldn’t take away that look from Aedion. Or the mirror on Lysandra’s face.

“I—You have to tell her soon,” He sent a sharp look to Aedion. “You know I can’t lie.”

“Please, you have to. Just for a little while.” Aedion’s voice was softly pleading and Rowan felt his brows draw into a frown. Not at his friend’s choice, but at the idea of lying, no matter how indirectly, to Aelin. He owed her better than that.

“Shit though, I can’t believe it’s you.” He looked to Lysandra who smiled bashfully at him. “And this is serious now?”

Aedion’s smile was sickly sweet as he grabbed Lysandra’s hand, twining his fingers through hers before turning back to Rowan. “Yeah, it is.”

Rowan sighed, “Well, I’m happy for you guys.” He really was. “But you have to tell Aelin soon. Does anyone else know?”

“We haven’t told anyone. But Lorcan and Fenrys probably know.” Aedion was avoiding Rowan’s gaze.

“Why would they know?” He was sceptical.

Aedion took a deep breath before looking up at Rowan.

“It started when we were out with them.”

Rowan paused, running through a mental catalogue of the times the four of them would have been out without himself and Aelin. The number was low, in fact, he could only think of one occasion.

“This,” He pointed between the two of them sat on the bed. “Started from truth or dare?”

At their embarrassed nods he let out a humorous laugh. Sensing that he wouldn’t get Aedion’s full attention now, or be able to speak freely, Rowan stood, unfolding his limbs from the small chair he had been perched on.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll speak to you later okay?” He said nodding at Aedion who nodded back.

They bid him their goodbyes, Lysandra already tucking herself into Aedion’s side as he left the room, only then did he spot the black patent-leather heels slung in the corner of Aedion’s room by the door. His shook his head as he closed the door, happy for his best friend, but he would definitely need to seek him out soon. He needed a sounding board, someone to help him work through the tangle that was his feelings for Aelin.

Aedion would set him straight, it was what he needed. Some harsh truths could only set him down the right path, the path he had so far strayed from so wildly.

------

Aelin woke to an empty bed, but the sheets were still warm on the other side meaning Dorian couldn’t have been gone long. She glanced around the room and spotted his jeans and trainers at the foot of her bed, so he hadn’t snuck out on her. Good.

She flopped back onto her pillows, letting out a breathy laugh as she considered the events of the night before. Dorian had been a great date, chatty and agreeable all night. She had really enjoyed his company and hadn’t held back from pressing her lips to his at the end of the night.

He had kissed her intently on the pavement outside the bar, twisting his hand through her hair and roaming the other down her sides until he had pulled back insisting they get a cab now. She knew her place was closer so she risked it, hoping she wouldn’t come face to face with Rowan as she brought Dorian through the door.

Back at the loft they had kissed for a while, lying on her bed, neither taking the steps to further the endeavour along until eventually Dorian had pulled back, his lips swollen from her kisses.

“Is this… doing anything for you?” He had asked mildly, as if he was afraid of the answer.

Aelin had grimaced, fingers now clammy where they rested on the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he was a bad kisser, he wasn’t at all, she just hadn’t been able to shut her mind off. Hadn’t been able to lose herself in the kiss.

“Honestly?” He nodded. “Not really.”

She winced as she spoke, readying herself for the potential catastrophe that could be about to crash into her, but Dorian had only sighed and rolled off her to lie on his back.

“Oh thank Gods.” He had laughed. “I was wondering at what point it was too late to feign a personal emergency.”

She scoffed and slung a lazy punch to his chest, rolling onto her side to look at him where he watched her, blue eyes relaxed as he took her in. There had been a moment before they had both burst into laughter, Aelin burying her face in her pillows as Dorian covered his face with his hands, rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

The relief she had felt had been edged with a level of unease at what to do now, but Dorian was a master at removing any awkwardness and just suggested they throw a film on Netflix because it was far too late for him to be bothering to head home. She had managed to find him a pair of grey joggers at the back of one of her drawers, she wasn’t sure who they belonged to, but it was most likely Aedion over any of her other roommates. Hopefully they weren’t Rowan’s.

She was relieved the night had clearly had no effect on their budding friendship in the morning light as Dorian crept back into her bedroom, bearing a mug of coffee in each hand, and smiling widely at her. He handed one to her before taking his place on her bed next to her.

“Morning,” He said. “How you feeling? Any lingering desire for me?”

She almost snorted her mouthful through her nose before managing to swallow and shooting him a glare.

“You wish,” She told him.

He seemed unaffected by the events of the night before and she was grateful. Dorian was a good friend, and she valued the night they had spent in each other’s company, no matter the end it had reached. At least now they could be friends without either of them questioning if there could be more.

“Your roommates are not the most… friendly,” He told her after taking a small sip.

She sat up at that, pulling a pillow behind herself to prop her up.

“Oh no,” She groaned. “Who was out there?”

“Rowan, and a really tall guy with dark hair who didn’t tell me his name.”

She cursed them both mentally. Lorcan for being an unfriendly fuck and Rowan just for being there.

“That’s Lorcan, I’m sorry. Ignore them both.”

He waved her off, but she paused, gnawing on her lip while she debated her need to know about what was said between him and Rowan against the desire to keep any of what had happened with Rowan a secret from Dorian. Eventually, curiosity won.

“What did they say to you?”

“Nothing really.” He took another sip of his coffee and she hung on the words, waiting for whatever came next. “I don’t know if it’s Fenrys or you, or something else, but I don’t think they like me very much.”

He looked to her expectantly and she sighed.

“I’m sure Lorcan liked you fine, he’s like that with everyone. Rowan and I just… It’s complicated.”

He raised his eyebrows, prompting her to continue.

“It’s nothing much, there’s just this sense of, I don’t know. With him and me, we get along you know, but then he does something, and I wonder if it could ever be more. More than just roommates or more than friends.

“I don’t know if I’m reading too much into things, you know. Is he just being friendly, and I think way too much about it when he doesn’t mean anything by it, or is it more?��

She paused to laugh, fully aware that she was rambling.

“Because I guess I did—or do, like him a little bit. And then yesterday, in the interests of full disclosure, he kind of shut the door on that ever happening. So I texted you.”

She looked down to her hands, wringing them out slightly, hoping Dorian wasn’t upset with her less-than-pure intentions with him.

He surprised her though, laughing full and loud, gripping his mug tightly as his body rocked with the force of his laugh.

“What?” She asked petulantly.

“Gods, Aelin, just completely using me.” He laughed and she gasped.

“Not using you,” She assured him. “I really did have a good time last night, you’re my friend.”

He rolled his eyes, still laughing at her so she knew it was in amusement rather than genuine anger and she blushed, stubbornly fighting the laugh building in her chest.

“Seriously, though.” His expression sobered. “Rowan? The one with the tattoo?”

She gave him an exasperated look and Dorian held his arms up in surrender.

“Not that I’m judging, of course. He’s just not the one I’d go for.”

Her expression morphed into one of confusion. She hadn’t chosen to feel how she did about Rowan, it would make her life a hell of a lot easier if she didn’t, but she had no control over it. She was powerless against his small smiles and rumbling laughter, weak against the sharp cut of his jaw and the lengths of corded muscle that wrapped round his towering frame.

Dorian took pity on her and tucked an arm around her shoulders, resting his stubbly cheek against the crown of her head. She laid her face on his chest, the vibrations of his voice rolling through her as he spoke.

“I’d say, in my limited experience with him,” She snorted a laugh as he began. “That Rowan isn’t as uninterested in you as you seem to think.”

She swallowed before lifting her chin to look at him. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope that Rowan felt any way different to how he had acted with her.

“Dorian,” She chided. “You don’t have to lie. I’ll be ok, get over it soon enough.”

“I’m not.” He threw his other arm across her, linking his fingers across her shoulder. “You should have seen his face when I suggested taking you for breakfast.”

“No.” Aelin hesitated, weighing up the information Dorian had to offer. He shrugged at her, as if to say believe what you want.

“Honestly, I just need to get over it.” She sighed, burnt out from all the time she had spent milling over the same details again and again. “Lysandra is right, it’s a bad idea anyway.”

“I’ve seen worse.” Dorian laughed. “Had worse myself, in fact.”

“Worse than having a crush on your roommate?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually slept with your roommate, we’ve been over this.” He told her with a smirk.

Aelin groaned, pulling out of the circle of his arms.

“I don’t know why I’m putting up with this.”

“You love it, and we’re definitely making lover-boy jealous the longer we stay in here.” He waggled his eyebrows at her dramatically.

“Get dressed.” She deadpanned.

“Alright,” He stood from her bed, walking slowly over to his jeans where they were folded neatly on her floor. “Let’s get breakfast though. You can tell me all the saucy details about the two of you then.”

“Dorian, I’m serious.” She pleaded. “I need to get over this.”

He nodded, realising the time for joking about her and Rowan had passed and slipping out of the joggers and into his jeans.

Aelin took in Dorian where he stood, hands on hips at the foot of her bed. He had turned out to be an incredible friend, one she was becoming increasingly grateful for. He had taken her confession, and for the most part rejection, in his stride, only pausing the check that she was alright. Her heart swelled with affection for her friend and she gave him a soft smile in appreciation.

“Now hurry up, you have absolutely nothing in and I’m starving.”

She rolled her eyes at his impatience, but the fondness remained as she threw on her outfit and followed him out of the door. Her eyes only lingered on Rowan’s door opposite her own for a second, some soft rock music filtering out through the gap below the wooden panel. They could be friends; she could feel for him the same as she felt for Dorian. She’d make sure of it.

------

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

as per usual if I’ve missed anyone please let me know

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #dorian havilliard #lorcan salvaterre #aedion ashryver #lysandra #aedion x lysandra #lysaedion #roawelin au

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

Text

dings a rinky triangle right next to your head Hi guys, it's fic time! I actually put this up last night but I'm telling you right now. It's had a few hours to cool, like a pie out of the oven, but made of words. This chapter will actually contain mentions of ssssself harm, so viewer beware, i guess.

His world stays dark, even though he knows he’s opened his eyes. He tries to understand that, brain feeling foggy. He must be somewhere dark. He’s laying on his back. He can hear muffled voices, maybe, over him? He’s under something. He lays there, listening, but he’s too tired to even try to understand, and the voices are too muffled to be anything recognizable. Maybe, if he really strains, he can hear a familiar voice, or someone who sounds like his baby sister, but the only word he manages to understand is “invisible.”

He falls back into a restless sleep.

The next time he’s able to shake exhaustion from his mind, he tries to sit up. It’s easier than he thought it might be. This time, more aware of himself, his body feeling less destroyed, he actually tries to understand where he is. It feels like he’s laying in dirt, or under dirt, in a mountain of it, the usual soft scent of freshly turned earth overpowering. It still hurts to move, but he forces himself to, clawing upwards, through the dirt, until he reaches a wooden plank, which he goes through, like he’s not even there.

It’s a box, containing something foul smelling. A coffin… he’s inside a coffin. Juno buried him below a pine box, in someone else’s grave. The inside of it stinks, like decay and chemicals, and he doesn’t stop to take in whoever this used to be, just pushes up, and out, until he emerges from the ground like a zombie, like Night of the Living Dead. The ground around him is grown over with grass, and he grabs at it, using it as much as he can, as he crawls from someone’s grave, until finally, he pulls himself free from the earth, and lays there, taking breaths he doesn’t need, to clear the smell of the body from his nose. His suit and trench coat are filthy, but that barely registers, at this point. There are more important things to worry about, like getting home- He sits up, catches sight of the gravestone.

Emily Deetz Devoted Wife, Beloved Mother “Whom Most We Love Reach First the Golden Gate, Leaving Us Desolate”

He stares at the etching on the stone, and feels something in his mind snap, like a rubber band stretched too tight. He’s seeing the world through a fisheye lens, his vision distorted, blurry, as he tries to understand exactly what just happened. Juno made him crawl out of his own mother’s grave. The body he still reeks of was Emily’s. He sits there, a long time, not feeling much of anything, only able to stare, replaying that memory, over and over, and the only thing that makes him move is the sudden realization of what grass over a grave could mean. Emily’s been buried long enough for it to grow. How long has it been since he’s been home? He does his best to push this fun new trauma down, as far as it will go. He’s got to get back to his family. What’s left of it, he thinks, humorlessly.

