#stg they just carry around bits and pieces of my heart around with them like only they can unlock those pieces yknow? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

secondhand-trash · 5 years

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Dick Grayson(Nightwing)- In The Rain

A/N: I just love the batboys so much ok, let me have this self-indulgence little moment here thanks. (Sidenote, I struggled to choose between writing about Officer Grayson in Bludhaven or Nightwing in Gotham but ended up going with the latter because my complicated feelings towards the police force made me uneased.)

Description: It seemed to be raining everytime you meet Dick Grayson.

Wordcount: 2072

Playlist:

Colouring Book//The Regrettes

Old Fashioned//Bruno Major

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy//Queen

(I stg I did not plan for this to happen it just so happens that these two songs have such similar titles)

The first time you met Dick Grayson, it was raining and you didn’t even know his name.

Ever since you received the notice of your relocation to the Gotham branch from your company, you had dreadfully count downed to the day when you had to make the move. Your boss must have hated your guts to move you to one of the most notoriously dangerous areas of the country, you should have known better when you decided that you would not suck up to him like your colleagues when everyone told you that he was infamous for playing favourites.

Way to go standing firm on your moral grounds, now you’re carrying a huge suitcase in the city with the highest crime rate. At night, all alone, and it’s raining.

You tried to walk as quickly as you could, all while pulling the heavy suitcase with the worn out wheels close to you. Your other hand was sore from holding up the umbrella that barely shields you from the rain and your feet was numb with soaked socks stealing all of their warmth.

You were already miserable and when you caught what seems like the shadow of a man from the corner of your eye, the pounding in your chest sped up from panic and the worst possible scenario flashed before your eyes. That’s it, you’re gonna die. Should have expected it right when the first raindrop hit your chin on the dim street that was honestly no more than a path lit by scarce streetlamps on the side.

“Miss?”

Your heart skipped a bit upon hearing the voice from behind your back and you let out a repressed, instinctive squeak. It took a while for you to calm down from the fright and register the figure that was standing a short distance away from you or come to your logic that what you heard was not the most aggressive of words.

“Hey hey, it’s ok. I just want to see if you need help.”

The figure walked closer to you and stood under the streetlight. You took your first proper look and recognized him as one of those vigilantes that your friend who lived in town told you about. It seemed like a lot to take in at that time, there weren’t masked heroes jumping from roof to roof back in where you came from, but you didn’t expect to run into one of them on your first day in the city. You did have faint memory of the symbol on the man’s chest but you couldn’t quite connect it to the names your friends rambled on about. (There’s just too many names and they all sounds oddly familiar ok?)

You’re so doing your research if you could make it to your apartment in one piece.

“Oh, I’m alright. You probably have more important things to take care of.” You gave the man a faint smile and attempted pulled your suitcase closer to your body, “But thanks for asking.”

The man slightly tilted his head and you could see his eyebrow quirking up from above his mask. While you thought that you very well pretended to have yourself together, your damped sleeves and tired out voice gave the stranger a very different impression.

“It’s too late for you to be out here alone and remain safe,” the man said, “you aren’t exactly in the safer parts of the city and you’re carrying a suitcase more than half your size under the rain. Will you at least let me walk you somewhere with cover?”

"Alright then.” You said and you winced at how rude, almost pathetic, that came out. You appreciated his offer but you were too exhausted to keep your composure. “Thank you.”

He looked almost relieved upon hearing your reply and walked closer to your side. Despite your protest, he immediately took the umbrella from your hand and held it above your head. It was then that you noticed his hair was dripping wet yet he did not try to shield himself from the rain and you felt an unexplained sense of guilt building at the pit of your stomach. How long had he been under the rain?

You two walked in silence with only the loud crackling of rain surrounding you. There were several moments when you almost brought out the courage to start a conversation but the part of you that was afraid to sound embarrassed ended up winning every time. There were a few split seconds when he turned to check up on you and you were certain that he was gonna say something. But seeing how you would quickly turn your gaze back to the road, he decided that silence would be more comfortable for the both of you.

At heart, you appreciated it. Truth be told, you were slightly intimidated by the masked man. You tried to steal subtle glances at his direction when you thought he wasn’t looking at you just to have a better view of his appearance. You found your eyes following the water droplets the dripped from his fringe and slide down his sharp jaw. The blue strip that extended from his finger went all the way across his chest and you forced yourself to focus on the road instead of staring at this toned stranger for a duration that was far too inappropriate. If anything, that just made you even more glad that neither of you tried to strike up a conversation.

“This is my stop,” You stopped in front of what would be your new apartment complex and the corner of your lips lifted up to form your first genuine smile after arriving at the city, “thank you, uh...”

“Nightwing.” The stranger flashed you a grin and you felt your smile growing wider.