He stands, off balance, and wipes some of the dust and dirt from his face, and finds that, annoyingly, his glamour has slipped, and it refuses to reapply. Maybe he’s too drained, though he’s not sure how he’s going to get back home, clearly looking as deranged as he must. He’s too exhausted to teleport, and he wanders around the cemetery, avoiding the few people there as much as he can, as the sun dips low, and vanishes. At least by that point he can force his teeth and ears to resemble normal human’s. The moss and eyes, well, he’s too worn down to care. So he’ll look like an extra grubby hobo, he thinks. That’ll have to be his new look, for now.

He reaches a gate, and leans on it, and then falls through it, and blinks, confused. He’s never been intangible by accident, before. Usually it takes concentration to make his solid form incorporeal. He stands, straightens out his suit collar, adjusts his sleeves, fiddles with his tie, as he thinks. There’s got to be someone around here who can call his family for him, or at the very least, a cab. The cemetery is growing darker, and his attention is drawn to the far off flicker of candles. He feels a pull, and he approaches, taking in what he sees.

It’s a group of five teenagers with an Ouija board. Predictable. He snorts, and expects that sound to alert the kids to his presence, but they don’t even turn to see what the noise could be. He steps closer, until he’s fully illuminated by the glowing ring of candles around them, and he tries to be friendly. “Hey, just a normal livin’ adult human man, in a cemetery, at night, approachin’ a group of children. You kids wanna be helpful an’ call me a cab?” BJ tries, but he’s ignored. The kids don’t even look in his direction. He remembers being a snot nosed teen, but this is a bit much. His blood boils, and he leans down, claps his hands in one of the teen’s faces, and she responds to that, but not in the way he wants. “I think I just felt a cold spot!” she tells her friends. “In front of my face, just now!” “Calm down with that,” a red haired girl shoots her a look. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already having a spiritual experience. Yeah, right.” “No you guys, really!”

“Lookit me,” he interrupts them. The children continue to squabble. His gut clenches. “Look at me!” he demands, storming to the center of the circle, and kicking at their stupid board game. His boot goes through it. They don’t react. Why would they, he realizes, sinking to sit on top of the board.

He’s invisible.

He tries to recall everything Juno had said, as he’d struggled to keep conscious, while impaled. Loneliness. Invisibility, being at the command of the living. Being… forgotten. No, no, NO- His impending freak out is stymied when he feels hands go through him, and he shoots up, hovering over the board game, as the teens below him react. “Oh my god, total cold spot! Should we like, make a note of that?” “Come on, come on, let’s start, while there’s still someone or something here!”

The five teens lean forward, each placing fingers on the planchette. “Is there anyone here?” one of them asks.

Betelgeuse stares, and feels a tug, again, clearly coming from the board. He knows some demons use these things to play with their food, before they eat, so he gives it a go, and floats over the game, head down, feet in the air, like he’s diving underwater. Maybe these kids can actually help him. He pushes the planchette with one finger, to land on “Yes.”

“Did you do that?” one boy asks, and the group devolves into the kids blaming each other, and he rakes his hands down his face, and tries to move the planchette, again, but they’re too busy squabbling, they’re not touching it anymore. Fuck, this is frustrating. He’s never wanted a group of teenagers to drop dead as badly as he does right now. Finally, they put their hands back on the pointer, and ask another question. “Are you friendly?”

This time, he pushes the planchette to spell, instead. “S-U-R-E.” “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence,” the redhead from before mutters. “What do you want?” He nudges the pointer along, painstakingly slow. “H-O-M-E.” “You want to go home?” “YES.”

“For fuck sake, yes,” he groans, and then perks as one asks, “How can we help you?” Well… he’s not actually sure. He squints, trying and failing to recall everything Juno had said. How is he supposed to work with this curse thing, when he doesn’t know the rules? He digs his hands in his pockets, frustrated, and then blinks, because there’s what feels like a business card there, one that he doesn’t remember. He pulls the paper from his pocket, studies it.

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE

He remembers the way Juno had chanted his name, before he’d lost consciousness. That must be it, then. His name is his burden.

“M-Y-N-A-M-E-T-H-R-E-E-T-I-M-E-S”

“Oh, wait, wait, guys, I’ve heard of this,” one of the girls gasps. “Demonic entities, they have you do things in threes, to mock the trinity, you know, father, son, and holy ghost. It’s a demon thing! We might be talking to a non-human spirit!” “That means we can’t trust it, right?” A boy asks, and they all look uneasy. He steers the planchette around the board, desperate. “W-A-N-N-A-H-O-M-E-P-L-Z.” The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Do demons use chat speak?” she asks, glancing around the group.

“O-H-M-Y-G-O-D-U-K-I-D-S-A-R-E-K-I-L-L-I-N-M-E.”

“I’m not afraid. Tell us your name, spirit!” a boy calls, and he gives the planchette a push, intent on spelling it. The pointer doesn’t move. “Come the fuck on!” he growls, but it doesn’t matter how much strength he puts into the action, he can’t move the dinky plastic piece to spell out his name.

“Spirit? You there?”

“F-U-C-K,” he spells out, in a rage, because this is pointless, he’s too exhausted and sore to think of how to make this work, and he just wants to go home, and see what’s left of his family. He growls again, and then snuffs all the candles in the circle, all at once, causing the kids to scream, and scramble, and that, at least, forces a rictus grin from him. He’s always enjoyed the sounds of terror. He leaves the children tripping over themselves in the dark, and decides he’s going to have to make his way home the old fashioned way- floating. At least he doesn’t have to walk, he supposes, tucking his legs under himself, and he floats invisibly out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk, trying to focus on how good it will be to see Lydia and Charles, and not on how they won’t see him, and especially not on how every part of him, physically, emotionally, mentally, is hurting. read the rest over here~ If you're totally lost, I find starting at the beginning of something often makes the middle of something make better sense. So you can start at the very beginning right HERE

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fic #beetlelands fic #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice the musical #my writing #lydia deetz #charles deetz #emily deetz #shorter chapter now to facilitate longer chapter in the future. it is what it is beloveds

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blitzturtles · 3 years

Text

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 2/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba, Platonic Bucci Gang

Summary: “Giorno can’t fix this.”

Abbacchio’s breath hitches. “What?”

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Fugo & Abbacchio's part of this very Bucci-centric fic.

______

Content warning for Abbacchio being Abbacchio. There's a bit of self-deprecation. Mentions and discussions of death, mostly centered around Paolo Bucciarati, and how his death weighs on Bruno.

______

“He’s never had these before,” Fugo says with a detached tone.

“I know,” Abbacchio replies in a near whisper. He brushes his fingers through Bruno’s hair; the motion earns him a small hum, but Bruno doesn’t open his eyes.

“Which means…” Fugo’s words trail off. He has a few dozen thoughts going through his head all at once.

“Yeah, probably,” Abbacchio sighs and reaches up to free his own hair. He doesn’t plan to leave this room for the next few hours at least.

“It could be permanent,” Fugo adds, thinking aloud more than conversing.

Abbacchio tries to stamp down his irritation. This isn’t Fugo’s fault, and the kid is only trying to work through everything that’s happening. Abbacchio can’t blame him for that. He’s already replaying every moment of his and Bruno’s interactions in his head. Thinks about setting Moody loose on a few incidents that he had written off before. He needs to see them again. To evaluate with clear eyes. How long had Bruno been suffering? How could he have missed this? He knows the answer already, but acknowledging it only makes him feel worse. Denial has clearly been at play, and his partner is the one to have suffered the consequences.

“Giorno can’t fix this.”

Abbacchio’s breath hitches. “What?”

“Messing around in Bruno’s head is too dangerous. He- it could-” Fugo fusses with his tie, brushes off something imaginary.

“Shut up, and get in bed,” Abbacchio can’t handle this right now. He’s only managed this far because he felt like he had to. Feels like he owes Bucciarati that much.

Fugo startles out of his own thoughts. His brows furrow together.

“You want to stay close to him,” Abbacchio says, like it’s obvious. It is, but Fugo doesn’t know if that explains the suggestion.

Sensing the hesitation, Abbacchio sighs, “Look, it’s only fucking weird if you make it.”

No, it’s definitely still weird, but Fugo carefully climbs on the edge anyway. They haven’t done this since they were both teenagers (never mind that Fugo is one, still). Fugo used to wake up from nightmares, screaming and too terrified to go back to sleep. But it had only been the two of them back then, and definitely not with Bruno’s partner right there.

Abbacchio snorts in amusement but climbs under the blankets on the other side of Bruno. He’s beginning to feel that post-adrenaline rush exhaustion creep in, and he’s not about to be jealous of Fugo wanting physical reassurance. None of them had needed the reminder that Bruno had died. Had been without a pulse and most of his blood supply for long enough that he might have seizures for the rest of his life.

He wants to laugh at the thought. How cruel. The one person on the team that deserves, more than anyone else, to be able to live his life in peace, and now he has a permanent reminder of the events that led to his death and his near second death. Fantastic.

Moody breaks him out of his thoughts with a click and a whine. Stick Fingers must have been pulled back to Bruno when he settled into a deeper, more restful sleep. Or maybe they feel satisfied that their user will be cared for now. He recalls his own stand for the time being.

To Abbacchio’s surprise, it’s Fugo that falls asleep first. He presses closer to Bruno in his unconscious state. Less inhibited. The problem with that level of intelligence is the tendency to overthink. Doesn’t help that he knows the kid has plenty of reason to be apprehensive about physical contact, though Abbacchio is relatively certain that it’s his own presence that makes Fugo uneasy.

He watches them for a while. They look peaceful, though the kid looks like he could use a blanket of his own. Abbacchio eventually rolls off the bed to dig through the nearby dresser. He finds the extra throw that Bruno keeps and tosses it over Fugo before he gets back into bed.

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

“Abbacchio,” his name comes out as a hiss, but Abbacchio can’t tell where it’s coming from. “Abbacchio!” He hears again, but he can’t find who the voice belongs to. He turns his head, gets a surprising smack to the face that jolts him upright.

It takes him a moment to clear the confusion, but his attention is quickly drawn down to his right by an odd, strained sound. Something forced out of the back of someone’s throat, and he instantly identifies it as Bruno. Fugo is already trying to roll him on his side.

“How long?” Abbacchio asks, reaching out to help. Bruno isn’t moving much, other than the hand he managed to get Abbacchio with.

“A few seconds,” Fugo says with a strained sound to his voice.

“Good, that’s good,” Abbacchio isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince. “Bruno?” He asks and is startled when Bruno turns his head in his direction. It has to be a fluke. “You with us?”

“Mm.”

“Huh, that’s-” Weird. “Can you tell us where you are?”

“M’hm.”

Abbacchio waits a moment, but nothing comes after that. Bruno’s eyes trail away. “Bruno.” The same unfocused gaze returns again.

“That’s good… right?” Fugo asks with a frown, uncertainty at the edge of his voice. Like he knows that he’s probably lying to himself.

“No idea, my training didn’t include this,” he tries a few more times to get Bruno to talk to him, but he doesn’t get more than quiet hums and half-mumbled words. There’s a few attempts that get nothing at all, but Bruno finally-- finally-- blinks at him. Slow and sluggish. Abbacchio has to resist the urge to pull him close to his chest. Instead, he talks to him quietly and gets Fugo to turn off the lights that he had forgotten about.

“‘m sorry,” Bruno mumbles with his eyes closed. He presses his face against the pillows, and he looks so exhausted. It’s killing Abbacchio to watch him.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Abbacchio reassures. He risks running his fingers through Bruno’s hair after several moments have passed. “Fugo’s here,” he adds, more as courtesy than anything.

“Oh,” Bruno answers. He gives an aborted nod, but Abbacchio isn’t sure how much he’s actually processing.

“I can go,” Fugo offers, already starting off the bed.

“Panna,” Bruno reaches blindly behind himself for Fugo.

The nickname freezes the teenager in place long enough for Bruno to get his fingers into one of the holes of Fugo’s suit. He hums and closes his eyes.

For several minutes, no one moves. Fugo isn’t particularly comfortable where he is, more on the edge of the bed than actually on the mattress, but he doesn’t want to disturb Bruno. Abbacchio counts each of Bruno’s breaths like that might be of some use to them.

“Love,” Bruno speaks up again. He looks frustrated, and the way he presses his lips into a thin line tells Abbacchio that he’s struggling to put his thoughts together. He makes a vague motion with his hand, but it doesn’t exactly convey whatever he’s going for.

“We love you, too,” Abbacchio says, because he knows Bruno. He notes the way Fugo looks like he’s been kicked in the chest. All this time later, and he can’t accept that Bruno’s affection is undying and unconditional. Abbacchio gets that, actually.