“Thank you, Nightwing.” You said softly, opening the door of the building. You were about to step in when you felt a sudden rush of courage and turned back to the vigilante who had yet to leave. He was standing steps away from you and you wondered how he could be so unbothered by the rain.

“Be safe, the rain will probably go on until next morning.”

Nightwing seemed to be a bit taken aback and the white lens of his masked widen just a bit but he quickly regained his previous composure. “You too, especially around here.” He hesitated before adding with a smile, “Most people who hide in corners of the street probably aren’t planning to offer help to a lovely newcomer who is alone in the rain.”

The second time you met Dick Grayson, it was raining and to you, he was just a ridiculously attractive man who happened to share your table at a cafe because it was the only seat left.

You discovered this cozy cafe near your apartment after moving to Gotham for a few days and you quickly became a regular after a few weeks, sitting at the table next to the large window every weekend with a book in hand. You were sipping your coffee at your usual spot when you heard the faint rattling at the window and people started rushing in to hide from the sudden rain.

“I’m sorry, do you mind if I seat here?”

You looked up from the rim of your cup to see a man that was soaked from head to bottom. You quickly put down your drink and nodded, earning a mumble of thanks from him.

Attractive strangers were the worst because you only get to ogle at them (discretely) for a short amount of them before you two never crossed paths again. But as the raven-haired man placed his wet coat on the arm of the chair and sunk down to the seat opposite to you, you thought that maybe Gotham wasn’t all that bad for the first time since you moved here last month.

You started scrolling through your phone mindlessly to conceal your urge to glace at the man seating near you. You silently cursed at yourself for getting to the point where you had to glue your eyes to a screen to stop looking at random people. After seeing the same Twitter thread on Instagram twice, you put your phone down in frustration and was surprised to find the man looking at you with an amused expression.

“Do you always stare at strangers like that?” you jokingly asked, trying to pass your nerves off.

“Only the cute ones.”

“You think you’re so smooth.” you raised your cup to take a sip, hiding the clear evidence of heat spreading on your cheeks.

The man only chuckled your expression and you wondered what he found so interesting about you being flustered. “You’re new in the city?”

“Moved here last month,” you let out a satisfied sigh after having the taste of coffee on your tongue, “is it that obvious?”

“You don’t look beaten up by this place just yet.”

You laughed and felt way more at ease, “Just yet?”

“Not exactly the most forgiving place.” He said but the twinkle in his eyes told you that Gotham had quite a place in his heart. “I’m Dick.”

“(y/n).”

The third time you met Dick Grayson, it was more of a light drizzle than rain. You smiled as he still sat down at your table with half of the seats in the shop being empty and you found the confidence to flirt back at him. He asked you out by the time the rain stopped.

The fifth time you met Dick Grayson, you weren’t even sure if ‘met’ was still an accurate term to use since you two see each other regularly now. He stayed the night at your place because it was thundering and he ‘forgot to bring an umbrella’. Was it an excuse? Maybe. It was only a pure coincidence that you happened to lose your extra umbrella a while back.”

The eighth time you met Dick Grayson, it started to rain when he was about to leave after dropping you off at your apartment. As he pulled away from a kiss, he whispered in your ear saying he was the one who walked you back that night you arrived at the city. You were so distracted by his hot breath at your ear that it wasn’t until you were alone that the big secret he so nonchalantly revealed to you finally settled in your head.

You stopped counting after you two became official. Now, with the sound of Friends’ laugh track and Dick’s arm draping over your waist, you found the sound of rain hitting the windows to be oddly comforting. Your back was pressed up against his chest as you two casually lounged on the couch. You could feel the vibration from his chest when he laughed at the show and you wondered how you got so lucky.

You shifted your position to lean against him on your side and wrapped your arms at his torso. He smiled and looked down at you, kissing your forehead before pulling you closer to him.

“Sometimes I’ll remember that my first image of you was that you looked like a Greek god even with damped hair and your first impression of me was when I looked like a wet chicken in the middle of the night, talking about imbalance.”

He laughed at your remark, “You made quite the impression.”

“Enough for you to pretend to run into me again and again.”

“But do you want to know what made you stood out?” he asked with a gentle smile, softly scratching the back of your head.

“What? Because I pretended that I wasn’t checking you out?”

“Is that so? To be honest, babe, you were so obvious.” he laughed as you playfully hit his arm but his expression remained genuine. “The thing with growing up doing what we do, you got so used to people not caring that you would be surprised when someone do so little as reminding you to be safe.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you reached up for his chin and kissed him on the lips. You could felt him smiling into it before kissing back. As you closed the gap between you and him once again, you secretly decided that rainy days weren’t so bad after all.

#dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #batfam imagine #batfam #dc imagine #batfamily #batboys #dc comics #dc characters #richard grayson

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syndianites · 7 years

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Talk to Me

Ship: Motanite (Mot x S2 Dianite)

Summary: Mot confessed to his god, after years of being a strange mix of more than friends and special business partners. It didn’t go as planned. Now he wants nothing more than for the god to talk to him.

AN: @theshadowlord I’m sorry this took so long D: I’m the most easily distracted person I know, stg. Hope you weren’t looking for a happy ending, because it doesn’t happen, not really anyway (sorrynotsorry) ALSO I FIDDLED WITH THE PROMPT A LOT LITTLE IM SORRY.

Mot was floating in bliss, silent pants working through his body. Beside him, Dianite lay on his back, giving himself to recover from his most recent orgasm. He knew he had to say something now, before the god left for more business. If not now, when might he get a chance, it was hard enough to get the god alone some days, let alone away from his work.

As the ruby skinned man started to rise, Mot swiveled his head towards him, blurting out, “I love you.” He should have known something was wrong by how he tensed up, muscles drawn taught. Wordlessly, Dianite rose from the bed and disappeared, clothes vanishing with him. Now alone, the half-creeper despaired as to what that meant.

He waited until the next day to seek the god out. Perhaps he should have run after him then, asked him why he ran from him. But he couldn’t. For all his hardiness, he was afraid of the answer he might receive. So when he got out of bed the next morning, (they always had their nights of passion at his house), he made sure Alyssa had a warm breakfast, and had everything she needed for school. Once he saw her off, he made his way back to the compound, blocking out the autumn chill by burrowing further into his scarf.

The welcome he received wasn’t unusual. The dwarves littering the halls looked upon him with scorn, the mistrust in their eyes evident. Any humans he passed mostly ignored him, not unfriendly, but mostly uncaring. He had no real friends in this place, but that didn’t matter. This place only held one significance to him, it was where his god worked. And as he approached his office, he fought back his dread. Dianite was a man of business, he could at least be professional.

Knocking on the door, he wasted no time in entering the room, finding the god behind his desk as usual. Eyes trained on his figure, he noticed the way his shoulders grew rigged, mouth pressed into a thin line. Lifting his chin from his scarf, he calmly announced, “We need to talk.” Dianite gave a sigh, eyeballing the papers on his desk for a moment before shifting them to the side. Meeting his gaze, the god nodded for him to continue.

“We both know what was said last night, and I’m not going to take it back. Whether you return my feelings or not, mine won’t change. I just need to know what yours are.” Readying himself, he added, “Spare me no mercy.” Jaw clenched, the god straightened up, barely any difference noticed in his posture. “While I enjoy our nights of passion, I hold no feelings towards you beyond valuing your expertise and intellect. Out of respect for you, I feel we should end our meet ups, so I don’t continue to lead you on.”

Mot drew a deep breath, letting it go with a nod. Muttering out a thank you, he quietly let himself out of the room. He wouldn’t let this get in the way of his work. Just because he was rejected doesn’t mean he didn’t owe the god for all he had done for him. That didn’t make him feel any better.

He carried on in this fashion for weeks. While he did his best to remain the same, to remain stable, Dianite often gave him the cold shoulder. He may have been trying to help him kill his feelings, but it wasn’t working. The more he was dismissed, the more it hurt, the better he wanted to do, the more he wanted him to just look at him. It was painful.

Alyssa started to notice. At first, she wasn’t sure why Dia wasn’t coming over anymore. But she started to piece it together, the brilliant child she was. Looking at Mot, the way his eyes barely concealed his inner turmoil, and watching the few instances she saw the two together, she was sure something happened. Something that couldn’t be fixed in a day, not even with all the time in the world. So she tried other things.

She tried her hardest to make him happy, to distract him. Her school projects, her newest friends, how well Uncle Jeriah was teaching her the ways of the sword. Everything she tried seemed to fall flat. It was infuriating, frustrating, and she couldn’t remember the last time her father had smiled. But then something worse happened. Dianite died.

Mot was devastated, his love still ringing true. The very man that had saved him from the horror of the streets, the life he couldn’t bear to recall, was gone. The one who had ebbed the spread of his creeper spores, accepted their strange mutations, deceased. His already fractured heart shattered. And for the first time in years, he cried. Long after the horrors of his childhood, the drug addled nightmares he couldn’t escape jaded him, he broke with this one event.

Nothing his friends did could console him, Alyssa couldn’t distract him, but he convinced himself that his pain didn’t matter. Ianite’s, for sure, meant more, her very brother being taken from her. Martha’s did, having been so close to her uncle, Andor’s did, having adored the god more than his own father. (He wasn’t sure how Mianite felt about it, but surely even his feelings meant more than his). But what did the feelings of some creeper infested street scum matter? At this point, he wasn’t sure if anything he did mattered. So when, in a desperate attempt to distract him from the bleeding agony he carried, Alyssa told him of the portal to another realm, he was rather eager to check it out.