“C’mon Fugo, get comfortable. Tomorrow’s going to be a hell of a day,” he isn’t about to let this continue without getting a professional involved. If they can’t use Giorno’s stand, then they’ll find someone that can help. Bruno’s not the first person in the world to have seizures. There’s research and medication for this.

Fugo does as he’s told, pulling the blanket that Abbacchio got for him tight around his shoulders. He barely seems to register that it exists, but he’s going to hide himself in it anyways.

Neither of them fall asleep nearly as quickly as Bruno, but it happens eventually.

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

The next time Abbacchio awakes, it’s to find the bed half covered in books and various scraps of paper littered about.

“Complex partial seizure,” Fugo says before Abbacchio has sorted out what time of day it is.

“What?”

“Bruno had a complex partial seizure. Apparently seizures don’t always affect awareness,” Fugo explains as he vaguely gestures to one of the books that’s open to a page with a black and white picture of a brain on it. He’s sitting criss-cross on the other side of Bruno with his brows apparently stuck together in a look of deep thought. “Though obviously his did, but he maintained some level of consciousness. That’s what makes it a complex partial seizure. I think-” Fugo frowns as he flips through the pages, “I only managed to get these an hour ago, and I was more invested in the information about the grand mal seizure.”

Abbacchio groans and tries to clear the sleep by rubbing his eyes. When that doesn’t work, he scrubs his hands over his face. “Where did you get those?”

Fugo raises an eyebrow.

Abbacchio sighs and makes an aborted gesture with his hand, “Never mind. So, a-” he squints, “What did you say?”

“A complex partial seizure.”

“Right,” Abbacchio needs caffeine before he can digest any of this, “Is that… better or worse?”

“Well, they’re all dangerous,” Fugo chews on his bottom lip as he turns the question over in his mind. He looks like he’s considering his answer at a level that Abbacchio isn’t ready for this early.

Instead, he focuses on Bruno. Makes sure he’s breathing first and foremost, which he is. He looks over the zipper Sticky Fingers’ had placed and feels a bit queasy at the size of it. That isn’t the most reassuring thing he’s seen in recent history, but surely Giorno can heal that without possibly screwing up Bruno’s brain.

“I’m going to go grab a cup of coffee, and you’re going to run all that by me again. After I drink my coffee,” he moves to stand, stretching as he goes. He’s still in his undershirt and pants, which isn’t comfortable, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Want any?”

“Please.”

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

By the time he gets back to Bruno’s-- really both of their-- bedroom, Bruno is awake and talking quietly with Fugo. He looks surprisingly good for a man that’s had two seizures in less than twenty-four hours. More alert than Abbacchio thought to expect.

Bruno has one of Abbacchio’s shirts on. Fugo must have gotten it for him. Probably hadn’t realized it wasn’t Bruno’s until it was hanging off of him. His hair is still down, loose. It hangs in his face every time he moves a certain way. The only tale of the wear on his body is the obvious bags under his eyes. His shoulders are slumped, too, but he talks to Fugo as if nothing ever happened.

Abbacchio passes one of the cups of coffee to Fugo, who takes it gratefully. He turns his attention back to Bruno, “I didn’t think you’d be awake. Do you want some tea?” Of the non-caffeinated variety. He doesn’t specify, but Bruno drinks tea more for the motions than the energy boost. It soothes his nerves when he’s antsy or aggravated.

“I’m alright, thank you,” Bruno offers him a small smile. A gentle reassurance that he’s alright.

Abbacchio doesn’t buy it, but the smile does settle something in him.

The conversation resumes after that. It’s not about the seizures, surprisingly. With the way Fugo is trying to rip through the information, he half expected that Fugo wouldn’t be able to help infodumping everything he’s learned. Bruno would-- under ordinary circumstances-- happily oblige him by listening. Abbacchio isn’t sure if it’s for Bruno’s sake or Fugo’s that the teenager refrains.

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

Eventually, Fugo dismisses himself and Bruno gets dressed. Abbacchio wants to say something, but the words won’t come together. They stay in a heavy silence; one that threatens to smother the oxygen from their lungs. There’s a familiar ache between Abbacchio’s ribs that he dismisses in favor of keeping his focus on Bruno.

They aren’t avoiding each other. Both want nothing more to touch. A reassurance for one; an attempt to cement for the other.

They aren’t avoiding each other; they’re avoiding the truth.

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

“Giorno!” Abbacchio barks the kid’s name a little rougher than he intended to.

Giorno looks up instantly, eyes widening slightly, then more significantly when he sees Bruno following after Abbacchio.

“Bucciarati!” The Pistols cry in unison, taking the name right from Mista’s own mouth.

“Oh man, you scared us,” Narancia says before he can think better of it.

Abbacchio shoots him a dirty look, but Bruno pats him on the shoulder. “It’s alright. I’m sure I gave everyone quite the scare.”

“Man, that’s the understatement of the year, but we’re glad to see you’re okay,” Mista answers brightly.

Abbacchio can see the shadow that hangs over all of them, despite their best attempts to pretend everything is okay. At least they’re trying. His attention turns back to Giorno, “Bruno’s got a cut he has sealed off with a zipper,” that’s as much of an explanation as he’s offering, even though it’s something Giorno already knows.

Giorno nods anyway. He gets up from his seat and moves to pull out Bruno’s usual chair. “If you have a seat, I can get a better look.”

“Of course, thank you,” Bruno slides in easily and reaches his hands up to help part some of his hair. It’s substantially thicker without his usual braid. The zipper is largely obscured, but, between he and Giorno, they manage to part it in a way that keeps the majority of the strands out of the wound once Sticky Fingers releases the zipper.

Narancia whistles when he leans in for a look, “Jeez.”

Abbacchio’s inclined to agree, but he knows that wounds to the scalp can be superficial, both in depth and in how they can sometimes appear more severe than they are. He hopes that’s the case here. Bruno doesn’t need a concussion on top of the apparent brain injury they were all oblivious to.

Gold Experience gets to work quickly, closes the wound within seconds. The only sign of Bruno’s pain is the way he grinds his teeth together, but he holds perfectly still until Giorno is finished.

“There, that should be it. I didn’t feel any new bleeding underneath either,” Giorno explains.

“Thank you, Giorno,” Bruno smiles up at him fondly.

Giorno ducks his head and makes his way back to his seat with a quiet, ‘you’re welcome’.

The rest of breakfast passes in something of a blur. Trish makes her way downstairs and expresses her own relief to find Bruno sitting with everyone else, awake and alert. They all find themselves glancing his way every now and then, but the morning passes by without event.

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

It’s after everyone else has dispersed that Abbacchio finds himself sitting next to Bruno and unsure of how to proceed. They need to get Bruno to a doctor, but the man is notoriously impossible when it comes to treating his own wounds. Before Giorno, if Bruno couldn’t put a zipper on it… well, he would try anyway, and he would have died a few times over if not for someone (Abbacchio) else’s intervention. He suspects that Bruno was mildly better as a teenager, if only because he had to make sure that someone took care of Fugo. He thinks it went downhill when Fugo’s own stray ended up joining Passione. The kid wouldn’t be alone, then.

He sighs and turns to his partner, “You- we should go to the hospital.”

To his surprise, the response he gets is a soft, “I know.”

He peaks over at Bruno, sees the way his shoulders are sloped in defeat. No, fuck. Abbacchio feels sick, because that’s not defeat. That’s fear and devastation in those beautiful blue eyes.

Abbacchio reaches to brush his fingers through the longest parts of Bruno’s hair. The pieces he typically keeps braided. “It’ll be okay.”

“Logically, I know that,” Bruno says. Quiet, staring forward. He won’t look at Abbacchio. “But, logically, there’s always the possibility that it won’t be.”

Abbacchio tries to keep his own emotions in check, but he remembers seeing Bruno on the floor of that damn colosseum, more dead than alive. And he remembers hearing Giorno tell them about the extent of Bruno’s injuries at the church. The ones that had actually killed him.

“I’m not afraid of… the worst case scenario.”

“I know,” and Abbacchio does know that. If death were a deterring factor, Bruno wouldn’t be where he is now. “But you can’t run away from us.”

Bruno makes a noise in the back of his throat, confirming what Abbacchio already knows. Bruno isn’t afraid of the possibility of this being more than seizures or brain damage or epilepsy. He’s not afraid of death. He’s afraid of taking them all with him on a road he’s already been down. His own father never recovered from the devastation wrought on his body. Every one of the five years he lived after had been filled with pain for a man that wished nothing more than to shield his only child from the truth. As if Bruno weren’t knocking on Passione’s door and doing everything the fuckers asked him, no matter the consequences to himself.

The dying don’t go quietly.

Abbacchio reaches for Bruno’s hand. He tangles their fingers together. “If-- and I mean if-- it’s something like that, then we take the risk of Giorno fucking up your memories or personality or whatever. Maybe you’ll be a little weirder,” he gets a huff there that he delights in. A small success. “But I think we can all live with that, if it means you being with us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Bruno says after a minute or so of gathering his thoughts and putting his emotions back in order.

“Has to happen sometimes.”

Bruno laughs again, but he shoots Abbacchio a glare for self-deprecation.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Lecture me later,” Abbacchio squeezes Bruno’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s go get ready.”

Once they’re on their feet, Bruno follows behind him, looking more like a lost puppy than his usual self. It only strengthens Abbacchio’s resolve to be the stronger partner for a change.

#bruabba #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #leone abbachio #pannacotta fugo #jjba #jojo's bizzare adventure #jjba part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #blitzwrites #blitz #fic: islt

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

Text

What in the World? (Akaashi Keiji x Reader) pt.2

Here is part 2 of WINTW? :D Enjoy!

Akaashi’s lineup: @alluring-akaashi @oikawalmart-hq @extrasugafree @bbykiyoomi @apricotjihyo @colorseeingchick @something-that-idk

links: part 1

It had been a week since you found yourself stranded in practically another dimension. The research bore very little fruit and you were sure that you were stuck in this situation. But, the feeling of not having to be cautious of the League of Villains or Yakuza was something you loved. Heck, you even decided to buy a house plant to make sure you could still practice your quirk.

It had been a few days since you agreed to become a trial manager to the volleyball club. Everything was going smoothly till a faulty chance ball was now aiming towards you. With no option to use your quirk, your mind went blank as your feet turned to stone. Yet the ball never made contact.

How did you end up here in the first place?

Oh right. Now you remember.

During the weekend, you told your other-mother that you would be taking a trip down memory lane. When asked where you planned on going, she was not expecting your answer to be your supposed previous school. Still, she simply nodded and prayed for your safety.

The teacher wasn’t kidding when she said it was far. It practically took 2 hours to reach Musutafu. Even then, things were still different. There were no high rise buildings with fancy floating signages, no agencies, and no sign of small time criminals wasting their time. Your heart sunk even more when the sight of the UA building was different. The four connected buildings were replaced with a modern looking academy. Similar to Fukurodani.

Showing your old ID, the guard let you enter.

In theory, your classroom should be on the 2nd floor. Luckily, it was the weekend so only those with supplementary classes were present. When you saw the small 2-A, you carefully peaked through the crack on the door to see if anybody was present. Judging by how the students were seated on their desks, it was safe to fully open the doors.

“(y/n)?!” The face ever present in your social media posts. Akiko. That was definitely her. Black hair, chubby, and a smile that could rival Deku’s, it pained how you knew nothing of her. “Oh my gosh! You’re actually here!”

“Couldn’t resist not visiting you two~” Safe response.

“How are things at your new academy?” Asami. Light brown hair, small voice, but definitely pretty was the one who spoke next. “Fukurodani right?”

Sitting on the desk beside Akiko, you huffed and wondered if the way you were acting was similar to how they were used to. Judging by their eager faces, it was safe to assume that you were doing things right. Maybe being yourself wasn’t too scary. Opting not to let your guard down, you merely shrugged.

“The week’s been unique.” It really was. “The subjects aren’t too far off from what we have here. And I got a flier from a 3rd year. Said something about being a manager for some club. Volleyball, I think.”

If there was one thing your dimension didn’t have, it was quirkless sports. Of course normal sports existed but living in a world where the majority possessed quirks, it would be a lie if you said you remembered the last time you played a sport for real.

“Never knew you were into sports, (y/n)...” Akiko commented as she rested her chin on her palm.

“She’s probably in it for the guys.” Asami teased and nudged your elbow. “The Owls are rather strong in the Japanese volleyball world. Have you seen their captain? I heard he’s a wild one.”