As he listened to Spark talk of some imbalance in this realm, he zoned out. Here, with his daughter, he could go through. This was his chance redeem himself. He failed to protect the one person who saw anything good in him, and nurtured it. He lost the love from him, lost the connection he had built. And now, as he stared into the rippling wave of energy, he didn’t have anything holding him back.

So when Spark asked who was going to test it out, he didn’t hesitate to step through. If it killed him, it was for the better.

He was almost disappointed when color started to seep back into his vision. After a minute of pure blackness, he was pretty sure he died. Though he could hear a distinct girly shriek in the background, he figured he was falling into hell. But as he found himself free falling towards the great expanse of an ocean, some magical bullshit hugging him, he knew he was alive.

He sucked in a breath as he plunged into the salty waves, the impact absorbed by the barrier around him. The water here, though far above his head, was rather shallow, and he let himself float to the bottom before pushing off the ground and making his way back up. Emerging from beneath the waves, he looked up when the girly shriek seemed to turn into all out screaming. Two figures were descending at a rapid rate, while a smaller one glided down calmly. The first appeared to be Jeriah, arms crossed as he waited to hit the water. The other was Spark, who would likely deny the fear emitting from him. If he didn’t close his mouth soon, he’d be throwing up quite a bit of salt water.

The two sank in, one after the other, and Jeriah surfaced hoisting a coughing Spark up by the arm. Alyssa floated down, settling easily into the water, her wings not yet large enough to keep her in the air for long. It was silent for a moment, until various metal parts started to hit the water, some larger than others. “Shit,” Spark chocked out hoarsely, “The goddamn portal blew up. Looks like Ianite is going to have to wait a little longer than I thought.”

The group decided to wade towards the beach nearby, a figure clad in red watching them from there. Mot wondered if they really made it into another realm.

According to Champwan, the one who had been waiting for them, and Dec -the priest, but not their priest? -, they were definitely in another dimension. But somehow, the Dianite in this world had died too. Which was just great. They were told the tale of the four heroes of this land who had to defeat Dianite, the god who went mad. (Or rather, they found out he went mad when his spirit returned, a hazy image of himself that sometimes followed people around). He wasn’t sure what he thought of his champion of this world, Tom, who so easily took out his own god.

The four, well, Alyssa just watched but Champwan was happy to help, set out to recover what they could of the broken portal. Many of the pieces were too damaged to be reused, so they would need to be smelted back down (they were baffled when they were informed they didn’t have a smeltery, only furnaces. This would take a while to fix…).

Along with setting up a place for the portal, the newcomers took it upon themselves to explore, to see what this new place entailed. Mot, for some unhealthy, terrible reason, had to visit the Dianite temple. (Champwan had given him directions to it, under the assumption he may want to see it. He was quietly impressed by it, his own god choosing to have his be less extravagant and more business-like. In other words, boring). Though he should have known he would see the deceased god, he wasn’t truly prepared for it.

Once he had ventured into the building, he made his way to the grand throne room, one of marvelous construction, especially when one was most acquainted with the inside of office buildings and drugs houses. And there, seated (? He was a spirit after all, despite his see-able form) upon the throne, was Dianite. While part of his heart clenched when he saw him, he could easily spot the difference between this version and his.

This one, for starters, seemed solemn, showing more emotion in the flick of his tail, the curve of his lips, the hunch in his back, than his god did in his most extreme facial expressions. Furthermore, this one was seriously underdressed, (though he admittedly enjoyed the view), where his own god would rather die (oh, that was not the best word) than go out in anything less than a two-piece suit. When his opalescent eyes centered on his form, the lack of recognition spoke volumes.

But there was a hint of knowing in those transparent eyes. “You’re the alter ego of Tom, aren’t you?” Though his mouth moved, his voice seemed to come from all around them. Tilting his head a fraction, he shrugged, “So it would seem. We weren’t overly well informed as to what we are in this world.” Shaking his head, the ghost responded, “In a way, you aren’t anything. You aren’t supposed to exist in this world. Yet here you are, and nothing has gone wrong because of it. So, I suppose, you are a person of this world regardless of who else mirrors you.”

Mot could almost feel the god’s gaze lingering on his changed skin, and the tendrils snaking out his back wrapped protectively around his waist. “Interesting,” the god continued, “My champion is a zombie, due to unfortunate circumstances. It would seem that the two of you are of similar sufferings. Different, but each harmful in an irreversible way.”

Not comfortable enough to let this man glean farther into who he was, he interjected, “And you and your other are of similar situations. Though… my Dianite hasn’t found himself with the luxury of a see-able form.” Or so he was told. Martha had briefly told him that she could feel Dianite’s spirit, hear his whispers if she listened hard enough. He never heard any.