“In the sheets or on the court?” You clapped back.

“Oooh now we’re going somewhere!” The light brown hair girl seemed to enjoy gossip about boys. “Do tell us when you see him! I heard he’s as beefy as wagyu can get.”

“Ew.” If there was a beefy person in your mind, it would have to be All Might. Yet the mere thought of adoring his muscles made you want to gag. Still, being with these two women was quite fun despite only knowing them for a couple of minutes. “I’ll video call. After class.”

“So how’s you and Toshi?”

Toshi? Who the hell is Toshi? This person was not in any of your accessible socials or even messages. Not sure what to do, you looked away.

“Mimi.” Akiko quietly scolded your new friend. “Don’t remind her.”

Oh gods was this… It would definitely make sense. Whoever this Toshi was only meant that he was an ex. Damn it all for making things more complicated. Thinking that you should play dumb, you huffed and pouted.

“I have no idea who that Toshi is.”

“Can’t blame you though. It was almost as if he adored the sport more than you.” Asami nodded as she thought out loud. “Plus it was quite a bit of a shocker that you two were seeing each other. Damn those men at Shiratorizawa.”

Shira-what? Why were school names so complicated in this prefecture?

“Damn them indeed.” Standing up, you glanced at your watch and decided it was time for the long trip back home. “Anyway, I’ll call you two tomorrow since it’ll be my first day as a trial manager.”

“Always go for the setter, (y/n).” Akiko teased before you closed the door on her.

And that’s where you found yourself now. Arms crossed out in front of you in a lame attempt to shield yourself from a chance ball they failed to get inside the court. Yet the game must continue and the player whose jersey number was 5 seemingly protected you.

Sure you found Todoroki Shoto hot. Katsuki was definitely high up there too. Kirishima and his manliness? Plus points. But the sight of a quirkless volleyball athlete, whose toned stomach peaked through his shirt as he floated in air to toss the ball back to his spiker was something else. The way he landed smoothly and ran back to the battle field made your jaw drop.

“You’ll have to get used to that.” Yukie whispered as she watched you gawking at the setter. “These boys just love the sport.”

Her words flowed in and out of your ears. That was Akaashi. No doubt. There was no mistaking the same gunmetal blue eyes that met yours during the first day of your class.

“HEY! HEY! HEY!” The salt and pepper player exclaimed. His fists pumping the air as he radiated happiness. “D’yu see that spike Aghaashi?! Pretty cool right? Right?”

“It was amazing, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi replied with a deadpan face.

Aghaashi? If he was allowing that hyper 18 year old to call him that, they must be close. Your thoughts were cut when the group of men approached you and Yukie. Even in this world you were surrounded by freakishly tall men.

“So whatcha think, (y/n)-chan?” Bokuto asked as he wiped his forehead. His chest still heaving from the game. Asami wasn’t kidding when she said beefy. If anything, he really was a meal. But, your eyes lingered more on the person beside him.

“That was pretty intense~” You had to admit. Seeing a sport without the usage of quirks was rather thrilling. “I might take up the offer, Bokuto-senpai~”

“YOSHH!!” It looked as if he was about to tackle you into a hug but once again, no.5 was there to the rescue.

“Don’t forget that you’re still sweating, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi scolded the captain whose face contorted into one with sadness. Bowing as an apology, you shrugged it off. Being hugged by sweaty men was nothing new. You would have to blame Kiri and Denki for that. “Are you alright? The ball almost hit you awhile ago.”

‘With the view you gave me? Hell yeah.’ Shaking the thoughts away, you simply shrugged and smirked.

“It’s all part of the game. My reflexes were off so, it’s all fair.”

“In that case, I look forward to your decision, (l/n)-san.” He bowed and tailed the rest of the group towards the locker room. His features showing nothing as his senpai teased him about how the both of you knew each other.

“No need to worry about the captain.” Kaori assured you. A gentle smile resting on her freckled face. “He’s like a 10 year old, honestly. But, Akaashi-san is there to tame him so, it’s all balanced.”

‘I’ve handled an exploding pomeranian. An owl would be much easier.’ Smirking at your thoughts, the two girls ushered you towards the bench where you were to sign some club papers. Once your signature was printed, the two of them formally welcomed you to the small nest.

Now that practice was over, the team had just finished mopping the floors while a few of them still kept tossing on the other court. Picking up the balls, you wondered how exact their estimations had to be to score. Picturing how Bokuto managed to hit the ball just inches away from the line showed his control over physics.

“(y/n)-chan!” You turned around to be met by golden eyes and an inviting hand. “Why not show us what you got!”

“You don’t really have to, (l/n)-san.” Akaashi spoke up as well. In his hands rested a ball. His eyebrows jerked when he saw a playful smirk on your face.

“I may be small but I ain’t that weak, Akaashi-san~” It was not intended but your tone was rather flirty and you were not sure how you felt about that. In some strange way, Mineta was rubbing off on you. Damn. You needed to spend more time with Yaomomo. “I’m not really good at it though.”

“D’yu know the basics?” Bokuto asked with such a giddy expression. When you nodded, he stole a teasing look at his childhood friend. “You think you can spike baby owl?”

“I guess if you show me, I can attempt.” Replaying the amount of times you used your quirk, there was probably enough juice for you to manipulate matter around you to land a spike. If this was a chance to practice whatever was left of your quirk, so be it.

“ALRIGHT!” Bokuto jumped as he readied himself. “Akashi! Toss to me!”

“It’s ‘Akaashi’ Bokuto-san.” He met your eyes. “Would you mind throwing the ball up for me?”

“Not at all~” Because he was beside you, he handed you the ball. The moment your fingertips touched his, your breath hitched. It must have been your hormones but you felt an electrical spark. You could feel the heat traveling to your cheeks as well. “Just, uh, give me a sign.”

When Bokuto gave him the go signal, he faced you and nodded. Tossing the ball in his direction, you watched as his eyes followed the floating ball. Almost delicately, the ball landed on his fingertips and immediately tossed it back to his captain. It was quick but the next thing you heard was the sound of the ball hitting the floor.

“That’s how it’s done, baby owl!” Bokuto gave you a thumbs up. “Your turn!”

Heading to his starting point, you focused all of your quirk to your arms and feet. Regulating your quirk was nothing new so the faint glow was nothing to be too worried about. Besides, the gym’s hideous lighting was enough to cover it up. Was this considered cheating? Probably. Not like they knew about quirks anyway~

Giving Akaashi the signal, he waited for Bokuto to toss him the ball. For half a second, he stared as to where you were heading and just how high were you willing to jump. Upon realizing that you were attempting to jump as high as his senpai, he obliged and tossed it with the same amount of strength and precision he usually gives for Bokuto.

With the help of your quirk, the people in the gym felt as if you were floating on air before hitting the ball. The form you held was outstanding and the way the ball bounced off the ground till it hit the school’s logo was impressive.

“WAAAH?!!!” Bokuto practically grabbed Akaashi by his arm and dragged him all the way to you. “DO YOU PLAY? WAS THAT YOUR FIRST TIME? THAT WAS HELLA AWESOME BABY OWL!”

“He’s right.” Akaashi finally pulled himself free from his friend and fixed his shirt. “Who taught you?”

Knowing the perfect reason, you smiled. If Shiratorizawa was as famous as they were, it would be quite interesting to see their reaction.

“My ex taught me.” Gods that sounded weird, even for you.

“Ehhh? Your ex must be good if he managed to teach you that spike~” Bokuto thought out loud. “What school does he go to, (y/n)-chan?”

“Shiratorizawa.” This was getting all too funny. You were never an actress but the way you handled the situation was something you would never forget. The audible gasps of everyone in the room was fun and worth it. “I don’t talk to him anymore, though.”

“Who?” One of the third years asked.

“Ushijima.” You were more than thankful you took the time to painstakingly research all about this unknown ex.

“USHIWAKA?!” The two managers exclaimed in unison.

“Yeah. But it didn’t really last long.” And you had no idea why. “Differences were too much, I guess.”

“Why weren’t there any pictures of the both of you?” Koari asked. Her eyes wide with curiosity and cheeks tainted pink at the new found information.

“Ya’ll know how he is. He wasn’t the type to just take selfies or shit.” Was this really the reason though? You didn’t even have his number anymore. If you had known you dated a volleyball celebrity, you never would’ve took the managerial offer. Still, you would have to give credit where credit was somewhat due. “He was sweet though. I’ll have to admit.”

“How long were you guys an item, (y/n)-chan?” Bokuto asked, his arm now draped on Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Probably a few weeks at most.” That was the safest answer you could go for. Curse your ‘emotions’ for having to delete every single information you had on this Ushijima guy. Still, you were thankful for the break up otherwise things would have been a bit more awkward. “But, ey, the past is past.”

“Who would’ve known baby owl’s type was the likes of Ushiwaka~”

Stoic guys were no big deal knowing Todoroki was there to train you. And it’s not like the people in this world had severe background issues. In a way, it made you happy knowing none of these people experienced what heroes go through.

When the gym was now closed, you were now walking the streets. It still did not sink in. The reality of being in a different dimension with no one knowing who you were. You had already made a few friends and acquaintances here and there but the feeling of emptiness still lingered.

Staring at your palm, you activated your quirk just to see if the amount you used had been milked dry. Surprisingly, a small tug was still there along with a barely visible glow. Placing your hand in your pocket, you let your thoughts wander once more.

Passing by a convenience store, you decided it was time for you to build a deeper foundation with your other-mother. Entering, you searched for the chocolates aisle. The selection was nothing like you’ve seen before. Different labels with unheard of brands littered the shelves. You recalled your other-mother eating a piece but the wrapper had already been discarded.

“Great. Not even the fucking chocolates are the same here.” You complained to yourself.

“You have different chocolates in Musutafu?”

Oh shit.

Looking at the source of the familiar voice, your fingers felt numb and you could feel the heat traveling to your cheeks again. Putting your hand in your pocket, you activated your quirk and felt relaxed once more.

“Uh, somewhat?” Why did this man who smelled a bit of sweat and deodorant have to be so beautiful? He could definitely rival Tododorky in your opinion. But, you digress. Both Todoroki and Akaashi were beautiful in their own way. “Just some unfamiliar brands.”

“Do you need help in choosing, (l/n)-san?” Akaashi asked as he took one bar and read the ingredients.

“What chocolates do mother’s like?”

“If she isn’t fond of overly sweet ones,” He placed the bar back and took another one. “This’ll do it.”

Walking towards the counter, you eyed his purchase. It was an onigiri. Probably for his dinner. Once you were handed your change, he opened the door for you. Him and his gestures were something you were slowly liking.

“So where are you heading?”

Looking at the same direction, your silent invitation to walk home together was accepted. Getting to know him more was somewhat similar to Shinso back in your dimension. Both of them preferred silence and though Shinso was rather edgy during the first few days in the hero course, you were happy when his shell slowly broke down. Though Akaashi was taller by a few inches, you guessed.

When you finally arrived at your house, you bowed and said farewell. For a moment, you saw how he stared at you. Almost as if he were reading you like a limited edition book he had been saving for. Realizing that he was staring a bit too long, he finally returned your act and bid farewell.

Though it wasn’t too long. After a few steps, he turned and went towards the door.

“Holy quirks…”

How did you miss it? Why did this dimension allow you to be neighbors with such a pretty setter? You could feel it. Things were only going to get much worse.

And it did.

Just when you opened the doors to your room, you went to the window and peaked through the curtains. Just a few inches to the right, you saw another window, one with the lights on. Pointing your finger, you slowly pushed the curtain and saw a bed.

As if on cue, a familiar ball of raven hair landed on the bed. The same jacket you saw just a few minutes ago clear as the crack could offer.

“Ah shit…”

Shit indeed.

- - - - -

a/n: so hows chapter 2 :) ? feel free to message me your thoughts and comment if you’d want to be added to Akaashi’s lineup! :) take care and see ya’ll in the next upload <3

#akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu x reader #akaashi x y/n #just a hint of fluff

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ilovebeingcalledawhore · 4 years

Text

JULIET | DONGHYUCK

Content: Fluff, Theatre actor au, Suggestive Content

Summary: You’ve been catching feelings for the main lead of the school’s play “Romeo and Juliet” and you sure wished you were Juliet but you didn’t know that it was actually happening!

Note: I do NOT own the story(Romeo & Juliet) but I own this drabble’s plot and the bits taken from the script are from here.

Warning: I use British spelling.