There was a pause, the god seeming to hesitate. “My strength came back faster due to my… champion,” Mot didn’t miss the slight falter at the word champion, “being the one to kill me. But we both knew it had to happen. I had to be stopped.” The raw emotion in his last words felt ready to swallow the mortal. It resonated around the room, a deep churning shame the had no vessel. Mot gave only a nod in response.

“I need to see that my daughter is well,” Mot resumed the conversation after the small lull, “I’ll… I’ll be back in a little. Promise.” If the god was surprised by his ending statement, he didn’t show it. But as he left the room, it felt perhaps a little lighter than it had been before.

The creeper man found himself making his way back, curious about this other god. Though he was sure that the god knew he was coming back when he stepped through the nether portal, he was still surprised as he made his way into the room. Neither commented on that fact though.

Plopping himself in front of the god, he decided to cut to the chase. “What was this madness the priest claims to have taken over you?” The atmosphere seemed to darken. “It was… something ingrained into me. I had no way of stopping it, so to say. The… madness was sort of a failsafe, if I ever tried to do something certain people didn’t want me to do. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. In the same way you and my champion are different, I’m sure myself and your god are much different the same. I would be honestly surprised if he carried the same madness that tore at me.”

He ended his sentence with a sort of finality, and Mot didn’t feel the need to press further into it. Swallowing, he slowly queried, “So, what was your… relationship, with your champion? What did you see him as?” Honestly, he was just doing this to spite himself, wasn’t he? “Though we never advertised it, we were together. We’ve been together since hundreds of years ago, but there was… an incident that separated us for many of the years passed. Not too long ago, actually, I finally managed to get him to return. I refused to let death keep us apart any longer.” With a slow nod, Mot mulled over this response.

In a way, he was jealous that his alter had such success with his own god, was given the love he never will be. Part of him resented this mystery person. He had seen his homes, heard of his exploits with his friends, heard of this fantastical life he lived. And he always had wanted something like that. How was it fair that this man in another universe, who was meant to be the other him, received so much fortune when he found so little? At least he had Alyssa. She would always be a light in his life.

“What of you and yours?” The god before him returned the question. Careful to keep his words light, he responded, “We were business partners, who often regaled each other with pleasures of the flesh. Until a certain someone fucked it up by confessing his feelings.” The bitter hint at the end of his sentence was not intentional, but he could feel the god’s understanding. He abandoned the topic.

Shifting slightly, from leaning on his fist to sitting with his legs and arms crossed, he proceeded to ask Mot more questions. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have different technology in your world. What advancements are these?” The half creeper was more than eager to move to a new conversation, and told of the wonders of tinker’s construct, how great a smeltery was, and the fine tunings of reactors. He took time explaining many of the tech from his world, silently pleased by how Dianite seemed to soak it in. And as the night wore on, they slowly warmed up to each other.

But they knew they couldn’t replace the people they had lost.

Almost a month had passed, most of which he spent entertaining his daughter in this strange new world and, somehow, enjoying the company of the rather chaotic ghost. (He learned to ignore his idle comments of how he should blow up this, or stab this person to see how they would take it. It was a little harder to stop himself from antagonizing Mianite, however, but his self-preservation pulled through on that). Day by day he found himself toeing the line between hating his alt for the wonderful life he was given, and respecting the man for his apparent accomplishments.

Today, however, found himself in front of some makeshift portal, not yet turned on. “Alright gang,” Spark began, addressing the group of otherworlders, “From the repairing I’ve done with Mot and Champwan, we may have fixed the damn device.” Muttering under his breath, he added, “If only Gaines was here.” Gesturing to the gangly machine, he continued, “We are going to hook it to a pretty rudimentary power generator, and I’ll need someone to test it out. I don’t think you’ll die, but we never know.” Mot wordlessly stepped forward, rolling his eyes as Spark signaled for Champwan to lower the wheel into the river next to them, used to passively gain power.

With a spluttering hum, it whirred to life, the murky blue beams it emitted forming a hazy look into an open field. Sighing, he gave a meaningful glance at Jeriah (‘If I die you better as hell take care of Alyssa’), and started to enter the field. Then something went wrong. “Shit, Mot, get out!” These words reached him just as the machine gave a groan, and his first instinct was to push farther in, fearing what would happen if tried to step out now.

The scenery he had seen from the blue barrier remained, but he could now see signs of humans somewhat farther out. Namely, what seemed to be some sort of reactor? If this was the case, the portal may have worked. Turning back, it was gone. Cursing, he strode forward, ready to ask the nearest person where he was. As he walked around the reactor (that was definitely what it was), he saw someone in the distance, heading towards a house. Jogging up to them, he yelled to get their attention.