ONE-SHOT

"Lucky her" I pouted, sulking into Lia’s arms, my head resting on her shoulders while I fake sobbed. I stared at the bulletin board with the names of the students who passed the audition for the school's upcoming production, the classic Shakespeare story, Romeo and Juliet.

"She probably paid her way into the role, it would've totally been you" Lia replied and I raised my head to see the scowl on her face. "You're so nice to me" I uttered, plopping my head back onto her shoulder and she sighed. "All I'm saying is, the school is dumb for not seeing your talent"

The pout on my face turned more evident and my hate for the standard-less staff worsened. I knew I deserved that role, I wanted to be the lead for once and Mina just had to ruin it for me, but it wasn't just about the play, there was something more to it, more like, someone.

Lee Donghyuck, basically the most looked up to in the theatre organisation of our school. He's highly skilled and can turn from an assassin into a whiny girl. I for one, have been extremely impressed by him, except for the time he ran around in his red polka-dotted dress. Somebody remove that image off my mind.

Anyways, coming back to the topic. My goal this year was to star in the production with him, both leading the play and maybe even sharing a kiss at the end but dreams are only dreams. I fake sobbed harder causing Lia to slap me hard on the back.

"Stop being a big baby and get over it" she said, walking away abruptly leaving my head hanging on nothing. The sudden emptiness made me fall down face flat, well...almost. "Ah!" I screamed, expecting the painful hit but instead, two hands pushed my shoulders tightly, reeling me back to stand.

My eyes were still shut and my hands were tightly gripping onto nothing as they rested on my sides. "You can open your eyes now" somebody chuckled but no, this wasn't just somebody. I knew this voice, considering the fact that I loved listening to it.

I opened my lids and there he was in front of me, in his black joggers and oversized hoodie. He looked breath taking, well...not really, I noticed the melted chocolate on the sides of his face. Still hellishly adorable though.

"Congrats on getting the role by the way" I greeted with hesitation, my mind replaying the incident just seconds earlier. He rubbed the nape of his neck with a grin as his eyes landed on his name right at the top of the list, with the words 'Lead:' beside it.

"Thanks" he muttered, giving me a soft glance. I wanted to say something else but I felt the piercing gaze of Lia behind my back, I wouldn't keep her waiting. "Alright, see you around" I said, walking away, linking my arms on Lia's while I puffed my cheeks in excitement.

Holy shit!

You think exams are hard?

Trying my best not to scream in joy was one hell of a challenge. He talked to me! He talked to me! Those words ran around my head like a marathon "Okay lover girl, you need to calm down" Lia chuckled at my red face, calling me out, noticing that we were finally far away from Donghyuck.

"He's so cute" I uttered, an upset pout appearing on my face. It's truly unfair, that's what it is.

We were quietly walking around the campus, discussing the physics test when we saw Mr. Kim, the English teacher and the nurse running in the hall. The teacher spotted us and called out our names. "Y/n, Lia!" He beckoned and we ran. The worried look on the nurses' face was a sign that it was serious because all throughout the years I've studied here, she’s never frowned.

We abruptly ran into the clinic and the first thing we saw was a girl laid down on the bed, her legs in some type of supporter. She was crying loudly, the cracks in her voice showing how much pain she was in.

That's when I realised who it was, Kang Mina. "Help us carry her," Mr. Kim said and there was a brief moment when me and Lia exchanged looks with each other but we complied. It wasn't that hard to carry her, considering the fact that there were four of us and the emergency medical technicians aka the people from the ambulance met us half way and carried Mina for us.

Minutes later, the teacher and nurse left, leaving me and Mina standing there dumbfounded."If she's gone.....who's going to be Juliet?" I muttered and Lia shrugged. Like it was perfectly timed, my phone dinged and I pulled it out my pocket to see a notification.

It was from Mrs. Choi, the production's administrator.

Good Afternoon Ms. Y/L/N,

You and two other girls have been chosen to get a call back for the lead role of Juliet in the upcoming production, "Romeo and Juliet", because of some circumstances, changes have had to be made. The auditions would be tomorrow at lunch time in the hall.

Kind Regards,

Mr. Choi

"Oh my goodness!" I screamed and Lia looked at me like I was crazy. "I might be Juliet!" I whisper-squealed and I saw her face light up. "Hell yeah!" We jumped up and down in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the looks of some students passing by.

_____

"By whose direction foundst thou out this place?" I spoke worriedly like the distraught female from the story. "By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far, as that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise." He replied.

Yes…’he’ replied! The audition required us to act with Donghyuck to see which of us had the best chemistry with him. "Thank you" Mr. Choi cut us off and we were about to leave the stage when some judges stopped us. "No, stay" they signalled, causing us to go back to the centre.

"We've chosen our new Juliet," Ms. Wang, the art's department's head, proclaimed. The current cast and the two other girls sat there excitedly meanwhile, I stood there my mind blanking because Donghyuck was standing a little too close to me. Enough for me to take in his scent and how warm his sweater was.

"Let's all congratulate Y/n!" and the small crowd in the hall clapped but that didn't matter. What stuck most to me was how excited Donghyuck screamed and took me in his arms like I belonged there.

I am euphoric.

_________

I am frustrated

I read the lines again and again, memorising every single world, every single coma and period. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself in front of him, I wanted to impress him with my skills. I was going to be the perfect Juliet and he’s going to be Romeo.

He is my Romeo.

“Don’t stress too much” He stood beside me, nudging my side with his covered elbow. The play was starting in twenty minutes and the seats of the auditorium filled up quickly. I wore a white gown, a vintage yet fairy tale like gown, with golden linings which added some type of elegant effect to it. Meanwhile, Donghyuck wore a prince-like suit but not too showy. It was navy blue and it had less details than mine did, perfectly portraying Romeo’s character.

He looked dashing and I looked like a disaster. No I didn’t, but if you took a little peek in my mind right now, you’d fly off from the intensity.

I must do well.

___

“Don’t saints and pilgrims have lips too?” he asked, intertwining our fingers. “Yes, pilgrim, they have lips that they’re supposed to pray with” I replied. “Well then, saint, let lips do what hands do. I'm praying for you to kiss me. Please grant my prayer so my faith doesn’t turn to despair” he winked at me quickly and I had to stop myself from grinning.

“Saints don’t move, even when they grant prayers” I raised my brow. “Then don’t move while I act out my prayer” Donghyuck slowly walked closer to me and little yelps and sounds of excitement left the audience's mouths.

He kissed me. His soft lips locked into mine a little harder and deeper than I expected. The director never told us to do it whilst practising to keep the feeling authentic.

“Now my sin has been taken from my lips to yours” he said as he pulled away but not far.

“Then do my lips now have the sin they took from yours?” I asked, a small smile creeping up my lips as the warm flame and electricity ran down my body.

“Sin from my lips? You encourage crime with your sweetness. Give me my sin back” he said as he pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. The audience cooed once more in excitement as he leaned forward, a grin on his pink lips.

We kissed again, a little longer, a little slower, a little more in love.

He walked into my heart like he belonged there, took down my walls and lit my soul on fire.

-T.M.

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Dream a Little Dream - 5

Nearly finished! My next @bingokisses prompt was “Sleepy Good Night Kisses/Head on Shoulder.” In this chapter, Aziraphale begins to realize what’s been happening - next chapter will bring the thrilling conclusion!

You can catch up on the story so far on AO3!

Chapter 5: 1941 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Aziraphale held Crowley’s heel in his hand, gently wiping the ball of his foot with a dripping cloth. The other foot soaked in the tub of water, warm, gently steaming. His walk across the church floor had left blisters, and there was little Aziraphale could do to heal them. But he could tend to them, nonetheless.

He wanted, very much, to thank Crowley. But they didn’t say thank you, that wasn’t how they operated. This was all he had to offer.

On the sofa, Crowley murmured, a little sound of relief, of pleasure, of exhaustion. He was very nearly asleep, slumped onto the cushions, arms hanging loose beside him. So different from the energy he usually showed, the way he’d hopped into the church, all full of clever ideas and witty speech…

Crowley’s head nodded as he drifted off. Aziraphale’s hands kept moving of their own accord as he watched, the purse of Crowley’s lips, the lock of hair that broke free to fall across his forehead.

Perhaps he should fetch a blanket, tuck it around Crowley. Sit beside him on the sofa. Tug him down to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Kiss his sleep-soft lips as he drifted off.

He could imagine it perfectly; Aziraphale was very experienced in daydreaming by now. He could imagine how Crowley would stir, ever so slightly, one golden eye cracking open, then shutting just as quick. The way the little smile would struggle to remain hidden, even as he tipped his head back, offering his lips for another kiss.

Aziraphale would laugh, softly. “No, you’ve had one already. You need to sleep now, my dear.”

“Nhhh,” Crowley would complain, and pout until Aziraphale relented, bending down to give him a second, a third, a fourth.

“You were marvelous today,” Aziraphale would murmur, his lips hovering close above Crowley’s. “Of course, you’re always marvelous. My wonderful Crowley.”

One more kiss, perhaps, and then settle Crowley comfortably on his shoulder to sleep, arm around him. Aziraphale could imagine it, the warmth he felt in Crowley’s feet, only pressed all down the length of his side. “I’m…I’m so glad you came,” he would confess, not sure if the demon could still hear him. “I wasn’t sure if you would after…after the dreadful things I said.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley muttered, “I’ll always come for you.”

Aziraphale froze, half pulled back to reality by the words he was sure he’d heard – not imagined, heard.

“Ah…” He glanced up at where Crowley’s head was bent entirely over the back of the sofa. “Crowley? Are you…?”

No response except a snore, surprisingly gentle.

Tugging at the thread of his daydream – not quite snapped – Aziraphale slid back into it, imagining Crowley curling against him. In his mind, he asked, uncertainly, “Crowley? Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmh,” said Crowley – the real Crowley – the one sprawled on his own on the sofa. “Course I can. Not that far gone yet.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, in his mind and out loud.

“Something wrong?”

It wasn’t perfectly clear, of course. Crowley didn’t so much talk in his sleep as mumble. But the “Smmm’ng rn,” he managed in reality perfectly matched the tone and inflection of the words in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Could you…” In his mind he prodded Crowley’s shoulder urgently. “Could you…be a dear and…and just sit up for a moment? Wake yourself up?”

“Don’t wanna,” he complained, but sat up, opening his eyes.

Only in the daydream. The real Crowley continued to sleep, and to mumble.

“Oh, oh, this is quite troubling,” the angel said, getting up to pace nervously in the dream world, as his other self continued patting at Crowley’s foot with a wet cloth. “Oh, oh, this really shouldn’t be happening.”

As an angel, of course, he had the ability to enter dreams. The dreams of mortals, though, surely not of ethereal beings. And he had to will himself to do it, it was quite difficult, requiring a meditative state and some sort of connection, a physical or emotional bond.

“Is something wrong?” Crowley stood up and followed him, not limping, naturally, in this dream his feet wouldn’t hurt at all.

Of course, the foot washing. That must be the physical bond keeping them connected.

He dropped Crowley’s foot immediately, splashing water all across his knees and the carpet around him. The demon stirred, slightly, but that was all. The dream didn’t dissolve, and Crowley’s golden eyes still watched him with concern “Tell me, Angel, I can help.” His hand reached for Aziraphale’s arm.

“No!” Aziraphale stepped back, pulling away. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. His mind was now quite agitated, they were no longer touching, surely, surely that was enough. Normally when he entered a human’s dream, he had to fight to maintain the contact, like swimming against the current. But somehow he’d crossed into Crowley’s mind without even noticing.

Had he done this before?

How would he know?

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tried to smile, even as he circled around his armchair. “Crowley. My dear. Er. Do you ever…ah, remember your dreams?”

“Almost always, yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the chair. “Why?”

“Nothing. No. Um. Do you…do you ever dream about me?” He held his breath.

Crowley grinned, white teeth flashing. “Oh, yes. All the time.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in the squeak of distress. That doesn’t mean anything, surely? “What…what sort of…dreams?”

“Nnnnh.” A lopsided smile. “I don’t like to tell. Kind of embarrassing.” But he leaned closer anyway. “There was one where I was a princess in a tower, and you came to rescue me, but I turned into a dragon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s face grew quite warm.

“Used to have that one a lot actually.” Crowley rubbed his chin. “Ehhh, let’s see, this fantastic one involving a masked ball in Florence, another one where you rescued me from pirates – I remember because the very next night I had the exact same dream, only it was me rescuing you. Hmmm. At least five different ones where we’re both humans, ah, usually with flowers or coffee involved somewhere. And lots of kissing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Other stuff, too. Not sure you’d approve.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth. Oh, he would very much approve – he remembered coming up with each of those scenarios, remembered how real they’d felt as they played out in his mind, how vivid.