The man jumped, startled, and whipped around to face him. And he looked exactly like Spark. But his glasses, they were red? And he didn’t look like an old man, his face appearing rather youthful. (He was rather cute if he was being honest. But that didn’t faze him). Once he spoke, he knew for sure he wasn’t Spark. “Uh, hello? I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

Putting a little space between them, Mot looked eyes with him. “Oh, I was here long before you were ever here. I’m sure you weren’t here last time I was.” Narrowing his eyes, he queried, “Who are you? You look like someone I know.” He had a hunch. Would they have switched places? “Not you too! Everyone likes to point out I look like this Sparks guy! I’m Captain Sparklez, and I wear red shades.”

Mumbling to himself, he answered, “That you do.” Speaking loud enough for the young man to hear, he continued, “Can you show me the way to Dagrun? I need to see if anyone I know is still there.” He received a hesitant nod, and they were off. He wasn’t sure what would await him. Would he meet his other? How much time had passed? Was… was Dia back?

He met Tom. The energetic, chaotic zombie was just as skeptical about him as he was of the other. But after their duel, he seemed to settle a little with the idea of having an alter ego. Though they still weren’t quite friends, they weren’t about to kill each other. So, yeah. Progress. And apparently his god was still dead. And people had heard him talk, his spirit following some people. Still, he heard nothing.

He wasn’t bothered by this at all, and when he was given a room to stay in for the night, he definitely wasn’t calling the god out on it. “You would talk to strangers from another dimension on a whim, but not your own goddamn champion? Must you still give me the cold shoulder, even in death?”

As he was about to add to his rant, as quiet voice rang out, “You left.” Before he could respond, Dianite spoke again, “You just leave this world, not even telling me, and expect me to welcome you with happiness and relief?” The mortal grit his teeth. “I’m so fucking sorry that you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me without having someone else there! How was I supposed to know that the portal would break? I was under the impression you didn’t give a shit about me anymore in the first place.”

The silence was heavy, but Mot was relieved to at least tell the god his grievances. “You… I was actually starting to fall in love with you, you know? But the last time hurt so much… with all my power I couldn’t stop the inevitable end of their life from coming. I was scared to love you, because I was afraid you would die one day, leave me all alone again. But I guess I was fucking right, you did leave me. And it was your choice.”

And when he screamed back to the god, he knew he wasn’t heard. He dropped the bomb and left. How dare he think that he could pull that guilt trip? When he was the one who made Mot feel worthless again? When he had taken to pushing him away, to forcing him to get over it? How fucking dare he think he had the right to feel hurt, when his heart shattered the day he refused to speak with him alone, when he refused to even act like a friend to the man? He screamed at the god, who must be so far away now, until his voice was hoarse, worn down by all the regret and anger he kept inside for so long.

But now, he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t care. As the last of his anger fled, he only felt numb.

The two didn’t speak again. Tom, however, seemed to have a strange fascination with the half creeper. At first, it was under the pretense of wanting to get to know his fellow champion. But as they spent more time together, he actually sought him out just for his company. It was nice, having someone so openly happy to see him. He was starting to grow rather fond of the zombie. (He couldn’t help the pang of jealousy when he remembered that his god loved him, that his life was going so splendidly. He crushed it down every time. He needed this man, as much as he hated to admit it. Something about him eased the pain a little).

The more he got to know the zombie, the more he got to spend time in his tree house. Though he was much more into the desert of Urulu, which he had visited a few times, but stayed in Dagrun to help with the… taint situation, he found the space to be quite homely. A few times, he even slept over. (At some point, Tom had set up a permanent room for him. It was one of his guest rooms, but, he informed Mot, he didn’t get many guests this far out).

He wasn’t expecting to be awoken by screams one of the nights he stayed over. After all, what would someone with a perfect life have to nightmare over? Apparently, a lot. (In the back of his mind, he feels guilty for labeling Tom’s life as perfect so quickly, assuming he hadn’t had to work to have what he did. Somedays, he could see the cracks in his relationships with his friends, from when his god had lost himself). So when he made his way into Tom’s room, he wasn’t really prepared for the shivering, sweat streaked mess the zombie was. They didn’t talk about it, but Mot made sure to stay with him that night.

(The next morning, Tom mentioned in passing that he clearly remembers his descent into death, and that sometimes if he sleeps wrong it will feel like he’s falling again, and he’s not sure he could do it again. But he says it like he’s talking about the weather, so Mot just nods).

At some point, Mot found himself rooming there full time, even as the tensions in the world were strung high. Though there was talk of reviving Dianite, they never talked about it in the treehouse. Instead, they saved that time to bonding. Mot even found himself haltingly sharing his wretched experience as a half creeper, in which Tom listened quietly, a strange look for the normally fidgety man. In return, Tom would tell him of a time long before what he had now, when the world was more focused on fighting. He would point out scars, telling him what they meant and what battles he got them in.