And how rapidly they’d spun out of his control once Crowley started speaking, always to a better place than he could have predicted…

It was rather the opposite of how a dream visitation went. Which could only mean, Aziraphale wasn’t in Crowley’s dream. Crowley was in his.

How much control did he have? Could he force Crowley to play along with a fantasy? He should test it, but the very idea was abhorrent. Not to mention the only thing he actually desired right now was for Crowley to wake up and that wasn’t happening!

“Did you ever…” He thought as quickly as he could. “Did you ever dream about us – us…dancing?”

“Nnnnno…”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Of course not, Crowley would never agree to—

“I mean, I did dream that we were in this room with…piano music, and you were teaching me how to hop around, but I certainly wouldn’t call that dancing.”

“The gavotte is certainly a dance and – oh, good lord.”

“That was it! How’d you know?” Crowley stepped out from behind the chair. “Something like this,” he tried a couple quick coupés, very inexpertly done. “Only went along because I liked how you smiled.”

Did that mean Crowley could have stopped if he wanted to? No, Aziraphale had played out that fantasy dozens of times, and the demon had almost never complained. “Did you…” his voice was very faint. “Did you dream that often?” Oh, no, Aziraphale had been thinking about it just the other day…

“Nh. Only once, ages ago.”

The angel sighed. Good.

“Now, on the other hand,” and that wicked grin came back, “there was this really interesting dream about the Bastille, and that one would not stop coming. You want to know the details of that?”

Aziraphale stumbled back, crying out in horror. No, he didn’t need to be told about that one. It had occupied him for many weeks. Replaying the rescue…the dinner…imagining what might have come after…

He’d choreographed it out in quite explicit detail.

How long? How long had he been forcing his twisted fantasies onto Crowley?

“Hey, Angel.” He looked up to find Crowley approaching slowly, head ducked, hands out, as if approaching a frightened animal. “It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t – I shouldn’t tease. It’s a lot to take in.” Arms around him, gentle, pulling him in, pressing his head down to Crowley’s shoulder. “Look, yeah, some of them were…intense…but usually I just dream of us being…us. Just talking, like this. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s jacket. It felt so real under his fingers. He remembered that from too many fantasies, the tactile details, too subtle for a dream. The roughness of that coat sliding off to the cell floor, the smooth linen of the shirt underneath, the way the cravat slipped through his fingers as he unknotted it…

“But some of them were…” He pulled closer, and was horrified to realize how familiar Crowley’s body felt against his, how gentle the fingers on his back. He pushed away. Aziraphale had to be the one in control here. “Crowley, you dreamt about us—”

“Aaaaah,” Crowley ducked his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, I always woke up before…they weren’t really those kinds of dreams.”

“Are you just lying to make me – to spare my—”

“You know I’d never lie to you.”

That hit almost as hard as anything else. His heart was ready to burst.

Aziraphale pressed shaking fingers to his eyes, focusing for a few seconds on the real floor, where he knelt back in reality, dampness of water spilled from the footbath creeping into his knees. Trying to ground himself. As if that were possible.

“How…” He gulped for breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to be working. “How long…” Calm yourself! “Do you recall when you started having these dreams?”

“The Ark, I think.” Crowley rubbed his neck, eyes lost in memory. “Yeah. I remember, I, uh, I really wished you’d talk to me, and then…”

And I wished I had someone to talk to. Somehow, their proximity, or their state of mind, or their shared nature had created a bond…and that bond had dragged Crowley into his mind, again and again, for thousands of years.

Aziraphale felt sick, and no amount of breathing exercises could help.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley held his hand out, but this time it was a simple offering. Not reaching for the angel, simply inviting him to reach back. “I don’t know why you’re…upset…”

“I’m so sorry…” It was all he could manage.

“S’fine,” Crowley tilted his head in confusion. “Nothing to be sorry about. I like the dreams.” He stepped forward. “I like it when you…you talk to me. Trust me. Confide in me.” Crowley stopped just inches away, close enough for Aziraphale to feel the heat of him, the soft brush of breath through his hair. “No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

It was finally enough of a shock to break the connection.

Aziraphale stumbled away from the sofa with a strangled gasp, like a man awakened from a nightmare. Crowley still lay, feet in the tub of water, just where Aziraphale had left him, but now he seemed to be moving with intent, waking.

No. No, no, no, no…

This night had brought too many surprises, too many turns, Aziraphale couldn’t take another, couldn’t confront the questions, could not do this.

“No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

But it didn’t make Aziraphale any less agitated. Crowley couldn’t think what could be upsetting him this badly. He’d been calm enough, back on the sofa when they’d kissed…

They’d kissed…

“Oh,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder at the sofa, soft as a bed, covered in blankets. “This is a dream. Obviously.”

First thing he noticed was his feet, wet, the water still warm but cooling. Next was the awkward angle of his neck, stiff and sore. Third was the trail of drool.

Crowley swatted at his mouth, wiping it clear, then sat up, tilting his neck and rubbing at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew.

What a weird dream.

He’d said too much in his dream, always had. As if the mental blocks that helped him keep calm evaporated as soon as he fell asleep. But he’d never seen Aziraphale as anything other than patient and accepting, so why would he...

Wait. Shit. Aziraphale.

He looked around the shop, trying to fix his hair, his glasses, and his shirt at the same time. He did not want the angel seeing him like that. It was bad enough his rescue had gone so badly off-script, this would be a disaster—

The shop was empty, no sign of movement anywhere. How long had he been asleep?

Then, a clink of ceramic-on-ceramic from the shadowy little kitchen.

Crowley stood carefully, testing his feet to see if they were still sore. No, the blisters seemed to have been soothed by the bath. Bloody miracle. He’d have to find some way to repay Aziraphale, without being too obvious.

Assuming they were talking again.

He padded across the carpet, trying not to track water, though it seemed the rug was already wet, and paused just outside the door of the back room. “Angel? You alright?”

“Fine. Perfectly – why wouldn’t I be?” He stood before the sink, scrubbing dutifully at a plate.

“Well. You’re standing here in the dark.”

“Am I?” He didn’t even turn. “No matter. I can see in the dark, you know.”

“Right.” Crowley glanced back at the rest of the shop, lit up bright as anything, despite the bombing and the city-wide black out. “Anyway, I, uh, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. How long was I out?”

“No! I mean, were you asleep? I hardly noticed.” The sudsy water sloshed as he worked on some imperceptible stain. “I mean, I noticed, but, well, not long. Yes.”

“Ngk.” Something was wrong. Aziraphale had been all awkward smiles and warm, gentle insistence when they’d come in, and now…He’d have thought his dream was some sort of omen, except Crowley didn’t believe in such things. He did believe in his own ability to mess things up, though, and he had ample evidence for the existence of that. “M’feet feel better,” he attempted. “So. That’s good.”

“Good. Good. Excellent. You should be able to get yourself home, then.”

“Yeah, I…”

What? What the Heaven was he even supposed to say?

Look, Aziraphale, I blew up a bunch of Nazis for you, is it too much to ask for you to just make eye contact with me? What more do you want from me?

He’d thought this would do it. This would make Aziraphale realize that Crowley – that they shouldn’t be fighting, they should talk again, but what would even be the point of that, since any time he tried he just tripped over his own blessed tongue and made things worse?

But of course not, even in his dream he’d managed to ruin the night, why should reality be any different?

He took a breath and turned away.

“Nh. Guess I’ll see you around.”

Maybe in a few more decades Aziraphale would be ready to talk. Just had to give him space, right?

“I…I suppose you will.”

He manifested shoes back onto his feet – next time he walked on hallowed ground, he should bring real shoes, that might give him some shielding – and strode across the shop, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Crowley.” He turned back, one hand on the door. Aziraphale stood in the shadow of the kitchen, almost hiding behind the doorframe. “Ah. Don’t…don’t be a stranger.”

He concentrated on the doorknob, tapping his fingers, swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down from his throat. “Yeah. I – I won’t.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please leave a comment here or on AO3!

@angel-and-serpent

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #dream sharing #good omens prime #aziraphale #crowley #Post Church Scene #Washing Crowley's Feet #accidental confession #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #fanfic #my writing #Dream a little dream #ao3 link #prompt fic #kisses bingo

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kieraswriting · 4 years

Text

Alone (Forever?)

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Masterpost

There was a person.

Thomas did not like this person. They didn’t feel safe. Not at all.

Because of this, whenever he had to spend time with them, Anxiety spiked high, and Virgil stayed in his room working all day. Patton insisted that they couldn’t be mean to this person, so Deceit also had a much larger workload, and employed both Roman and Remus to come up with excuses and things to talk about. Logan was trying to keep everyone in line, and make sure everything made sense, and just keep a semblance of sanity in the mind.

But this left Patton with not much to do. And no one to do nothing with.

They’d known this person for years, and hadn’t yet found a permanent way out of the visits. To make it worse, it was almost twice a year they had to meet, and for several days at a time.

It was coming again. They were packing now.

Patton was having a very hard time helping.

“Maybe we could… watch a movie?”

“Patton, we have to leave in an hour. A movie would be out of the question.” Logan said sternly.

Virgil was already jittery, just walking back and forth and muttering about all the bad things that could happen.

Patton’s face fell. It’d be his last hour with them for a while. He did not like this event. Not at all. He had to blink back tears even as he helped Roman pull out all of his supplies and arrange them to where he could reach them all from one position on his bed.

Logan was rearranging the mind to where his room had four extra doors, each leading to another side’s room. Each side but Patton.

And Patton knew why. He even knew it made sense. He didn’t have much to do. He had the rest of the mind palace to himself, and the time to do whatever he wanted. There was no reason for him to be having problems.

Except he was. He hated being alone. And it was always just so long.

As Thomas’s front door shut behind him, so did all the bedroom doors, leaving Patton feeling like he was left, alone, back in the house. With only the resounding click of the lock in every door.

••^*^••

He thought he was managing. He really did. He kept himself busy. He ate something, even though it was hard to get down. He drank water. He even went to bed at the right time.

But when he woke up the next morning, he felt more terrible than ever. He got up, and now he felt both terrible and weird. It took him until he tried to open the door to realize why he felt so weird. He was a dog.

He couldn’t remember shifting. He certainly hadn’t done it on purpose. But he had, and it didn’t seem like he was able to shift back either. Tears ran down his face and he didn’t even have hands to wipe them away with.

He walked in a circle around his room, shimmying underneath the bed, rather than go around, and going back to the door, as if it would magically be open. But it wasn’t.

It still wasn’t open the second time he went around, or the third.

A restless, anxious energy built up in his chest and escaped through his limbs, pushing him to try again, and again. He felt anxious and… and… angry? No, it wasn’t angry. But it made him want to bite something. And to scratch the space under the door, hoping against all logic that he’d be able to dig through the carpet and make a hole big enough to squeeze through.

More than anything he wanted for someone to open the door. To come inside and hug him and promise to never leave.

••^*^••

Logan wasn’t needed at the moment. Thomas was trying to sleep, Virgil was replaying every second of the day, and Roman was trying to do as Thomas asked, and spin a dream powerful enough to lull him into sleep. He wasn’t sure what Deceit and Remus were doing, but they didn’t seem to be causing problems.

Logan stretched, groaning as his back popped. He went down to the kitchen to get some water.

On his way back, however, he heard an odd sound. It wasn’t loud, whatever it was, but it still made him pause. He walked around, searching for its source.

He stopped outside Patton’s room. It was… a whine? Was Patton hurt?

He opened the door. Inside was Patton, in his dog form for some reason, laying just inside the door. As soon as he’d opened it, Patton jumped up, barking and pushing into the hallway.

Logan pushed the door open a bit farther. The room was a wreck. There was stuffing and ripped fabric littering the floor, the mattress was hanging half off the bed, there were scratch and bite marks covering anything below waist height, and the carpet by the door had been torn to pieces.

Patton was still loudly trying to get his attention. Logan turned to him.

“Sit. Calm yourself.” He said, not wanting Patton jumping all over him, as he was prone to doing while in this form.

Patton sat, still vibrating with energy.

Logan knelt in front of him and offered physical affection by petting and rubbing all over his head. Patton soaked it in, still wriggling, but not trying to tackle Logan anymore.

“I am going to infer that something happened to distress you.” Logan said, noticing now that Patton had a stripe running from the top of his head all the way down his back where much of the fur was rubbed off.