Of course, the two didn’t spend all their time together, Mot checking in with old acquaintances, or Martha, or even Ianite. (Ianite had always been fond of Mot, though he wasn’t sure why. She was one of the first people to figure out something happened between him and Diante). As time passed, Mot found himself less involved with his pinning over Dianite (feelings still there? Yes? Damn.) and more into the problems of the land.

And then they went to revive Dianite.

Steve shouldn’t have needed to do that. How could they have missed such a crucial thing? Now as his body disappeared, he was torn between grief for Steve, someone he liked even if they didn’t talk much, and the distant happiness at seeing Dia alive. But as his figure rose, his eyes sweeping over everyone gathered there, but him, that happiness died. And Steve become more important than his god.

As he went to console Martha, Tom went to speak with the god. He didn’t look over at them. He couldn’t. Even if he tried his best to squash his feelings for his god, he couldn’t stop the anger of how easily Dia could converse with his alt, when his original champion was right there.

But then World Historian showed up, and he didn’t have time to think about it. (Some things were more important than Dianite).

He was falling again. The endless blackness the moved around them, the only signal that they were going anywhere. Even with the strange, squishy platform they could vaguely move about on, the quarters made close with the sheer amount of them, Dianite would not fucking talk to him. After a few tense blow offs, in which anyone brought into a conversation with the god immediately wanted out, he gave up. If he wanted to be a selfish asshole, they didn’t need to work out their problems. He was willing to be professional, not forget their nights together, to let his shriveled feelings die. And he was going to do that with or without the god.

Now sitting with Tom, the younger having fallen asleep against him, he chose to think about someone else. He wondered how Alyssa was doing, stuck with the wet napkin and the worried Ianitee (he despaired, quietly, how they would break the news about Ianite to him). Instead of pinning for a man who would never return his feelings, he worked on thinking of a new future, without him. (And it hurt, still. Shards of his heart break still lingered, and they would, for a long time. Even now, he struggled to let them go). And, despite the weird nature of their relationship, he wondered how the other Dianite was doing, a bored spirit yearning for chaos.

Settling his head on top of Tom’s, he listened to the zombie’s even breathing. Some people were more important than the god.

(AN: Did I do an okay job? I couldn’t just leave it at an angst ending for some reason. I don’t know why, but it felt like Mot already had so many injustices in his life, that he deserved some way to look towards a better future?? My poor creeper child. Sorry(notsorry) for making S2 Dianite kinda an asshole, I figured that would amp of the angst ;D. I also couldn’t stop myself from putting other ship references slid in…)

#Motanite #Motinite #MotxDianite #DianitexMot #Mianite #MianiteS2 #angst #supposed to be hardcore angst #oops

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kiserusmoke · 7 years

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Triple Espresso Domestic Headcanons - Compiled Version

@catchthespade @maidofstars you guys had such good hcs, I decided to compile them all into one post. Hope that’s okay! It’s under a read more because it got l o n g

I feel like out of all the options, Shuichi’s place was the most spacious and comfortable for the three of them to live in

MC moved in a few months before Hikaru did

When Hikaru first moved in, he wasnt quite ready to sleep with Shuichi and MC in Shuichi’s room aside from sex tbh. He opted to sleep in the room next door

Eventually, he found he didn’t want to feel isolated from his two loves ((it was cute and sappy af okay))

Shuichi becomes a lot more relaxed once they’re living together. He doesn’t feel the need to be so on schedule or wake up first out of all of them

MC and Hikaru melt and secretly gossip about how much they love seeing Shuichi comfortable

Hikaru brings so much new shit into their place. A flat screen TV for the living room, a sofa, like 20 different coffee mugs. He’s a packrat but he helps make the place feel less uptight

Despite knowing him for so long, Hikaru gets suuuper flustered when he sees Shuichi walk around in his underwear all the time

MC notices this and comes up with a plan: buying matching pajamas for the three of them

They’re navy blue with white piping trim. Link.

When she gives them to Shuichi and Hikaru She’s like “Shu we love you but please don’t give Hikaru a heart attack and wear pants”

He gives in. But all he wears are the pants. Hikaru is just glad He’s making an effort. MC doesn’t complain since it means Shuichi walking around shirtless all day

MC’s pajamas are a nightdress in the same style. The boys low-key go crazy whenever she wears it

Hikaru gets them all into watching tv shows. They have a set schedule throughout the week of stiff they don’t want to miss

If Shuichi or MC end up watching an episode without him, Hikaru is p i s s e d

They pull pranks on each other like, all the time

Hikaru will put googly eyes on everything. The espresso machine, the fridge, even Shuichi’s briefcase

MC writes shaming sticky notes and slaps them on the boy’s backs as she walks by. Like “I didn’t take out the garbage during my turn” or “I hogged all the blankets last night”

Shuichi was banned from pulling pranks after he hid all of MC and Hikaru’s underwear before work

That day, Shuichi woke up to a chorus of ‘SHU’ ‘ARE YOU SERIOUS’

They always have to be touching when they’re at home

Not sexually, but if they’re sitting on the couch Hikaru is resting his hand on MC’s thigh and Shuichi has his hand weaved through her hair

Speaking of touching, MC will leave the room in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and she comes back to find Hikaru snuggled up to Shuichi’s side

They miss her warmth when she leaves. It makes her melt.

When MC wakes up first (which is most of the time), she makes the coffee for all three of them

She walks into the bedroom and waves the fresh mugs of coffee to lure them out of bed she’s like a snake charmer I stg

• As overworked as Shuichi is himself, he gets worried whenever the other two are stressed about work. He tries to be considerate to them and do what he thinks is best for them; like doing their share of work in the house or making them coffee that day.

The other bidders eventually found out about their relationship, but it took them a long while for everyone to find out. A few members of the gang teased them about being together all the time, but it took everyone at least half a year to discover the relationship! Though, Eisuke discovered much earlier than everyone else when a certain someone moved out of the employee dorms.

Everyone started catching one when Mc and Hikaru “coincidentally” spent a bit more time cleaing Shuichi’s room.

Mc and Shuichi have romantic tension with each other since season 2. It increased especially in season 3, but the same happened with Hikaru.

Out of everyone, Hikaru goes to bed the latest! Shuichi and Mc have to physically drag Hikaru to bed sometimes.

Their group chat is the definition of sweet and salty. It’s a mix of sweet words of affection and bad talk about the bidders lol

They have their moments where they’re silent, but still together. They’re all near each other, but they will do their own thing. It’s all very comforting!

Oh my god worried Shu is a blessing. I bet he sends very passive texts to them like ‘You know it’s lunchtime, surely you two have eaten?’

The Bidders genuinely can’t figure out for the longest time they’re dating because they’ve always gravitated towards each other. Like everyone is shook (aside from Eisuke) because they all assumed that they hung out to complain about the rest of the Bidders?? I love how the trio has some peace and quiet for the first 6 months of their relationship :’)

Lol @ the extra time cleaning Shuichi’s suite. You know they’re either fooling around or finding some way to prank Shuichi. Covering his desk in sticky notes takes time, chill

I definitely headcanon MC and Shu getting together first so I like that you mention the romantic tension between them in season 2!

Totally agree that Hikaru always goes to bed last. Sometimes MC finds him on the couch, and she makes Shuichi carry him to bed :’)

I am living for triple espresso group chats. One second it’s Hikaru saying something like ‘I hated to leave you two in bed together, but work called me in early </3’ then twenty minutes later MC is like ‘guess whAT THAT FUCKER ASSUKE DID JUST NOW’. It’s honestly a whirlwind

I love the idea of them just feeling comfortable around each other. Like maybe Shuichi is getting work done on his laptop, while Hikaru is listening to music and MC is reading. They’re all in the same room, but they don’t feel the need to entertain each other 24/7. They can just be

They’re all super protective of each other, but the show it in different ways. MC’s the type to defend Shu/Hikaru if anyone talks shit about them. Hikaru’s the type to get confrontational if anyone causes trouble. Shuichi, on the other hand, pulls strings from the shadows and does everything behind-the-scenes.

MC customized their coffee mugs! MC painted a cute lil cactus on Shuichi’s, a top hat for Hikaru’s, and a ribbon for herself.

They have game night every once in a while. Shuichi always wins when they play Chess/Scrabble/Monopoly. Hikaru wins when it’s Taboo, but MC fucking decimates them in Uno (she got quick hands yo)

MC usually does most of the cooking, but the guys help her out sometimes if it doesn’t end up becoming steamy, if you know what I mean ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Their group chat is full of dirt on Eisuke. Hell, their group chat’s photo is a picture of Eisuke getting scratched by a puppy lmao

They have, like, three layers of blankets and comforters just in case someone decides to hog all the blankets.

It took them some time, but Hikaru and MC finally managed to get Shuichi to not wear a three-piece suit at the beach. They were both very happy marveling his physique ;)

Horror movie night is always fun with these dorks because Shuichi and Hikaru purposely pick the scariest movies so MC can hold them/cuddle them when she’s scared.

#I love your guys' hc #honestly so pure #so blessed #friends #talented friends #triple espresso #Kissed By The Baddest Bidder #kbtbb #headcanons #my headcanons #friend headcanons #collab post #we may need to make a part 2 eventually lmao

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