Patton barked, thankfully not as loudly as he had earlier.

“Are you capable of shifting back and explaining it to me?”

Patton’s outward displays of happiness lessened slightly.

“I will take that as a no. Is there any way I can help you avoid further distress?”

Patton pushed forward, his head now resting on Logan’s shoulder. Perhaps this was to be an approximation of a hug? Logan wrapped his arms around Patton.

He waited a while, but Patton didn’t seem like he was ever going to move.

“I need to go to bed,” he started, but stopped when Patton’s tail immediately froze. “Would you like to accompany me?”

Patton barked and was all wriggles and dog smiles again.

Logan went to his room and turned back the covers on the bed. Patton immediately jumped up and curled up on one side.

Logan gathered his pajamas and went into the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door. Instantly there was loud barking and whines from his room. He opened the door quickly.

Patton was in front of the door, and whined, pawing at his leg.

“Patton. I am merely preparing for bed. Please remain calm. I will endeavor to be as quick as possible, so please wait patiently until then.”

Puppy eyes, made all the more powerful by Patton’s current form, were turned up to him beseechingly. Logan petted Patton once, but still closed the door to the bathroom.

Patton began whining and scratching at the door.

Logan pulled on the pajamas as quickly as he could, and then opened the door to allow Patton inside while he brushed his teeth.

Patton squished himself between Logan’s legs and the sink cabinet the whole time, nearly making Logan tip over backwards.

But then he was done, and laid in his bed. Patton laid next to him, resting his head on Logan’s chest. Logan petted him idly before drifting off to sleep.

••^*^••

Until Thomas’s visit was over, Patton stayed with Logan, always in dog form. He followed him closely whenever he went anywhere, laid on his feet while Logan was busy, and eagerly demanded pets when he was not.

But that was nothing compared to the sheer ball of energy Patton became when Roman and Virgil came out of their rooms. He ran from one to the other and back again, over and over. It was after several hours of this untiring energy that he turned human again.

••^*^••

“Hey, Virge?”

Virgil looked up from his phone. Patton was standing in the door, looking at him almost sheepishly.

“Yeah?”

Patton bit his lip and looked down.

“Is something wrong?” Virgil sat up.

“No. I mean… kind of…”

Virgil got up and slipped his hoodie on. “Come on, Pat, let's head downstairs. We can get you something to drink and then you can talk about it.”

“No, I— I didn’t want to bother you.”

Virgil set a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “You aren’t bothering me any more than I want to be bothered. Come on.”

Patton followed him down to the kitchen, unusually quiet, and sat in a chair while Virgil made two cups of tea. Virgil pushed one cup into his hands.

“So what’s wrong?”

Patton hid behind his tea for a long minute before he answered. “I’m… I’m afraid to sleep alone.”

Virgil waited for Patton to continue.

“I just, I worry that, if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up stuck again, and you’ll all be gone again.” A tear ran off Patton’s nose and narrowly missed dropping into his cup.

Virgil reached a hand across the table, and Patton clung to it.

“If you want me to, I don’t mind staying with you,” Virgil said. “It’s kind of my own fault anyway—“

“No! It’s not your fault.” Patton protested.

“It is. You’re the seat of Thomas’s emotions, and I’ve been making him anxious for… several days now.”

“You’re trying to keep us all safe.” Patton said firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Maybe not, but, I could still be going too far. It’s hurting you. And that’s never what I wanted to do.”

Patton squeezed his hand. “You’re doing your best. We all are.”

••^*^••

Roman came downstairs the next morning to see a golden retriever laying on the couch, asleep, with a small black cat curled up in his side. Roman crept upstairs again, he could probably convince Remy to get Thomas to oversleep his alarm.

#more than the sum of our parts #patton sanders #logan sanders #platonic logicality #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #character!thomas

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jinmukangwrites · 5 years

Text

Vulnerable

Batfamweek2020 Day 6 / Fluff / @official-batfam-week

Summary: Jason finds a little intruder in one of his safe houses. He tries to convince himself he doesn’t care until he finds out he really, really cares.

Yeah I know this is two days late. Listen, time is relative and the week isn’t over until I say it’s over. Also yes, the prompt is fluff and this seems to be mostly angst, but there’s cuddles at the end which is about as fluffy as you guys can get out of me.

AO3

-o-o-o-o-

When Jason entered his safe house, he honestly wasn’t expecting anything to be amiss or out of place, yet here he is, walking up to the run down apartment squished between some Chinese takeout shop and a weird voodoo shop just to see the front door slightly ajar.

On instant high alert, Jason grabs at the gun on his hip and considers digging out a domino mask to hide his identity. He’s in street clothes, a civilian if you will. He’s just gotten back from grocery shopping to fill up his various houses with a resupply of food storage. He’s not really in the mood to fight anyone, and for all he knows whoever is inside his safe house could just be a squatter.

Though, no typical squatter can bypass his security measures. Whoever is here is competent enough to discharge his surplus of alarms and boobytraps.

And besides, whoever went through the trouble of breaking and entering into his safe house wouldn’t be there for Red Hood. They’re here for Jason.

He slowly places his bags of canned goods and such onto the ground and pulls his gun out so it’s held out in front of him. He stalks towards the door and takes a calming breath, not wanting to think about who could possibly be in there but also thinking of the worst case scenario.

Maybe just a smart squatter. Could be the Joker. Maybe Bruce. Jason doesn’t if Bruce falls in the good or bad category, but Jason swears to god if he barges in there and it’s just that stupid bastard Jason will categorize him as the absolute worst and might just shoot the jerk-face anyway.

Jason kicks the door open hard enough to make it’s hinges squeal in protest. His gaze instantly locks on a figure sitting on his moth eaten sofa he placed in front of a display TV that he took from the local Walmart.

What? It was “broken” and they were going to throw it away even though he could easily fix it. No harm no foul.

The figure on his sofa looks up from a phone in their hands with a glare, and Jason lowers his gun with a scoff and returns the narrowed eyes with his own.

“What the heck are you doing here, tater-tot?” He demands.

“Tt,” Damian rolls his eyes and returns to his phone, Jason leans his head forward a little to see what the brat is doing on it and it looks to be... that Animal Crossing app. Huh. “It’s none of your business, Todd.”

Jason scoffs, putting his gun back in his holster. “This is my safe house, to which the door you left open. It’s every ounce of my business.”

“Fine,” Damian snarls, standing up abruptly and shoving his phone inside his jacket pocket. “I’ll leave then.”

Jason has to fight to not make any of his utter bafflement physical as he makes a grab for the kid’s arm before he can retreat through the door. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not leaving until I get a straight answer out of ya-“

Damian jerks his arm violently and Jason just manages to keep a grasp on him. “Unhand me, you imbecile!”

“Ah, nah,” Jason retorts, grabbing his other arm as Damian goes to throw a punch. Damian squirms and Jason fights off a sigh as he has to kneel down and hold the brat in an almost white knuckled grasp so he doesn’t escape. He really hopes no one steals his groceries while it’s just sitting out there ripe for the taking. “You broke into my house, you can leave and go throw a tantrum somewhere else after this, I could seriously care less, but if I have to tie you to a chair and play Justin Bieber until you talk I will.”

Damian shoots Jason a look of pure loathing before he glares at his shoes, no longer struggling but still looking like he’ll dart for the nearest exit the moment Jason lowers his guard. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have come here. Let me go.” A second. Then a small: “Please.”

“Okay,” Jason says, and if he didn’t have both his hands keeping Damian still, he would be rubbing the bridge of his nose. Where’s the golden boy when you need him? “Okay, something is clearly up with you. What’s up? Did Titus poo on your bed? Break an expensive pot? Accidentally kill someone-?”

“I don’t kill,” Damian snarls suddenly, and the ferocity of the statement has Jason blinking in shock. Damian is refusing to look up now, eyes blinking quicker than normal. “I don’t. Not anymore. I don’t.”

Jason narrows his eyes and gets down on his knees to become level with the little midget. “Kid. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Damian sniffs, uses his shoulders to rub at his eyes, and there’s a suspicious glint in his green irises that has Jason suddenly feel a rush of panic. Oh heck nah. This is Goldilocks’ problem. Jason should have just let the kid go. Yeah, he asked what was bothering him but the last thing he expected were tears. However, Damian looks just as shocked with himself as Jason is and quickly bites his lip.

“Can I stay the night?” Damian asks suddenly, throwing another red flag up in Jason’s mind. Whatever is going on, Damian doesn’t want to go home where his daddy-dearest and perfect oldest brother are probably waiting for him in a panic. He know’s Dickhead is in town. He posted a picture of Alfred the Cat on his Instagram just a few hours ago, saying it felt good to be home.

Jason is almost tempted to grab the brat and stuff him a duffel, lock the zippers with a cable tie and drop him at the front gates for Alfred to find, just so he doesn’t have to deal with this, but then he studies the kid for a moment, seeing a vulnerability in him that he can’t say he’s ever seen before. He sighs.

“Fine. Don’t explain. Go to the couch and play your cute game thing. I’ll be back.”

Damian gives him an unimpressed glare. “It’s not a cute game.”

“I know what Animal Crossing is, sweetie-pie,” Jason says back, ruffling the younger’s hair and biting back a chuckle that tries to escape his throat as Damian tries to whack at his hand. “It’s a cute game.”

Jason watches Damian retreat back to the sofa, but this time the brat puts in some earbuds and curls up between the arm and the back of the couch, bringing his knees to his chest and his hoodie over his head. Jason has to gather all his will power to not roll his eyes as he stands up and goes out to grab his—thankfully untouched—groceries.

He walks in and begins to take everything out of the bags. He watches Damian out of the corner of his eyes as he does so, but the brat doesn’t move. Just flicks his finger over the screen, perhaps trying to catch a fish or something. He doesn’t dwell on it though, thinking about the tears that had threatened to fall a moment ago. They could have been a trick, a way for Damian to get Jason off his back because it would undoubtedly make Jason too uncomfortable to push more, but at the same time he knows Damian is awful at fake crying. He has a lot of pride stuffed in that little body.

He shakes his head and begins to sort the cans for storage, leaving a few out for dinner he guesses. He was planning on just going to the Batburger—because the Chinese restaurant next door gave him a night in the bathroom to remember the last time he ate there—and grabbing something filled with carbs, but now that the little bat-brat is here that’s sort of thrown out the window. He’s still hungry though.

Lets see, he has a can of sloppy joe, some buns in the pantry that are hopefully not moldy yet, and some mixed vegetables. Easy.

He begins to pull out various pots and pans to begin the last second dinner. It doesn’t take long for the meat to start sizzling while the vegetables just barely begin to warm. He sets a pan lid over the meat and lets it simmer as he goes to grab the buns and some American cheese slices. He eyes Damian as he does so, noting how the kid hasn’t moved since Jason had told him he could stay.

Whatever. It’s not his problem. He’s not worried about the tyke at all...

When everything is finally heated and warm it suddenly occurs to him that Dick has mentioned here and there that Damian was actually vegetarian. Jason curses and opens the fridge, looking for anything that’s leafy and green. Thankfully, he manages to scrape together a sad amount of green lettuce and half a tomato. He sniffs a bottle of ranch and looks at it’s expiration date and wrinkles his nose. He’ll let Damian choose if he wants ranch or not. He grabs two plastic plates and places his own Joe with cheese down on one plate and scoops out a helping of corn, peas, and carrots while he makes a terribly depressed salad on the other. He sighs and adds double the helping of vegetables onto Damain’s plate. If only he had shredded cheese or croutons or even garbanzo beans...

He plops himself down next to the kid and clears his throat, placing Damian’s sad sad meal down on the coffee table with his bottle of devious ranch and then digs into his sloppy joe, grabbing a remote to turn on the TV to something probably boring and dumb.

He watches as Damian wrinkles his nose slightly at his meal, and Jason almost prepares himself to snap that he did his best, but Damian surprises him and takes the plate into his lap. He takes out his earbuds and clicks his phone off, shifting so he can see the TV better.

Thankfully Jason manages to find a channel that’s replaying Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire so the silence between the two of them isn’t as awkward as it could be. Damian picks at his browning salad and makes a move to communicate.

They watch the movie in silence, and Jason finds himself not being able to actually concentrate as his mind keeps wondering what could be up with Damian.

-o-o-o-o-

“Alrighty,” Jason says, clapping his hands together as the movie credits begin to roll. “Goodnight.”

Damian doesn’t say anything as Jason gets up and gathers the paper plates to throw them away. Jason is determined to just go to bed and not deal with any of this in the morning. Sure, he should go out as Hood and take down some gangs, but Damian doesn’t appear to have his costume—let alone a change of clothes—with him and there’s no way Jason is leaving him here alone.

He should just call Dick. Call him and he’d gladly drop everything he’s doing to take the kid away. However, he can’t help but feel a sense of unity when he notices Damain’s phone ding with a little text notification and Damian quickly sliding it away, not even reading it.

Besides, Jason said he could stay the night. What kind of person would he be if he couldn’t make good on his word? He’s an ex-killer not a complete jackass.

He retreats to his room, releasing a sigh and shutting the door. It’s a small house, nothing but a living room, kitchen, master bedroom, and bathroom. Damian will have to sleep on the couch because there’s no way Jason is letting him take his bed. He takes off his shirt and changes into a pair of looser fitting pants as he crawls into the rickety old bed that was discounted at IKEA because someone broke some pieces. The blankets he slips into are thin but many. Well, three. It’s decent enough, he can survive most cold nights with the warmth three thin, threadbare blankets could scrap up.

He closes his eyes, thinking about nothing other than sleep.

He wonders if he has a blanket out there for-

Woah wait. Hold up. Nooope. Go to bed Jason. Go to bed...

Sleep...

It’s a colder night and the living room gets colder than the bedroom...

But it’s warm in his blankets so he won’t worry about it... sleep... sleep sleep sleep...

He peeks his eye open and looks at his phone sitting on the mattress beside his head.

Not even fifteen minutes has passed. He growls and forces his eyes closed, curling his knees so they’re almost touching his chest. Did he lock the door? He’s pretty sure he locked the door. Though, if he didn’t that would mean someone could barge in and the first thing they’d see was a small kid in his day clothes shivering in the cold of the living room with no pillow.

No, he definitely locked the door. He definitely locked it just like how he definitely doesn’t care if a certain demon brat is crashing on his couch in day old clothes with no pillow or blanket.

He opens his eyes, looks at how only a minute has passed and silently curses to himself.

Shit.

He cares.

He throws the blankets off from his body and slips off the side of his bed to his feet. He looks around his room and grabs at one out of two pillows he was using and then tears off one out of three blankets and stomps towards his door, just to stop and growl as he turns around and finds the smallest shirt and sweats he could find.

He barges into the living room and Damian practically jumps from his curled up position on the couch. Jason ignores the subject of his lack of sleep as he goes to the door, grabs the handle, and giggles it to make sure it’s locked.

It’s locked.

He turns heel and Damian is watching him as if he’s grown a second head. Jason ignores the stare and dumps the pile of fabric in his arms onto the kid. Damian squawks but Jason ignores that and storms back to his room, trying to ignore the goosebumps on his arms and chest from the cold of the room and how he’s making a thirteen year old kid sleep out here and- NOPE! He’s not worried about it. He gave him a blanket and pillow and even some of his own clothes. Damian will survive and Jason will sleep.

He hits his pillow, trying not to mourn the girth he’s lost beneath his head because he’s too nice of a guy sometimes, and curls up in his two blankets, fighting off the threat of shivers from going out into the chilly air. He eventually warms up, just like actual sleep begins to lure him, and soon he’s not thinking about much of anything...

...

Was that a sniffle?

His eyes creek open against his will. Time has felt like it moved, and when he glares at his phone to see two hours has passed he curses the gods for making this night as difficult as possible. He’s about to close his eyes again when the something that woke him up that he had almost forgot about sounds again.

A sniff. From the other side of the door. It sounds wet, like it belongs to a runny nose and his eyebrows come together. Yeah it’s cold out in the living room but not that cold. He closes his eyes, blaming dramatics, when the sniffle sounds again, but with something else this time that has Jason practically jumping out of his bed like he’s been electrocuted.

A whimper. That was a whimper.

He creeps towards the door, something heavy in his gut, and places his ear on the thin wood.

He can hear it all clearly now. The sniffles, the tiny choked off whimpers of someone trying to not make too much noise, the panting breaths.

Crying. Someone’s crying on the other side of his door and it’s two in the morning and Jason is all of a sudden thinking about the ignored texts, the silent acceptance of not even sub-par food, the cute distracting animal game, the caught in the headlights look when Jason stormed out earlier, the almost desperate way he asked to crash the night here, the angry outburst the he’s not a killer.

Jason doesn’t care. He doesn’t. This is Dick’s job. Not Jason. Jason is the family black sheep who people avoid unless they want something, and Jason avoids them right back. Dick is the big, caring, older brother while Jason is the distant outcast. Jason doesn’t care if Damian is in his living room crying. He really, truly, awfully, lyingly doesn’t care.

Shit.

He cares.

crying opens his door slowly and the sniffling and whimpering instantly cuts off. The door swings slowly open and Jason is left standing in his doorway watching as Damian wipes furiously at his eyes and glares at the opposite side of the room, curling up and biting his lower lip to perhaps stop it from trembling.

“What do you want, Todd,” Damian snarls, but his voice tremors and Jason has to fight down the panic threatening to escape his throat because he has no clue what to do. Here’s some kid who’s legally his youngest brother who’s swimming in his too big clothes with tear tracks down his cheeks and Jason cannot think of a single thing to do.

What would Dick do? Dick would smile and probably gather the kid up in a hug and say everything will be okay and other soppy comforting crap. Jason runs the scenario out in his head, imagines him trying to approach the kid with open arms to give him a hug. Strangely enough, while he can easily imagine Dick and Damian ending up cuddling or whatever, Jason can only see himself writhing on the floor with a knife between his ribs.

So, the Dick-protocol is out. Jason needs to do something else, and quick.

He grinds his jaw and forces himself to leave the safety of the room. Damian watches him warily as he slowly sits up and backs up to the corner of the sofa, furthest from where Jason is approaching from. Jason gives the kid a side eyed glance before he grabs at the remote and turns on the TV.

Jason isn’t the best with cuddles or comfort, but the least he can do is sit it out and let Damian decide what the next step is, even if Jason has to sit here shirtless in the chilly living room with the TV turned low on some Spanish soap channel for the rest of the night.

Somehow, Damian doesn’t fight that. He just wipes his eyes again, getting rid of most evidence of tear tracks, and then settles into his corner, stubbornly watching the TV.

Forty minutes into the soap marathon, right when someone is revealed to not be the father—gasp—something finally happens.

Damian speaks.

“Do you regret it?” Says a small voice in a whisper. Jason turns his head and he almost has to squint his eyes to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. Damian is valiantly avoiding his gaze, staring straight at the TV. His hands are nervously pulling at the strings of his borrowed sweatpants though, which is a sight Jason never thought he’d see.

“Regret what?” He questions.

Damian worries his lip for a second and something shiny swims in his eyes. Jason remains silent until Damian finally speaks. “Killing those people.”

Finally, Damian looks at Jason and he looks so vulnerable and scared and Jason is pretty sure this is all just some sort of fever dream because what the hell. His brain short circuits and restarts as he tries to gather his thoughts, but suddenly all his thoughts are nothing more than green anger as he hacks through the necks of drug dealers and stuffs heads in duffel bags. Thoughts lined with lividity as he shoots at rapists and murderers and gets blood splattered on his red mask. Thoughts of holding the Joker against his chest, pressing the point of his gun against the psychopaths temple and screaming a choice at Bruce.

The Joker, or him.

He absentmindedly reaches for the scar on his neck; it’s a unique one for the fact it’s not one that he gained in death nor in his autopsy. It’s thin and precise and did just enough damage for Jason to accidentally let go of the Joker and grab at the sharp batarang sticking out from his neck, blood already leaking through his fingers. Proof that Bruce would rather slice his neck than let a mindless murderer continue to breathe. A permanent reminder that Jason isn’t as important as some no-kill-rule. A warning he should never attempt something like that ever again.

He’s been doing better. He hasn’t killed anyone since... since forever. His bullets are not ones made to kill. His aims are not lethal. When he shoots he shoots because he has to, and he’s been forcing himself to use his fists first.

Does he regret it? Does he regret getting so angry and hurt and confused that he killed dozens of people just to get Black Mask angry so he could get to Joker and therefore Batman? Does he regret the blood on his hands? The hours clutching his chest in the shower after the first life he took, scrubbing at his skin so it’s red and raw, repeating over and over and over to himself that this will all be worth it. The days avoiding the freezer where he stored the severed heads until he had all of them because he was afraid he’d puke? The months convincing himself that beating his replacement senseless would be worth it?

Does he regret it?

He clutches the material of his pants with one hand and rubs the length of his scar with his other, taking a deep breath.

“No.”

Damian’s eyes widen slightly in shock, and Jason realizes he was expecting a different answer. He clears his throat, fights the urge to hug himself like he’s raw and vulnerable. An animal on display.

“I don’t regret killing those people. But if I was sent back in time and given the option to redo everything... I wouldn’t have done it.”

“I don’t understand,” Damian says and Jason releases a bitter chuckle.

“I’m a different person now, and back then killing those people I felt was the only thing I could do. I used to... sit and wonder about what I could have done differently, what I could have changed, but I decided it isn’t worth it. I killed those people in cold blood, and if I regret it now then I won't be able to move on. So no, I don’t regret it.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence and Jason sighs. “Look, I enjoy talking about my past as much as the next guy, but why do you bring it up?“

Damian bites his lip again, and Jason almost worries that sooner or later he’s going to draw blood with his sharp canines, but Damian brings his legs to his chest and stars absentmindedly at the TV as some chick slaps another chick for whatever reason.

“I regret them,” Damian whispers, and Jason decides now would be a wise time to remain silent. “I killed people because my mother and grandfather said it was my birthright too. I was superior and they were worthless. I never... thought anything of it. Until now.” He takes a shaky breath and continues, rubbing his eye with his shoulder. “I promised Grayson I would never kill again, and I’ve always intended to keep that promise for myself if not for him. B-but father doesn’t trust me all the time and it’s hard t-to think that I’m ever going to live up to that promise when he’s constantly telling me how I could have slipped up or how I could have killed... killed somebody a-and it’s been three years since- and why doesn’t he trust me? Why does he always think I’m... I’m gonna...”

He breaks off into a painful sounding sob and Jason watches wide eyed, completely at a loss of what to do. He sits there and watches as Damian explains through sobs that someone died yesterday, a criminal he was chasing. The man accidentally slipped off the docks into the freezing, churning, unforgiving water of Gotham Bay and drowned before Robin could safely get down to him. Batman arrived just as Robin pulled his dead body back onto the docks. Batman tried to resuscitate him, but with no luck.

Robin was benched, blamed for his death, and Nightwing didn’t take his side.

Bruce said he could have reacted faster. Dick chose to try and stay in the middle but ended up just getting Bruce mad at both of them and Damian feeling betrayed.

It’s no wonder Damian ran out and was ignoring every text message sent his way. He feels like his whole world has turned against him. Jason is almost tempted to let the kid stay more than the night.

Somehow, Jason’s managed to scoot closer to the crying kid, and somehow, Damian’s ended up under his arms. Leaning against his chest, crying and letting the warm tears run down his cheeks and against Jason’s skin. It feels personal. It feels open. It feels secret and sacred.

Jason clutches the kid closer, and he doesn’t say a thing because he doesn’t know what to say quite yet.

He just holds him, then when Damian tires himself out and his eyes become puffy and half-lidded, Jason gathers him up and carries him to the bedroom, his arms too full to turn off the TV. Damian instantly curls up into his side as he lays them both down onto the bed, dragging the sheets.

People die on patrol, yet Bruce seems to be the hardest on them when it’s the criminals who die. Victims, choking on their own blood and crying, eyes going milky, but Bruce only sees the criminal that Jason aloud to get shot by their own partner, he only sees the thug Jason aloud to get stabbed through the gut when Joker got sick of them. It’s a whole, vile system Bruce has. When victims die, it’s no one’s fault, but when the bad guys die, they should have been strong enough and brave enough and fast enough to stop it.

Jason doesn’t think Bruce will ever trust Jason not to kill. He doesn’t think Bruce will ever trust Damian not to kill.

So the least Jason can do right now while Bruce seethes and Dick tries to mediate is hold Damian a little tighter as a promise that Jason is on his side instead of the people who are supposed to be.

He hopes it’s enough. Because it’s truly the least he can do.

#jason todd #damian wayne #red hood #robin #dc #dc comics #batman comics #fan fic #batfamweek2020 #jin writes

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